Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Vexed .

The perfect word to capture how Diluc was feeling at the moment.

Who would've known that Fontaine had such outlandish laws... like nobody is permitted to release any flying object within Fontaine city limits during the first three days of each month? Diluc certainly did not know that, which is why he sat, handcuffed, underwater, in the Fortress of Meropide.

Of all the reasons to end up in prison, his hawk, Vennessa? Absurd . Yet here he was - submerged beneath Fontaine’s depths, sentenced for nothing more than a letter on swift wings. He could've gotten his sentence down to a merely 24 hours if he obliged to calling his pet back, but his letter contained important information that he only permitted his trusted circle to read and the Iudex of Fontaine, Neuvillette, was not a part of said circle. He was quick enough to burn the letter he initially received, refusing to share all of what the contents were. He only mentioned some simple information about his winery back home, which wasn't entirely a lie but wasn't entirely the truth, either. Thus, a week in this fortress was his sentence and it would have to suffice.

Handcuffed, though? That he found overkill. It's not like he was arrested for arson or assault. Though, given his past, and what he delicately decided to reveal of it during trial, it made sense that the court and guards would take such drastic measures. At least they took his request under consideration and kept his trial private.

Regardless, Diluc felt odd sitting here, alone, wrists bound behind his back. They had taken his claymore and all the other small knives he carrier upon his bring when they initially sentenced him, so he was without weapons. Surprisingly, they did allow him to keep his vision, so being handcuffed didn't entirely make all that much sense to him. If he wanted to, he could just melt off the cuffs...

So, he did just that.

It didn't take much, just a small flame was enough to melt through the material - a quick, harsh yank and the links snapped apart. With his hands free, the tycoon made quick work to melt the rest of the restraints, pulling them off of his wrists before tossing them on the desk. It wasn't like they used metal cuffs to restrain him, another thing he found odd. Fontaine was just... odd. Sure, he's been here before on business trips and meetings, but never on the first three days of the month. It just so happens that this time, an event, which requested a partnership for his alcohol took part in the first week of a new month... and now here Diluc sits, underwater, in prison, awaiting the Duke - whoever that was.

Rubbing his wrists, the man stands from his seat, tired of just sitting - waiting. It feels like he's done nothing but sit the past two days, and it's wearing on him, itching beneath his skin. The air tastes faintly of salt and metal, a lingering scent of tea curling through the room. He observes his environment, studying the spines of different books which litter the shelves behind the desk. He doesn't dare venture closer to them, knowing anyone could walk through the door at any moment...

His focus is pulled from the books to the metal door when it slides open. Theres a heavy sound of boots clanking against the steel floor as whoever entered makes their way up the stairs. Diluc turns to the sound, a man who stands about a head taller than him appearing as he makes his way up to the floor of the office. He's got deep blue eyes, a shade that reminds the nobleman of the cold night sky... and an icy demeanor to match. Short black hair with grey highlights, scars littering what Diluc could see of his toned forearms and chest - one peeking up over the collar of his shirt on the side of his neck, another beneath his eye. The man observes Diluc with a plain expression, leaving him unreadable. The way he glides through the small office as he stalks toward him, chains clanking with each movement answers his question: this is the Duke.

Diluc doesn't move from where he stands, turning his body fully toward the larger man. He holds his gaze, keeping his expression impassive. The other man's eyes flick down to the desk where Diluc had left the remains of the melted cuffs and then to Diluc's waist where his pyro vision glints as it hangs from his belt... and finally, his eyes slither back up the nobleman's body until their gazes meet again.

"Plastic cuffs. On a man who wields fire." His tone is calm, almost amused. "Who thought that was a good idea?" his hand unhooks the metal cuffs that hang off his belt. He twirls them around his finger as his other arm crosses over his body, gloved hand resting in the crook where his arm bends. Boots strike the floor with measured force, heavy against the steel flooring as he approaches the nobleman. "Are you going to behave or will I have to use these while we chat?"

"I've been nothing but cooperative." Diluc responds, his eyes not daring to leave the Duke's face.

"Hmm." he sets the metal cuffs down on his desk with a light thud, turning to lean against it as he crosses his arms around his chest. He motions at the seat next to Diluc with a jerk of his head, watching as the tycoon obeys the nonverbal order without a second thought. "I don't think Monsieur Neuvillette would fully agree with that, and neither do I. After all, that is why you're sentenced a week rather than a day in here."

Diluc wants to cock an eyebrow, but he doesn't. Instead, he blinks, slow, remaining mute. There is no point in arguing. He's been waiting in this office for an hour and he would rather just get this over with so he can go be on his own, explore, than be cooped up in this room. Arguing would not lead anywhere productive, and would probably end with him cuffed up, again.

He'd rather avoid that.

"I'm Wriothesley, Duke of the Fortress of Meropide... but I take it you knew that already." the man, Wriothesley, speaks again when it becomes apparent that Diluc isn't going to respond. He still doesn't. No need to introduce himself, the man already knows who he is. Wriothesley uncrosses his arms, nudging himself off his desk to walk around it before taking a seat in his chair. He grabs a folder and flips it open, skimming the contents in silence before his eyes train back on Diluc. "So, Mr. Ragnvindr, let's go over some ground rules for your stay."

"Diluc is fine." he finally speaks, quick and dry.

"Okay, Diluc. Nobleman of high esteem in Mondstadt, previous Cavalry Captain of the Knights of Favonius before you renounced your title and disappeared for four years, only to return and take over as head of Dawn Winery. Interesting..." Diluc fights the urge to shift, swallowing down any comment he could've made. He doesn't need to rehash the details of his past and how he came to take over his family's business. It's pointless, all of it. Seems as if the man picked up on his annoyance because he adjusts himself, resting his head in his hand as his elbow took position on the desk. "Rough history? What happened in those four years you were gone?"

"Took some time off to travel."

"Where?"

"All over. I'm not fond of idle chit chat. Perhaps we should discuss the more important matters?" Wriothesley cocks an eyebrow, pulling his hand away from his face as he flips through the pages of Diluc's folder. He lets out a dry chuckle.

"Idle chit chat is necessary. Keeping tabs on all prisoners is a part of the job. Cant have people falling out of line." a pause, Wriothesley's eyes flicker with something dangerous, threatening. "So, I'll ask nicely once more and only once: what happened in those four years?" The Duke's tone was stern, more so than earlier as he observed Diluc from across the desk.

It became apparent that the tycoon wasn't going to get out of this office anytime soon, not without cooperation but sharing his history would probably only cause more trouble and a stronger need for oversight. Diluc valued his privacy and would much rather not remain the focus of the Duke... yet either way, whether he spoke up or didn't, it wouldn't change that.

His past was violent, filled with bloodshed. He's tortured and slaughtered, left countless bodies in his wake when he tore through the seven nations in search of answers to his father's demise. His hands weren't just red, they were drenched - his entire being carries the weight of all he's done, the lives he's destroyed. He caused so much mayhem the harbingers were forced to get involved. He was hunted, nearly killed over his destructive journey, resulting in him being banned from ever stepping foot in Snezhnaya... otherwise, they'd have his head the second he crossed the nation's borders. He's not ashamed of his past, but he doesn't like to rehash the details, either. Especially to a stranger.

"I traveled across the seven nations." he responded matter-of-factly. The Duke let out a partially harsh exhale from his nose as he stood, flipping the file closed before walking around the desk, stopping when he was behind Diluc's chair. He can feel the space behind him vanish. A firm grip anchors him in place, acting as a silent message: remain seated. The urge to stand prickles beneath his skin, but he does not move.

"Doing what?"

"Searching for answers." he retorts dryly, his tone unwavering despite his discomfort. It wasn't entirely a lie... yet, Wriothesley wasn't satisfied with his response. Diluc knew that because his fingers tightened on his shoulders as he leaned down, mouth next to his ear. Too close. Heat seeps from Wriothesley’s body, engulfing him. Diluc breathes in, slow, controlled - refusing to react. The scent of sea salt, metal, and tea surrounds him. With the Duke's next words, his tone drops low, similar to a warning.

"It would be wise to answer the question in full. Here in the fortress, the laws are much different than above ground in the bustling city of Fontaine." there's a pause, the Duke inhaling sharply through his nostrils. "I rule down here, however I see fit."

A faint murmur hums through the metal walls - Fontaine’s ocean pressing in, a reminder that escape isn't a viable option. Fighting would be pointless. Retaliation would be foolish. Diluc remains mute, discomfort trickling through his body at their proximity. He lets out a slow, controlled huff of air through his nose, tension slowly coiling through every muscle fiber of his being. Still, despite the threat lingering in the air, weighing down on his shoulders similarly to the hands which hold him in place, he doesn't move. He doesn't react.

Diluc remains calm, collected.

"Have you ever been to prison?"

"Not for a bird."

"No, but you have for, arson, assault, mass murder..." Diluc wants to ask how he knows that when the Duke moves from behind him, the warmth from his body disappearing, leaving a cold feeling to settle over his back. His shoulders sear with the absence of Wriothesley's grip, the ghost of his hands still lingering like smoke after a fire. His file is grabbed from the desk and flipped open, tossed into his lap. Before him, his past is laid bare - ugly, bloodstained, undeniable. His eyes train onto his folder, loads of photos and a well written report of his past - the four years he was asked about stare back up at him. He can feel Wriothesley observing him, as if he's waiting for something. Guilt? Defiance? Regret? The Duke knew this entire time. This was just a test. Regardless, Diluc remains stoic - he won't entertain Wriothesley with a reaction. After all, history is just ink on paper. "You were on death row. Four years worth of torture, murder, destruction of property... the list is quite extensive but I'm sure you knew that already."

"How'd you get this information?"

"Ah. The Fatui." The words are measured, just shy of mocking. "That name still burns, doesn’t it?" Diluc doesn't respond. He forces his eyes to remain on the file, reading the report which details everything he's done, the photos which perfectly capture his work - the violence, the torture he's inflicted upon countless unlucky Fatui footsoldiers before ultimately claiming their lives. Wriothesley moves back to his seat after a beat of silence, pulling at his tie. "I've got a few of them serving sentences here. I don't need one of my prisoners murdering the others."

"I don't intend to. I'm not here to pick fights."

"No?" The Duke's tone sounds testy. Diluc looks up at the larger man, who has an eyebrow cocked. "They might be."

Diluc doesn't retaliate verbally, choosing to look up from his lap. He's holds Wriothesley's stern gaze, an unrelenting force which matches the Diluc's unwavering resolve. Picking up his folder, his eyes not daring to flick away from the man before him, he tosses it from his lap to the table.

"Down here, you don't get to play judge, jury, and executioner. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, Your Grace." Wriothesley just studies him for a moment, an unreadable glint in his eyes that gives the tycoon a wary feeling. He doesn't comment on it, choosing to adjust himself in his seat as the Duke grabs his file, flipping it closed. From there, he begins to debrief him on other ground rules, what's expected of Diluc, how the fortress works, the coupon cafeteria - anything and everything the man needs to know. At the end, he asks if the nobleman has any questions and he shakes his head, just itching to be over with this.

With the conversation at its end, Wriothesley informs him that a guard will take him from there, show him the places within the fortress they discussed and then his chambers. He walks him down to the door and motions for him to exit his office. The nobleman is about to reach for the handle when the Duke speaks once more - an obvious warning.

"I'll be personally keeping my eye on you, so don't do anything foolish. We meet in five days to discuss your departure. I don't want to see you back in here before then." a lot of words for, ' Don't cause trouble .' Diluc doesn't look back, nor does he nod his head in understanding. Instead, he opens the door and leaves the office, grateful he's no longer confined in the room.

After his tour, Diluc decides to stay in his assigned chambers for the rest of the evening. The fortress was larger than he expected - sprawling, vast, yet suffocating. Metal corridors stretched endlessly, winding paths carved into the belly of the ocean. There was plenty to do, plenty to occupy himself with, but it certainly wasn't freedom. The quarters assigned to him for his stay was also larger than he had anticipated, not that he was complaining. He spent the rest of the evening drawing, something he hadn't done for a while and eventually, when night fell, he found his bed.

Sleep rarely came easily. He twisted in the sheets like a restless ghost in the dark, thoughts gnawing at the edges of his mind. He always had issues with it, his head consistently keeps him awake. It was one of several reasons why he would spend his nights fighting crime in Mondstadt rather than wasting time rolling around in his bedding, unable to get comfortable. The fortress breathing in unnatural rhythms, thuds reverberating through steel, distant clanks carried through waterlogged walls didn't offer any comfort, either. Every sound was a reminder of the depths that held him hostage. Eventually, he did fall asleep but it only felt like minutes before he awoke.

His first day went smoothly, all things considered. He showed up to his job sight, trained for a bit before working on his own for a few hours. Then he went to lunch, which wasn't bad but not the greatest either. He couldn't complain - food was just sustenance, a means for survival. Afterwards, he went on a walk around the fortress, keeping to himself as he looked around deeper than yesterday while on his tour. During his stroll, he ran into a man, or more so a man ran into him. Diluc didn't say anything, opting to remain silent but the other decided differently.

"Watch where you're going." Diluc didn't turn around, choosing to continue his quiet stroll when a hand wrapped around his bicep, pulling him back. He turned, glowering at the fellow inmate who shoved into him. He looked familiar... but the tycoon couldn't exactly pinpoint from where. Perhaps he just looked like someone Diluc once met. He didn't think too deeply on it - didn't care to.

His eyes flicked lower as he inspected the prisoner, sizing him up. That's when he saw it, a Fatui mask which hung from his belt. Diluc had noticed that a handful of them were down here serving sentences alongside him, but none of them gave him any attention so he didn't pay much mind to them, either. However this, this was intentional. Still, he didn't react, remaining unfazed. If there's one thing the scumbag wanted, it was a reaction and Diluc wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of one. "Did you hear me?" a pause - too long, deliberate. "I said, watch your back ."

A threat.

He changes his mind.

Diluc fully turns his attention to the man, holding his gaze as he steps closer into his space. His fingers close around the man’s wrist. A sharp twist, like he was peeling off a parasite, and the hold the Fatui had on his bicep was gone. His fingers tighten around the inmate's wrist just a tad bit more when the man begins to struggle against him. Only then did he let go before walking away to continue his stroll. He didn't want trouble, not when he was already being closely watched... nor did he want his sentence extended.

Diluc later found himself in the Pankration ring, opting to spar with fellow inmates as a way to release his stress and tension. He did a couple rounds before calling it an evening, satisfied with the exercise. Roussimoff praised his capabilities and suggested he get checked out by the medical team due to some of his injuries. He took a few hard hits, despite coming out as the victor in every match. Diluc agreed solely to escape the conversation and made his way to dinner, instead.

After his meal, he decides to head back to his room. Yet, as he rounded the corner which lead to his door, a restless energy burned through him. The air felt different, heavier and then he saw him, standing there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. He was waiting for Diluc. Their eyes instantly found each other but he didn't say anything, and neither did the nobleman. Instead, Diluc approached his door, unlocking it before walking inside. The man followed, as he suspected he would.

Diluc knew Wriothesley would be keeping tabs on him, after all, he said so himself, but he didn't expect him to be breathing down his back. He saw him several times throughout the day, observing him. This morning at breakfast, later at work, again during lunch, and once more during his stroll, before he was threatened by one of the inmates. Still, the very last thing he was expecting was a personal visit from the Duke himself at his assigned living quarters.

"Nasty bruise you got there. Have you gone to see Sigewinne?" the Duke is the first to break the silence, referencing the bruise that was beginning to bloom on the left side of his jaw where he took one of several particularly harsh hits. He doesn't look at him as he speaks, instead walking over to the desk in Diluc's room where he looks down at one of the drawings the tycoon did the night before of his hawk, Vennessa.

"No, but you knew that already." Diluc crosses his arms over his chest, unwavering from his position in the corner of his room as he watches. Wriothesley leaves the drawing alone, opting to approach him. His boots are heavy on the metal floor, each thud cutting through the thick silence, reverberating through Diluc's body.

"Anyone giving you trouble?" Diluc thinks back to earlier, the situation with the Fatui prisoner who threatened him during his little stroll. He had a feeling that Wriothesley was already aware of what happened, maybe not exactly what was said but that there was a minor incident nonetheless. When he doesn't respond, the Duke speaks again, cocking his head, confirming his inkling. "Earlier, I couldn't help but notice some tension between you and one of the inmates. The one with the mask hanging off his belt. Sound familiar?"

"Why bother to ask? It appears you're already aware of the situation. I didn't retaliate, but you knew that, too." Wriothesley steps closer into Diluc space. The familiar scent of sea salt and bergamot earl gray tea, laced with metal fill his nostrils. It was a strange combination, but not bothersome. He looks up at him through his thick red lashes, studying the deep blue shade of Wriothesley's eyes as he holds his unrelenting gaze. He forces himself to not shift under the weight of the Duke's prodding stare.

"Im trying to keep you out of trouble, Diluc." Wriothesley finally spoke, his voice quiet, perhaps a tad bit gentler than how he's ever addressed Diluc since they've met. It throws him off, but he doesn't show it.

"Thank you, but I am more than capable of handling myself. If there's nothing else to discuss, I'd like to call it a night." Diluc responds after a beat of silence. He doesn't like this, the strange feeling that courses through him. After all this time, he's still no longer familiar to the idea of someone wanting to look out for him. Wriothesley presses his lips together tightly for a moment before releasing the tension. His eyes trail down the nobleman's face, resting for a moment too long on his lips which makes Diluc's body feel hot.

While he is accustomed to people looking at him in such a manner - like he's a meal, having the Duke observe him like so feels different. His own eyes trail down to Wriothesley's throat, watching the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows thickly - the subtle flex of muscles rippling beneath he skin as he clenches his jaw, like he's holding himself back from something. His body reacts, lips barely parting before he reels himself back, pressing them together once more into a firm line. Only then does the Duke's eyes snap back up, their stares meeting, studying each other, reading one another. It sends a strange feeling down the tycoon's spine and he further tenses, fingers barely tightening along his biceps.

Wriothesley finally tears his gaze away and approaches the door. He pulls it open and cold air rushes into the room, but it goes unnoticed by the nobleman. "I'll send Sigewinne to come assess your injuries." is the last thing he says before disappearing, leaving Diluc alone, tingling with an inexplicable sensation in his lonesome. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, the tension in his body finally uncoiling.

Diluc wasn't alone for long. It was only about thirty minutes before there was a knock at his door and as he suspected, a Melusine with bright blue hair stood before him with a warm smile. She waved.

"Hello Mr. Ragnvindr! I'm Sigewinne, head nurse of the Fortress of Meropide. The Duke told you've been injured and has asked me to come take a look at you. May I come in?" Diluc wanted to object - he was fine, really. Just a few bruises here and there but the Melusine had already made her way all the way here from the infirmary  to come look at him per her boss's request so he welcomed her inside, instead. "Will you remove your shirt, please, and have a seat on your bed? I met with Roussimoff on my way over and he told me you took some hits on your chest and abdomen. I would like to do a thorough inspection to see the extent of your injuries."

"Diluc is fine." he responds as he sheds his cloak and begins to unbutton his shirt. He slides the material off his shoulders and sits on the bed as instructed. Sigewinne gets to work, listening to his heart and breathing before inspecting the bruises on his torso. She asks him several questions, taking some notes before digging through her satchel.

"It appears you have some bruised ribs. I recommend bed rest for the next few days - no strenuous activities and no sparring! I am going to prescribe you some light painkillers, but please let me know if you're still in pain. I will write you a note to excuse you from work while you heal." she informs him as he puts his shirt back on.

"Thank you, but that really isn't necessary. I'm fine, I can still work." Diluc responds. The last thing he needs is another distraction taken away from him. The job he's been assigned here gives him something to do with his free time and he'd rather not lose that if he can't join the others in the ring for the next few days. Sigewinne shakes her head, unaccepting of his protest.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Diluc, but these are not just my orders. Your Grace prohibits people with injuries similar to yours from working, for both your safety and the safety of others. You must rest." she grabs a small cylinder with a white cream inside and sets it on his bedside. "This is antibacterial ointment for your open wounds. Please use this twice a day. We don't want those cuts getting infected!"

Diluc doesn't argue any further, there's no point. Instead, he thanks her for her assistance, walking her to the door. Once he's alone, he grabs his toiletries and makes way to the showers. Diluc washes up quickly, applies his ointment as instructed, and finds his way back to his room, where he spends the rest of the night working on some more sketches and jots down some ideas for future drinks before calling it a night.

He sleeps better than the night before, but still not as great as he liked. When morning comes, he makes his way to breakfast, eating in silence while he thinks about what he's doing to do for the day now that work and the Pankration ring are out of the picture, per Sigewinne and Wriothesley's orders. Diluc visits the library, deciding he will spend the hours up until lunch reading a history book on Fontaine.

About an hour into his time there, he feels like he's being watched. He takes a brief gander at the room,  immediately finding Wriothesley's gaze from the opposite end of the library. Diluc only holds his stare momentarily, a silent yet deliberate message to get his point across - that he knows Wriothesley is there. Then, he breaks away, looking back at the book in his lap, attempting to focus on the words but he can't, his mind distracted. Wriothesley's presence is not easily ignored and it's a tad unsettling, having someone stare him down in a manner which almost feels prodding. The Duke eventually leaves him alone and only then can he return back to the words on the pages. Noon comes sooner than expected and by then, he abandons his book for a meal at the coupon cafeteria. After he eats lunch, he decides to take a stroll through the fortress and later, he makes it back to his room.

It's early in the evening now. Most of the prisoners are either out in the library, finishing up work, or sparring in the ring so Diluc decides to take a shower. Once he's back to his room, he ties his hair into a braid and settles in his chair. Yet, as he picks up his pencil to start a new drawing, there's a knock at his door. When he answers, he had expected to see the Duke but instead, nobody was there. A wary feeling settles over him when finally, a man spins out from behind the other side of the wall. Diluc immediately recognizes him. It was the same inmate he ran into the day before, the Fatui mask in his hand, his face plastered with a sinister smile.

"Didn't see you at work today." the guy spoke first. Diluc's expression remained blank, though his fingers tensed around the door. Suspicion prickles throughout his body, the hairs on the back of his neck standing.

"You need to leave." He remarks before moving to close the door in the guy's face when his hand shot out to stop it, slamming against the metal. Immediately, he swung and Diluc ducked out of the way only for his space to be crowded with two other men, larger than he was. They forced their way in, pushing Diluc back and two others followed before the guy he met yesterday entered. Diluc stumbles, a sharp pain spiking through his side as he's dragged back into his room. His bruised ribs protest at the sudden jolt, forcing him to exhale slowly to keep himself steady. As the two men hold him in place, Diluc remains complacent, choosing not to fight - not yet. The prisoner who threatened him yesterday closes the door, twisting the lock in place before slowly turning to look at Diluc.

"Do you know who I am?" Diluc didn't respond. He didn't care. "Because, I know who you are."

The tycoon's eyes narrowed. He didn't fight, nor did he speak. He just looked the man up and down, then at the others in the room. If he plays his cards right, he may be able to get out of this. He takes a slow breath, forcing himself to ignore the throbbing in his ribs.

It’s worse than he thought, a deep, biting pain which shoots through him with every twist of his body. It’ll slow him down, but it's not enough to incapacitate him. Getting out of this situation without sustaining additional injuries was wishful thinking, but as long as he survived, that's all that mattered. Though he doesn't have a weapon, he did have his vision and with his history in combat, he knows he can hold his own. He's taken on more than this before, even if that was with the assistance of knives and his claymore alongside his vision, or at the time, delusion.

"Master Diluc, head of the Ragnvindr clan, and a well respected nobleman and businessman. You're famous throughout Teyvat. Did you know that?" The man muses as he takes out a small knife, pressing the cool blade against Diluc's jawline. He tilts the tycoon's face up with the weapon before dragging it along the skin, drawing blood from a shallow cut. Though it stings, he doesn't flinch. He maintains eye contact, unamused. He patiently waits for the perfect opportunity to fight, to break free. He won't kill, just incapacitate. He can't be stuck here for longer than a week and murder would probably elongate his sentence.

"For someone held in such high regard, I would say you're undeserving of such respect. For four years, you tortured and slaughtered my comrades - mutilated them like a beast." The man clicks his tongue, shaking his head as he calmly paces before Diluc. "I am going to do the same to you." the prisoner stops in his tracks, points at him with the blade, a bloodthirsty glimmer in his eyes. "I'm going to tear you apart piece by piece, just like you did to my friends - like you did to my dear, older brother."

The inmate shoves his free hand into his pocket, dragging out a pendant of a bear claw. Diluc immediately recognizes it. He's seen a similar pendant long ago during his rampage through Teyvat. It belonged to a Fatui Agent he came across during those years - a now dead Fatui Agent.

"This look familiar?" The man holds it up to his face, the metal glittering in the lights which surround his room. "My eldest brother had the same necklace, a gift from our beloved mother before she passed from Eleazar when we were children. Ring any bells?"

"Yeah." the nobleman finally speaks, a small smile playing at the edges of his lips. "I remember it. I remember watching it burn, along with your brother's corpse when I was through with him."

"You fucking asshole-" The inmate, consumed with his rage acts impulsively upon his emotions, lunging at Diluc just as he suspected he would. The tycoon moves quickly, using all his body weight to haul the prisoner holding his left, crashing him into the younger brother. His ribs strain from the sudden strenuous movement, causing him to grit his teeth as he forces himself to ignore the pain which sears throughout his body. He smashes his foot down hard onto the other man who held him, the crack of his boot against the bones echoing through the room.

The brother and the first man go tumbling to the ground, the other yelping out in pain as his grip on the tycoon falters, allowing him to wrench his arm away. Now free, Diluc raises his hands at both of his recoiling captors, a powerful molten feeling traveling throughout the nerves in his body as he calls upon his vision. Flames erupt from his hands, searing the faces of both men. The nobleman's palms sting from the heat but he ignores the discomfort as his attackers scream out in agony, shying away from Diluc's assault. The familiar scent of burnt flesh fills the room.

There's a reason Diluc wears gloves - to protect his skin from his own abilities. Weapons work as a conduit to focus and control his elemental abilities, and without them, the flames are harder to manage. He's suffered from burns before when he's used his abilities without such tools to infuse it with, or without his gloves, thick and fireproof. Regardless, his survival matters more than his palms, which may scar but would heal in time.

The two other large prisoners that entered the room and stood by began to make their move. Diluc avoids one of them before roundhouse kicking the other in the back of the legs, forcing him to the ground. The second one came at him once more, this time with a knife and he ducked out of the way at the last minute. Diluc seizes the man's wrist in a vice-like grip quickly, his movements controlled. A sharp pivot, and his elbow crashes down, forcing the blade loose. Without hesitation, in one fluid motion, he snatches the knife and drives it into the side of the man’s neck, slicing clean through the carotid artery. Blood spurts in a hot arc, painting his face but Diluc doesn't flinch. It’s already over. He ignores the disgusting wet gurgling sounds the man makes as he chokes to death on his own blood, shifting his focus to the other inmate.

This was supposed to be simple, incapacitate and escape. But now? Survival takes precedence, the familiarity of it coursing through his veins. There is no room for mercy, there never is on a battlefield.

He grips the man’s hair, tilting his head back, watching the pulse thrum beneath his throat. A clean cut - quick, efficient and then he'll be gone. While the one man struggles to breathe, staggering around on his last pathetic seconds of life, Diluc gathers the hair of the man he kicked to the floor and whips his head back. Without a thought, he harshly drags the blade along his neck, effortlessly slicing his throat. Diluc lets him crumple to the ground unceremoniously with a thud, another pool of blood painting the metal floor. He was prepared to look around for the younger brother who wasn't yet incapacitated when a blur from the corner of his eye caught his attention but at that point, it was too late.

Diluc shifts, ready to dodge, except the pain in his ribs tightens like a vice. For half a second, his movement is halted. That’s all the opening his attacker needs. A sharp, deep pain reverberated through his side as he was stabbed three times before he finally reacts, grabbing the man's wrist and sending a burst of flames through his sensitive skin, cooking the brother's skin along with his own. He swung with his other hand at the man, but his ability had been slowed as blood soaked through his shirt and pain seared through his body. His vision was beginning to become spotty, his head felt light and thus, the man was able to move out of the way from his sluggish attack, letting the bloody knife go unnoticed as it clattered on the floor. He punches Diluc in his bruised ribs, knocking the air from his lungs which causes him to hunch before shoving him to the ground.

Diluc lands on his back, his head smacking the cold metal floor in the process. His vision go white before slowly returning to him. A heavy weight settles on his stomach as he fights to catch his breath, and when he could finally see clear again, he was met with his attacker's wild eyes and crazed smile.

"Name is Xander, by the way. I figured you should have a name to the last face you're ever going to see." the man, Xander, mused before closing his hands around Diluc's throat. The tycoon first grabs his wrist, attempting to pry his hands off when he hears loud banging and a shout from the other side of his door.

"Mr. Ragnvindr! Open this door right now!" the voice sounds far away as the shadows clouding his vision become stronger. Diluc's lungs burn for oxygen, his head thrums in pain and he lets one of the man's wrists go as he begins to search the floor with an open, bloody palm. Fire licks at his other hand which is still wrapped around Xander's wrist, burning through the skin but his attacker doesn't let up, grimacing through the burn. When it becomes too much to bare, he pulls Diluc's head up and slams it back down onto the cold floor, repeatedly until the tycoon's grip goes lax, the flames of his element withering away.

Diluc's vision is failing him, his sight blurry and the painful thudding in his head only grows. He can hear muffles outside his door but he can't make out the words over the high pitch ringing in his ears. His lungs scream for air as exhaustion begins to liquify his muscles. Darkness pools at the edges of his vision, slowly creeping inward. He can feel his heartbeat hammering frantically against his ribs. He swipes the floor blindly. Nothing. His grip weakens.

Then he feels it against his searing skin: cold steel .

Immediately, he realizes it's the knife. He grabs the handle and doesn't waste a second more, burying the bloody blade into Xander's inner thigh before pulling it loose and throwing it across the room. Blood spurts out from the wound, spraying the tycoon in the face. Diluc knows in that moment he hit the femoral artery. Xander's hands finally let up from his throat and he rolls off Diluc's body, who gasps and chokes for air, his lungs searing.

A few loud thuds come from the other side of his door and he turns his head, only to flinch as the door falls from its hinges. It slams into the metal floor with a loud bang, the shockwave from the impact reverberating through the tycoon's body. He barely feels it, just as he barely felt the cold rush of air that was shot into his face from the collision. His conscious begins to fade, the black which pooled in the corners now begins to flood his vision. He can barely make out a large, gray figure as it rushes toward him. He can hear his name called out in a familiar voice but it sounds so distant.

He can't find the energy in him to respond, though a hint of sea salt, metal, and bergamot earl gray tea wafts over him. It's almost comforting...

...and then everything he sees, everything he feels afterwards is nothing.

-ˋˏ ༻───── ❧⋅♡⋅☙ ─────༺ ˎˊ-

Diluc groans, his eyes squeezing tightly together as a bright light blinds him from behind his eyelids. His head thrums, his body aches and sharp pulses of pain burn through his nerves. He opens his eyes slowly, blinking away the blindness until his vision returns to him fully. He realizes he's not in his room - he's somewhere unfamiliar, secluded in a bed, shirtless. His abdomen is wrapped firmly with clean bandages and Diluc then realizes he's in the infirmary.

He moves to sit up so he can get a better look of his surroundings when a strong hand wraps around his shoulder.

"Easy there, phoenix. You took quite the beating. You don't want to rip your stitches." a familiar voice comes from beside him. Diluc turns to it, looking up, only to be met with dark blue eyes staring back down at him. They look exhausted, heavy bags drooping from below them. "Sigewinne patched you up and she's got you hooked to an IV of Hydrotherapy but it's going to take some time until you're fully healed."

Diluc lets himself fall back on his bed without argument and Wriothesley lets go of him, returning to his seat next to his bed. Diluc observes him.

"How long have I been out?"

"About a day. What's the last thing you remember?" Diluc pauses, digging through his memories as he takes a moment to piece them together. The last thing he remembers is...

... the smell of salt, metal, and tea-

"You." the words slip out before he can catch himself. His eyes widen and the tips of his ears betray him as they burn up. Wriothesley chuckles and Diluc forces his head away, focusing his eyes to the ceiling instead of the weight of the Duke's piercing gaze. He can feel his face grow hotter. "I meant the sight of you. My vision was blurry by then so I couldn't..." he trails off, opting to not embarrass himself further.

"Relax, Diluc. You had a pretty serious concussion. They really did a number on you. I asked to see if there were any lingering issues."

"So... how long has my sentence been extended?" Diluc asks as he turns back to look at him. Wriothesley cocks an eyebrow, puzzled by his question. "I murdered three people."

"Yes, out of self defense. Your sentence isn't being extended." Diluc is about to respond when a knock comes from his door. His gaze flicks to the sound and in comes Sigewinne, who smiles at him before her eyes widen in surprise as they land on Wriothesley.

"Oh, you're still here?" She speaks to the Duke as Diluc's stare flicks to Wriothesley. He wants to ask how long he's been here but he figures he'll do that later. Sigewinne walks over to the bed, inspecting the near empty IV bag before turning to Diluc.

"I am going to check your wounds. How are you feeling? Any pain or discomfort?"

"I'm fine, thank you." Diluc responds, watching as the Melusine nurse peels back his bandages. She only briefly observes his stitches before covering them back up.

"Hmm... well if that changes, please let me know. I'm going to grab another bag of Hydrotherapy from the infirmary. Your wounds look fine but I advise bed rest for the day. Afterwards, you can walk around but no strenuous activities and definitely no fighting." Diluc nods before he fully processes what Sigewinne has said however, by the time he's able to react, she's already made her way out the door. Now, he turns to Wriothesley.

"I thought I was in the infirmary?"

"Well, sort of. You're being kept in a secluded room in my barracks. Two of the men who attacked you are being treated in the burn unit. Xander also has two other siblings here, serving sentences in the fortress. While they're currently under strict observation and awaiting questioning, I don't want to take any risks." Diluc's lips press together at the mention of Xander's other siblings, his thoughts flicking back to the night he was attacked. He only retaliated to avenge his eldest brother, a brother Diluc murdered during his travels. Was Wriothesley aware of this?

"Did you know?" Diluc narrows his eyes.

"Why they attacked you?"

"Yes. Did you know?" Wriothesley shakes his head. Diluc believes him. He didn't see any names mentioned in the report but then again... there would be no point. He doesn't remember how many soldiers he slaughtered. Hell, he doesn't even know the names of all of them. He never bothered to ask and the ones he did know was only because of overheard chatter when he would scope out their camps before striking. There are faces he can't recall either. However, he does remember the heat. Their screams. The smell of their burning flesh. The silence that followed their agonizing deaths.

"No, I wanted to ask you about that."

"Il Dottore, codename The Doctor. Second of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers and probably the worst of them all." Diluc says his name like its poison. It leaves a foul taste in his mouth, his face grimacing just at the thought of him. "His research exceeds any and all of his moral values, if he has any to begin with. He'll experiment on anyone he can get his hands on, though he prefers children and he prefers them alive. During my travels, I caught wind of a case here in Fontaine - a string of missing children. Xander's eldest brother was kidnapping them, gifting them to the Harbinger. I tore him apart in my quest for information, and he confessed to the crimes in the process. By the time I was finished with him, he was unrecognizable. I didn't bother to quickly put him out of his misery. Instead, I let the flames take him. He was just one of many during those four years. Xander attacked me to avenge his brother's death."

Wriothesley doesn't say anything. He doesn't offer any comfort, not that Diluc needs it anyways. He doesn't feel guilty - he doesn't feel anything. He did what he had to do and it shaped him into who he is today, for better or worse, an answer he's trying to figure out on his own.

"Xander took after his brother. He's serving life for trafficking children, as are his other two siblings." the Duke finally speaks. Diluc doesn't look at him, his gaze focused on the bandage on his abdomen. He doesn't say anything, either.

A knock comes from the door.

"Mr. Diluc?" Sigewinne calls from the other side of the door.

"Yes, come in." the Melusine does just that, carrying another IV in her hands. She offers him a bright smile before quickly getting to work, replacing the old bag with the new. "Let the Duke know if you need anything more. I'll come back to check on you in about an hour."

As she opens the door, she turns around to address Wriothesley.

"There is a guard outside your office requesting to speak with you, your Grace."

"Great, I'll be down momentarily." he nods and she takes her leave. Wriothesley turns back to Diluc. "Well, duty calls. I'll bring lunch over when I'm through. Get some rest." He nods and Diluc returns the shake of his head. As the Duke begins to depart, he pauses before opening the door, looking back at the tycoon over his shoulder. A slow smirk forms on his lips. "So... I smell like sea salt, metal, and tea, eh?"

Then, he disappears, letting the door close behind him, leaving Diluc wide-eyed as realization burns through his body. He said that out loud?

-ˋˏ ༻───── ❧⋅♡⋅☙ ─────༺ ˎˊ-

Wriothesley studies the woman who sits at the table, his arms crossed along his chest. One of Xander's siblings, the only sister of the family. She doesn't look at him, her terrified gaze trained to the metal table which she sits at. The weight of his presence is heavy in the room, suffocating.

"Let’s get one thing straight. The Fortress does not play by Fontaine’s laws. You are serving life, but that sentence can be shortened. Permanently . Understood?" Wriothesley warns, his tone laced with venom. She nods frantically.

"Y-yes, your Grace."

"Did you know about Xander's plan to murder one of the prisoners?" he cuts straight to the point. Diluc may as well be sleeping, but he's only got an hour till lunch is served. The nobleman hasn't ate for a day so he's bound to be hungry, and Wriothesley intends to bring him food, as he said he would.

"Yes."

"Yes?" he cocks an eyebrow, unfolding his arms quietly, taking his seat in a measured motion - no wasted effort, no unnecessary words. Power, after all, is best wielded in restraint. Linking his fingers together as he places them upon the table, the Duke observers her. She doesn't lift her gaze to look at him, flinching ever so slightly when he leans in closer. "Look at me."

She obeys.

"You knew, and you didn't report this?"

"I tried to talk him out of it. I told him it was a bad idea, that he could - would get caught or - or killed! He dismissed me, promising he wouldn't do anything foolish. I thought he would take my advice..." she stutters out, closing her eyes as a sigh falls from her lips. He doesn't respond, not right away, instead, he observes her, her body language.

Her breath is uneven, shallow, like she’s trying to shrink into herself. There is no flicker of defiance, no shifting eyes searching for an escape route. He’s seen lies woven before, and she is not weaving one now.

She's telling the truth.

Regardless, he's pissed. Diluc nearly lost his life. He was in critical condition when Wriothesley brought him to Sigewinne, any later and he wouldn't have made it. She said Diluc was lucky that he got there in time. He lost a lot of blood, had a serious concussion, and though she promised he would make a full recovery, it would take a few days of medical care.

Diluc was under his care - his watch. Though he kept tabs on all of those who resided in the fortress, the nobleman felt like a special case. He's not yet pinpointed why, that is...

"Hmm." Wriothesley stood from where he sat, not looking back at the woman as he neared the door of the interrogation room. "I'll be in touch. For now, a guard will escort you to and from your room and wherever you choose to go until I clear you."

Wriothesley leaves her alone and enters the next interrogation room where they were keeping the other sibling. The air shifts upon his entrance. Though he's not as terrified as Cavana, the sister, he's nervous. However, his answer was similar to hers and even corroborated the sister's story.

Xander had invited both of them to his plan but they both refused. He had assured both of them he wouldn't do anything to get in trouble, and Wriothesley could tell that he, too, was telling the truth. He relayed the same information to the brother, informing him he would be under strict supervision and would be escorted to and from his room until he, too, was cleared. Only then did he take his leave. He talked to both of the guards posted outside the rooms, informing them of the news and then made way to the coupon cafeteria.

Wriothesley met with Cuistot, exchanged some quick pleasantries and retrieved the plates he special ordered. He thanked him before departing, making way back to his office and toward the secluded infirmary room where Diluc was left to rest. The Duke knocked lightly at the door before opening it, only to find the tycoon asleep. He set the food down on the table next to the bed before turning to look at Diluc.

The steady rise and fall of his breath, the absence of strain in his features... it is a stark contrast to the man Wriothesley has come to know. Awake, Diluc is guarded, every movement calculated, his fire tempered beneath years worth of discipline.

The nobleman's stoicism is flawless when conscious. He's unreadable to most... but Wriothesley knows better. As the Duke, he's mastered the art of reading people. He knows that beneath his quiet controlled demeanor, there is something fierce. His eyes, a deep, smoldering crimson - both beautiful and unforgiving, defy him. They carry the weight of his resolve... and when tested, Wriothesley has no doubt that fire rages, utterly consuming. But he sees more than that in Diluc, hiding behind the flames, behind the nonchalance. He noticed it when he had first met him, and his suspicion was confirmed when he had crowded his space just the other night. He saw it in the way his breath caught in his throat, the way his muscles tensed but not out of discomfort. The nobleman may have mastered the art of impassivity, but he cannot control the subtle ways his body reacts to his wants which have seemingly gone disregarded for an extended amount of time.

He didn't intend to crowd his space like that at first, but his curiosity for the tycoon had gotten the better of him that evening... and the way Diluc had stood in the corner of that room, unmoved by Wriothesley's little power play had only spurred him on. He's spent his life down here observing people, learning what drives them. He's inclined to know how they respond to threats and to fear. He understands rage, he's seen it. It consumes - burns through people, through rationale like a wildfire, leaving nothing but ashes and cinders in its wake. He wanted to test it, see if that heat Diluc carries within him would waver under his cold weight. However, it didn't. There wasn't any resistance, only a simmer of something else... and that unsettled him more than he would care to admit.

He brushed off the feeling at first, but when a guard rushed in the next night, reporting a commotion in the nobleman’s chambers, his thoughts went straight to Diluc. He didn't stay to order the fellow guards. He rushed out of there like a bat out of hell, holding the tycoon's unconscious bloody body as he rushed to Sigewinne. It should have been routine. An injured prisoner taken to medical care. Yet, there had been nothing routine about the way he moved - about the way his heart pounded harder than it should have, as if the urgency was personal. He couldn't shake the way she looked at him, either. Confused, worried, not just for the nobleman but for him, too. She told him she's never seen him so... worked up over an inmate. He brushed it off at the time but now that things have settled, he can't help but think back on it.

He could've easily told one of the fortress guards to deliver Diluc to her, but he took it upon himself without a second thought. Could anyone blame him, though? There was a reason the nobleman was so sought after in Mondstadt, in a lot of the nations by the people who have heard of him. Despite his displeased demeanor and the matter-of-fact tone which he speaks in, he's got an energy around him that is just... warm. He holds himself, presents himself in a collected manner. As expected from a well respected business man and fear inducing warrior. Yet, something else hides within him, and it's piqued the Duke's interest.

Wriothesley's thoughts reel back to the sight of the room after he had dropped Diluc off at the infirmary. Sigewinne said she'd call for him when she had him stabilized and as the Duke, he had an incident to clean up so he had made his way back to the man's chambers, where the guards stood awaiting orders. Only then did he really observe the aftermath of the attack and he had wished he was there to see it all.

The room reeked of scorched flesh and iron, thick and suffocating. Blood pooled in uneven streaks, painting the floor like war-torn ground. The heat had still lingered, the ghost of his flames carved into the air. Diluc was a skilled fighter, fierce and unforgiving in his methods. Wriothesley had overheard chatter from Roussimoff and other inmates about Diluc and his victories in the Pankration ring. They said he was quick, calculated, and brutal. The aftermath of the room and the bodies left behind, alongside the photos of his victims which documented his escapades throughout Teyvat only supported the claims. That night, he took five men on without a weapon of his own, only a vision and sheer determination. Not that he would need a weapon, he was one. He wasn't just skilled in hand-to-hand combat - he was dangerously smart. It was respectable, and it came as no surprise to Wriothesley that the Harbingers chose to get involved after his rampage across the seven nations.

Wriothesley reaches out, gently touching one of the loose strands of Diluc's blazing hair. Something about him was just magnetic. Bright red eyes which hold the weight of his past, long, thick flame kissed eyelashes to frame them. Head full of hair to match. He always seemed to wear it tied back and the Duke wonders what it would look like undone, framing his face. He stands out in any room he's in, and not just because of the vibrant color of his hair. His presence commands attention, even in silence.

Diluc shifts in the bed and immediately, the Duke pulls his hand away, letting the blazing strand of hair he was twiddling with fall back in place gently amongst his face. He watches for a moment, expecting Diluc to wake but the nobleman's eyes don't open. He remains still, the steady rise and fall of his chest undisturbed. Wriothesley exhales, slower than he should and settles into the chair beside Diluc's bed, exhaustion heavy in his bones, weighing down his limbs. Sleep doesnt come easily for him, his thoughts linger on everything (or the one person) that has led up to this moment.

Diluc Ragnvindr. It's a name spoken with admiration. A man of unwavering principle, forged in both blood and fire - someone who doesn't yield, doesn't break... yet, here he is, asleep and vulnerable, unwound in a way he would never allow himself to be while conscious. Wriothesley has seen many warriors during his time, countless men hardened by conflict but none who soared with the weight of their existence quite like the phoenix.

His gaze flicks from Diluc's face to his hands. The IV Hydrotherapy mixed with burn ointment has done wonders to heal the burns the man suffered during his attack but not for the old scars that kiss the skin of his wrists. Still, for hands crafted for battle, for survival, they look soft. Exhaustion finally settles, thick and unavoidable. He tilts his head back in the chair and despite his lingering thoughts, his heavy eyelids force themselves closed.

-ˋˏ ༻───── ❧⋅♡⋅☙ ─────༺ ˎˊ-

Diluc's eyes fluttered open, met with the familiar infirmary room when he first awoke from his unconsciousness. A soft snore cut through the deafening silence and he turned his head to the sound, met with the sight of the Duke fast asleep in the chair next to his bed. Despite Wriothesley's intense demeanor, a powerful presence that effortlessly instills fear and respect in any room he's in, he looks rather soft when he's asleep.

A soft knock comes from his door, which creaks open. Sigewinne peeks her head in and smiles.

"Come in." he says rather quietly, careful to not disturb Wriothesley's slumber. Diluc couldn't shake the feeling he was left with when he saw the exhaustion within the Duke's eyes earlier. Sigewinne is silent as she enters the room, barely making a noise as she sets her things down before briefly sparing Wriothesley a look. She shakes her head as a gentle sigh escapes her.

"He hasn't slept since he brought you to me." She says gently as she watches the Duke. Something warm blossoms in Diluc's chest at the thought of that, quickly followed by a pang of guilt. "Is there something going on between the two of you?"

Diluc is caught off guard at the bluntness of her question, though it sounds rather innocent. His eyes widen and his ears burn. He's glad his hair covers them.

"No. Besides, isn't there a law that prohibits fornication between inmate and the Duke?" he asks rather calmly, despite his lightly flushed features. Sigewinne digs through her medical bag, grabbing a stethoscope and another bag of the IV Hydrotherapy.

"The laws in the Fortress are different. I don't believe there is a rule on that." she responds before putting on the scope and motioning him to sit up. He does so, but not without a huff and a grimace as a sharp ache rolls through his body. Sigewinne looks at him with concern as she hands him a remote, which allows him to control the bed. He raises the head up so he can rest against it. The cold metal of the stethoscope presses to Diluc's chest as she instructs him to take slow, deep breaths, listening intently on the sound of his heart and lungs. Afterwards, she inspects his stitches. Then, she begins to fiddle with the IV line, replacing the empty bag with the new. "Are you in any pain? Any discomfort?"

"No." Diluc assures the Melusine. Sure, his muscles ache and he feels sore, but nothing he can't handle on his own. If Sigewinne doesn't believe him, she doesn't show it.

"You know, he didn't leave your side the entire time you were unconscious. Took it upon himself to clean the blood from your hands and face, too. He sat right there otherwise, with you." Diluc is about to respond when a yawn cuts through his thoughts, drawing both his attention and the nurse's. They look at Wriothesley, who stretches with a groan before his eyes flutter open. Instantly, they land on Diluc's, pausing for a moment that feels a bit too long before shifting to Sigewinne.

"Who didn't leave what?" he asks, his voice gruff, still thick with sleep - an octave lower than it usually is. It's almost melodic, smooth as it cuts through Diluc's thoughts.

"Oh, nothing your Grace. You shouldn't sleep in a chair like that, you'll get a kink in your neck." Sigewinne smiles, packing up her belongings. She turns back to the nobleman. "Your wounds are healing nicely. I'll be back to check on you later, Mr. Diluc. Please get more rest and let one of us know if you're feeling any pain or discomfort."

Diluc watches as she takes her leave and once the door closes behind her with a quiet click, he turns to look at the four boxes of what smells like food next to his bed. His stomach betrays him, a grumble piercing through the silence of the room and the Duke stands, gathering up three of the boxes.

"I'll go warm these up." and he leaves Diluc alone. The nobleman stares at the door before his gaze falls to his hands, which rest in his lap. The silence in the room feels heavier, Sigewinne's words swirling around in his head, repeating over and over. Wriothesley sat by him the entire time. He stayed up to watch him, to wait for him to wake and not out of duty or protocol, but simply because he chose to. He doesn't realize he's been mindlessly fiddling with some loose threads of his blanket until the sound of the door pulls him from his head. Wriothesley walks back in, this time with extra plates, napkins, utensils... and a folder.

"A guard found these." he finally says after he sets the food down, placing the folder in Diluc's lap. The tycoon tentatively opens it, revealing the contents: his sketches. Thankfully, the drawing of Vennessa was the first of the pile. He traces his fingers delicately along the familiar strokes of graphite. A pencil rolls from beneath the papers onto his lap. Diluc sets it in the fold before shutting it closed, opting to not go through the stack any further, especially with the Duke in the room with him. Though he's seen the piece of the bird, Diluc isn't really one to share his drawings. They're personal to him. He sets the folder on the bedside table before eyeing the now opened boxes of food.

"That looks better than what they serve at the coupon cafeteria." he voices his observations, his stomach growling once more. If Wriothesley heard it, he thankfully doesn't comment on it, putting small portions of each dish onto a new plate. Diluc can feel his mouth salivating at the rich aroma wafting from his meal.

"Being the Duke has its perks. Duck confit, bulle sauce duck breast, and a garlic baguette. All special ordered. Then for dessert, we've got cake: La Lettre de Focalors." he offers a warm smile as he hands Diluc the plate, a napkin and utensils alongside it. The nobleman thanks him as he takes his food, balancing it in his lap. Diluc is about to take a bite when Wriothesley leaves the room. He's puzzled, seeing that there's a second plate and set of utensils but they remain empty, unused.

Shrugging the strange feeling off his shoulders, he cuts into the bulle sauce duck breast and takes a small piece into his mouth. His eyes flutter closed as the rich taste of duck, complimented with the sweet tang of bulle sauce explode on his tongue. The duck is tender, cooked perfectly and the tycoon can't help the small sigh of content that forces its way through his nostrils. The taste of the food brings warmth into him and it spreads through his body, like embers reigniting. His mind is so occupied with the different, powerful flavors that he doesn't even hear the door open.

"Do you need a moment?" Wriothesley's deep voice pulls him from his head. Diluc's eyes shoot open as his face warms slightly from the embarrassment which travels through him like fire. The Duke is holding two bottles of water between his arm and two cups of what the tycoon smells to be bergamot earl gray tea in his hands, the hot beverage letting off wisps of steam... but he isn't paying mind to that. He isn't watching the beverages, he's watching him. "Do you like tea?"

"Yes." Wriothesley places one of the cups and bottles on the bedside table, near Diluc, before setting his own beverages down alongside them. He helps himself to a plate of food silently afterwards, and then takes his seat once more, next to Diluc's bed. The nobleman watches him for a moment, a moment too long. The Duke looks up at him as he takes a bite, pausing once his mouth has closed. Diluc shifts a bit, feeling vulnerable under the weight of his gaze. "I appreciate all you've done but you don't have to stay here and eat with me. Don't you have paperwork to do... or something?"

The Duke chews his food slowly - unhurried, almost like he's deep in thought. Yet, his gaze does not move from where it rests on Diluc's face, unwavering. The nobleman wants to look away. He should, everything in his body tells him to... but there's a glint in Wriothesley's eyes that keeps his attention tethered to him, despite how heavy, how intruding his gaze feels. He swallows and Diluc can't help it, his eyes flicks down to watch the bob of the man's throat.

"I've had enough cold dinners alone in my life. Humor me, just this once. You can ask me to leave, if that is truly what you want." He finally speaks, the tone low and gruff. It pierces through the heavy silence that weighs the room down and Diluc can feel the air between them shift. He can't shake the burning feeling that travels through his body when he meets the Duke's gaze. Wriothesley looks at him like he wants to unravel him, read between every line of his carefully put together persona. "Well?"

"No, it's fine. You can stay."

"Do you want me to?"

Diluc doesn't answer. Such a simple sentence but it settles on his mind like a heavy weight. He puts another delicately sliced piece of duck in his mouth, opting to chew instead of speak. He's no longer looking at Wriothesley, his eyes forcefully trained on his meal which sits on his lap. It's delicious, but it doesn't send the same feeling of warmth, of comfort throughout his body in comparison to the presence of the Duke.

"Answer me, Master Diluc." His words - the use of his title falling from Wriothesley's lips from the first time startles him but he doesn't show it, not entirely. He can't help the way his ears burn or the way his cheeks warm at the sound of it, especially coming from the Duke. His voice almost sounds sweet, a touch mocking. His eyes flick over to Wriothesley face, finding he is still observing him. He hadn't looked away the whole time, but Diluc knows that. He could feel his gaze on him, like it was a warm hand, reaching out.

"Don't. It's just Diluc." he says, softly. A pause, he swallows, then speaks again. "But to answer your question... yes."

Wriothesley's gaze lingers on him for a moment before shifting his focus to his food. Diluc does the same, forcing his eyes away so he can eat. The room hasn't changed, it's the same space, but the air feels different. It feels thicker, charged with an unexplainable energy. He tries to focus on his meal, the precise cut of his knife through the tender duck meat, the swirl of the bulle fruit sauce along his plate but the richness of the food doesn't quite interest him. The warmth of dinner fills him, but it doesn't consume his thoughts, not the way the Duke's presence does.

"You hesitated." Wriothesley's voice interrupts his thinking. Diluc turns to look at him, brows furrowing just slightly.

"Hesitated with what?"

"When I asked if you wanted me to stay." Diluc looks down at his food, away from the Duke's piercing eyes. He can't help how exposed he feels when Wriothesley looks at him with such intensity, a force equal to Diluc's ferocity during battle, the blazing of his flames when he calls upon his element. He flicks at one of the pieces of duck, moving it around on his plate.

"I was answering honestly." he finally finds it in him to speak. Wriothesley moves to grab his cup of tea, taking a slow sip from the hot beverage. It draws the tycoon's attention back to him but his eyes aren't on the drink, they're still glued to Diluc. He sets the cup down when he's through with it, the sound of the glass teacup settling along the plate louder than it is. Perhaps it's just the silence between the two of them that feels too taut, heavy with things neither of them would name.

"Why did it feel like you were deciding?"

Diluc takes another bite of his food, chewing slower than he usually would as he uses the time to sort out his thoughts. He did hesitate, paused, because he felt something stir that he's spent years ignoring - his heart. Since the death of his father and the fight between he and his brother, he's lived his life in seclusion. He's hidden himself away, ignored the more human aspects of himself. He's convinced himself that loneliness is peace, forced himself to find solace in it. In his line of work, there is no room for heart, for comfort. It's kill or be killed, no such thing as mercy. So he learned not to flinch because his enemies won't. He mastered the art of his element in its cruelest manner, cleansing but final... and his flames don't choose what to eat away at, they just burn - painfully so.

Yet, when Wriothesley asked him if he wanted him to leave or stay after the mention of lonesome cold dinners, it reminded him of his own loneliness that he's carried wordlessly for years, that he'd forced upon himself. Since he returned to Mondstadt after his rampage, a changed man, most people left him alone, afraid of treading on sensitive topics while others, he made leave - for either their sake or his own. He had grown exhausted of those around him holding onto the person he was before he had disappeared, reminding him of the life he could've had - should've had. He had grown tired of people reminding him of the person he once was, a naive boy, who's now been consumed by fire and forged into someone else, cruel and violent. He doesn't wish to scar those he cares for with his flames the way he has himself, so he keeps himself guarded and maintains his distance. During his travels, solitude had become a familiar companion, so being alone came easily. Yet, it has also drained him. After so long, secluded, in fire and ash, he's forgotten what it feels like to be accompanied by someone who doesn't want to fix him... but rather just be.

Just as he's forgotten what it's like to listen to his heart, heavy with all the things he wants but has ignored over the years.

Despite his thoughts, he can't find the words. He lowers his fork, gaze raising to look at Wriothesley only to find him is still observing, waiting. There's something tangible in the way he looks at Diluc and it's disorienting.

"It's complicated. I just didn't know what to say." he pauses, "I've made peace with being alone, I suppose."

"Peace and loneliness aren't the same thing, Diluc." Wriothesley responds, gently, but it feels like a knife to the gut. He looks away from the Duke, almost ashamed, and the food no longer feels all that appetizing. Still, he forces himself to take another bite. "Tell me, what was it like growing up in Mondstadt with a name like yours? Seems like people would expect a lot from you."

"They did. Some of them still do." He says quietly, his thoughts flicking back to his past. "I used to believe I owed it to them, especially my father... but things have changed."

He thinks back on his childhood. His father was never able to become a Knight, told him the god's had different plans for him... but young Diluc, who craved his dad's validation was more than willing to do whatever it took to join the forces. To make up for that. He was gifted his vision when he was 10, and he'll never forget the look of pride on Master Crepus's face when he told him. At 14, he became the youngest ever Cavalry Captain for the Knights of Favonius.

Then came his 18th birthday... and the trajectory of his life changed entirely that evening. He closes his eyes, the image of his dying father still clear as day. He swears he can still smell the rain, the scent of death which lingered around Master Crepus. He remembers watching the light leave his father's eyes when he took his life, put him out of his misery. He was suffering, and Diluc couldn't bare watching his father die a slow, painful death. It was a mercy killing, but there was nothing merciful about the feeling Diluc was left with afterwards.

Diluc tells himself his father's death wasn't his fault, but a part of him still carries the blame. If only he was strong enough, if only he had the strength, the knowledge he has now, things might've been different. This guilt, the regret was only amplified when he discovered the truth years later, during his rampage. It was accompanied by disappointment and betrayal, not only in himself, but also, partly, in his own father.

The delusion Master Crepus had wielded, the very thing that had mortally wounded him on that fateful night was originally obtained for Diluc.

" Please, entertain me little bird. How does it feel knowing the truth? How does it feel knowing the very man which fuels this journey of yours did not fully believe in you?"

The words replay in his head, sending the same cold, unsettling feeling to prickle through his skin when he had first heard them from the mouth of the second harbinger. The cruel chuckle that followed, the amused slimy smile he wore as he watched the color drain from Diluc's face made way to the forefront of his mind. His fingers tightened around the fork he forgot he was holding, briefly, before he set the utensil down and stared at his plate.

"You don't have to explain everything. I'm not asking for that." Wriothesley breaks him from his reminiscing, from the memories that plague his mind, memories he tries so desperately to keep at bay. The Duke lifts his cup of tea again, but his eyes remain on Diluc, soft but not pitiful. "But if you ever feel like talking, or not, I'll stay."

Silence settles over the both of them as they eat their dinner. Silence is familiar to Diluc, a companion in his solitude, predicable... but this was different. It's not the type of silence that occupies empty spaces but instead, the kind that lingers when energy between two people have shifted and neither parties acknowledge it. Though his hands are steady as he cuts through his food, Diluc's thoughts are anything but so. The Duke's words leave him with an odd, inexplicable feeling he's not accustom to.

As they finish up their meal, Wriothesley is the first to stand. He cuts the unforgotten cake in half, taking a piece for himself before offering the other slice to the tycoon. Diluc takes with it a small thanks, trading off his now empty plate for the box which the cake came in. The sweet taste of chocolate, paired with the richness of coffee fill his mouth from the first bite. The cake is soft, melting upon his tongue. Diluc usually isn't fond of cake, but this was delicious. Still, it's not powerful enough to distract him from his earlier conversation with Sigewinne, which has plagued his mind the entirety of their meal.

"Sigewinne told me you had stayed... the entire time." Diluc doesn't look at him when he speaks, keeping his gaze trained to his dessert. It's quiet for a moment, Wriothesley isn't looking at him yet... but then he feels it, the caress of his gaze, it's as intense and hard to ignore as his presence in any given environment.

"That surprises you?" he asks, low - sultry. His voice is as rich as the cake Diluc feasts on. The nobleman exhales softly, it's not quite a sigh but it's something close to one. He still doesn't look at the Duke.

"I don't see why you would."

"Because I wanted to." The response burns through him. Diluc doesn't look away from the cake in his lap, delicately cutting another bite sized piece from the slice. "You didn't answer my question."

He brings the piece to his lips, pausing... then, he speaks. Quieter this time. "I suppose it does."

It's the truth. Simple, yet heavy.

They finish their dessert in silence. Both share the same trait, they're men of few words. They say what needs to be said and nothing more... and once he's through with his cake, he tosses the container in the trash next to his bed. He takes a few sips of water to help rid himself of the parched feeling in his mouth, to wash down the lingering sweetness of the cake. In that moment, he decides on a bath. He hasn't washed up in nearly two days, and perhaps it will help rid him of this strange feeling that prickles beneath his skin.

"Where are my clothes?" his brows furrow as he looks at the Duke.

"In the closet, though I doubt they'd be comfortable enough to lounge in." he responds as he stands, making way toward the closet in the corner. He opens it up, grabbing a light gray sweater and sweatpants to match. He hands them to Diluc. "Do you uh.. need help?"

"No. I'm just going to shower." Diluc gently peels the blankets off his warmth. He moves his legs off the bed, grimacing as pain burns through his body from the movement. His ribs ache, every breath feels heavy. His vision goes light and the nobleman blinks it away, taking a deep breath as he waits for the dizzy spell to fade. The cold metal floor pressed against the heat of his bare feet is what grounds him, despite the chill it sends up his spine.

"Are you in pain?"

"No, I'm fine." Wriothesley stalks toward the bed.

"If you're trying to convince me, you need to get better at lying." his tone is softer this time and Diluc looks up at him - a mistake. The way he looks at him doesn't exactly feel invasive, but not exactly comforting either. It bores into him, settles deep in his bones. The deep blue of his eyes reminds him of the cold that follow once the sun has set behind the horizon... and it leaves him with an intense feeling similar to the intensity of chill that doesn't thaw from heat - from a camp fire. A feeling all too familiar to him when he's out at night, roaming the city of Mondstadt. It's unshakable yet, Diluc holds his gaze nonetheless.

"I've dealt with worse." still, Wriothesley doesn't move from where he stands, unconvinced. Diluc looks away, opting to pretend to ignore his presence as he slowly bares more weight on his feet, forcing his body to stand. His muscles scream at him, pain raging through his body like an unattended fire but all Diluc does is clench his jaw.

He'll be fine.

He always is.

The nobleman takes a step, and though weak, he doesn't fall. He does however, falter, feeling a bit off balanced. It's as expected, he's been lying in bed for nearly two days. His limbs feel like jelly yet, the tension in his muscles wound tighter out of discomfort. Still, the second he sways, Wriothesley is reaching out to him to anchor him but before he can touch him, the tycoon glowers at him, red eyes blazing with a warning. There's enough ferocity in his glare that it stops the Duke cold in his tracks.

Wriothesley pulls away, one of his hands delving into his pockets. He pulls something out and holds it out to Diluc. It's a small machine of some sort, a button and what looks to be a speaker on it. He doesn't reach for it, but the Duke's hand doesn't move.

"It's a pager. Press the button if you need assistance." his voice is cold, colder than it was before.

"Who answers?" Wriothesley sets it down on the bed, seeing as Diluc was still uncertain. He moves toward the door, preparing to take his leave.

"I will." and he exits the room, leaving Diluc alone.

The tycoon clicks the stopper on his IV line in place before unhooking it from the catheter in his arm. He grabs some medical tape, covering the opening of the catheter with it before grabbing the clothes Wrothesley left on his bed, along with the pager. He carefully pads into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him as he sets his things down on one of the shelves next to the sink, besides a small bin. Wrothesley or one of the guards must have brought it here from his assigned chambers while he was unconcious because within the container was all of his toiletries he was allowed to bring into the fortress after his sentencing. He pulls the bin down, grabbing his soap before storing it back on the shelf.

Diluc takes a look at his surroudings. There's both a tub and a separate shower with a seat screwed into the wall. A small cupboard is hung above the toilet and Diluc opens it up, finding a few sets of fresh white towels, all of different sizes. He grabs three from the cupboard, one large, one smaller, along with a washcloth. He hangs two of them up on the bars and tosses the washcloth onto the shower seat, his soap following before fully turning his attention to the mirror.

Diluc stares at his reflection. He looks slightly paler than before, his blazing hair an unkept mess, still tied back in a messy braid. Bruises of different colors paint his torso. The one on his left jaw was beginning to fade, as a few others on his chest and stomach, but the ones which hug his ribs on his right are still a mix of deep blue and purple. They ache with every movement he makes. The nobleman leans into the sink, nearing the mirror as he tilts his head back sligtly. There's bruising around his throat from where Xander had his hands. The small, shallow cut the inmate made was already scabbed over, well on its way to healing.

Carefully, he pulls the bandage off his stitches, revealing the three stab wounds he sustained during his attack. He tosses it into the trash before observing Sigewinne's work. Each wound is a bright puffy red, outlined by a blueish purple bruise but they look healthy, the sutures flawless. They'll leave fresh scars once they're fully healed, but Diluc can't complain. What is a few more to the collection that paints his body?

He pulls the tie out from the end of his braid, using his fingers to comb through his hair. He watches himself in the mirror, watches as his flaming hair cascades in soft waves over his shoulder down to his chest, framing his face. Now he really looks at his reflection, a man who has fought for too long, too hard, with little mercy left for himself. Each scar etched into his skin paints a picture. Perhaps history is not just ink on paper.

His muscles ache with every breath, tight with pain but also exhaustion. His blazing eyes stare back at him, almost hollow. Though rich in color, they appear worn - he looks worn. He completely takes himself in, wondering why he doesn't feel anything as he stares at himself, the reflection of a man whose burned so brightly for so long and yet, still has so much to give.

He tears his eyes away from the mirror, unable to look at himself any longer. He turns the water on, waiting only for a few seconds before steam begins to waft from the shower. Only then does he enter, sitting in the spray, closing his eyes as the searing water cascades down on him... washing away his thoughts.

-ˋˏ ༻───── ❧⋅♡⋅☙ ─────༺ ˎˊ-

Wriothesley is quiet as he watches the young woman before him, sitting on the opposite side of his desk. Her folder lays open before him, detailing her past and sentence. Ten years for smuggling weapons, assaulting guards, resisiting arrest. For someone who was such a fighter, she appears timid, afraid. It doesn't come as any surprise. Most are when they're sitting in the hot seat, getting debriefed on their future in the Fortress of Meropide.

This is routine, like checking on an injured prisoner, debriefing new innmates is a normal in Wriothesley's life. Getting a feel as to who they are and now they react when put in difficult situations is just one small part of his job. Afterall, while not all people who reside in the fortress are violent or malicous, there is a handful of them that aren't as kind or forgiving. Yet, this debrief doesn't feel the same as it usually should, and the Duke's thoughts are at fault for that.

No, Diluc is at fault for that.

As he sits at his desk, listening, observing, speaking when necessary but never saying more than what's needed to get his message across, the tycoon lingers in his thoughts. Diluc is fine, his injuries are healing and yet, his mind feels heavier than ever... like something is lurking in the shadows of thoughts, waiting to strike. Regardless, he maintains is carefully crafted composure as the Duke. He's got a reputation to uphold, afterall.

Their conversation is short and once he's said everything that needs to be said, he hands her off to be escorted by one of the fortress guards. Sigewinne enters in that moment, smiling up at him.

"Oh! Is Mr. Diluc asleep?" she asks once the door closes behind her, secluding the two of them in his office. She follows him up the stairs as Wriothesley shakes his head, once more taking a seat behind his desk as he peers at her. The mention of his name - Diluc, has his thoughts circling back to the nobleman... as if he's ever left his mind. He lingers in his thoughts like fresh embers after a fire has gone out, waiting to be brought back to life. Wriothesley should snuff them out, it would be the smarter choice but he's not entirely sure he wants to submerge himself back into the cold depths of his lonesome.

"No, he's in the shower. Do you have any pain medication for him?"

"Now how did you manage to convince him to take his medicine? I would say he's just as stubborn as you are, your Grace." Wriothesley huffs out a breath of air in amusement. Leave it to Sigewinne to voice his faults out loud. Regardless, she is right. Both he and Diluc share some similar traits, their unwillingness to accept help and carefully crafted, carefully controlled demanors being some of many.

"I didn't."

"You know you cannot order people to take their medicine."

"I am aware. I wasn't going to demand he takes it, just..." a pause as he searches for the right word, " encourage ." Wriothesley finishes, grabbing a small piece of paper from the drawers of his desk. Sigewinne chuckles at the thought of that, approaching the desk to which he sits at.

"I fear even your encouragement may come off as demanding, your Grace." Wriothesley doesn't respond, but a small smile does tug at his lips. He writes a few things down on the small piece of letter paper before folding it in half. Setting the pen down on his desk, he hands the folded note off to the nurse. She takes it from him without a word, but her expression is questioning. He doesn't comment on it.

"You're probably right. Just leave this with the bottle of medicine on his bedside table, please." He stands, nearing the door as she begins to make her way toward the elevator. Before he leaves, he turns to look at her. "Are they awake?"

"Yes." the elevator doors close. Wriothesley leaves his office, the thought of Diluc heavy on his mind as he makes his way to the infirmary.

The air in the Fortress of Meropide is cold, much like the unforgiving depths of the ocean. The metal corridors hum with every press of the sea around them. This is nothing new, Wriothesley has grown to be accustom to it, has even found comfort in it. Yet, as he stalks toward the infirmary, the chill feels different, unshakable.

Perhaps its just because he feels hot, rage boiling beneath his skin... or maybe he just feels cold, the icy sensation of vengeance blanketing his nerves the way snow covers a field.

The doors of the burn unit swing open and Wriothesley enters. His eyes settle on two beds beside each other, men laying in each, recovering. They're both hooked up to IVs of Hydrotherapy but only one has an additional machine, which monitors his heart. There's an assistant of Sigewinne's in the room, reading through one of the charts and her eyes widen when she sees Wriothesley but he doesn't turn to look at her, his dangerous gaze settling on the men.

"Leave us." he instructs, sternly. She nods, quickly, and scurries out of the room as fast as she can, like she's desperate to escape an approaching storm. The doors click shut behind her, leaving behind the sounds of steady breathing, the gentle hums of machinery, and the suffocating presence of the Duke.

"Who is that? Who is in the room with us, Hektor?" one of them speaks, his voice worried.

"The Duke." The man, Hektor, responds. Wriothesley asses his chart first, finding he is now blind in his left eye. Diluc's flames had only kissed the side of his face, damaging the one eye in the process. He looks briefly at Hektor, holding his terrified gaze. The inmate doesn't look away from him, but the one eye, widened to saucers, says enough.

He knows what he did.

He knows he's in trouble.

Wriothesley hangs Hektor's chart back up on the hook he grabbed it from before strolling toward the second bed. His roommate and partner in crime, Brett, is not as lucky. The entirety of his upper head is wrapped in bandages and his wounds were more severe. He took the blunt of Diluc's flames and lost his sight in the process. No amount of medical intervention from Sigewinne's part would fix that.

The Duke doesn't feel even the least bit of pity.

"So, which one of you would like to explain yourselves first?" Wriothesley finally speaks, his voice slicing through the silence like a sharp knife. His tone is venemous, laced with controlled fury.

"It wasn't supposed to end like that. Xander lied to us! He told us we were just going to rough him up a bit, not murder him! But then that little shit threated us. He attacked us first - tried to kill us! He did this to me. The nurse said I'll never be able to see again." Brett speaks first, quickly, but Wriothesley doesn't look at him. He doesn't need to because Hektor's eye says everything that Brett isn't. There's a flicker in his gaze, one of fear but also surprise. Its brief, small, barely noticable to any other person.

But Wriothesley isn't just anyone.

The Duke turns to look at Brett and though he cant see his eyes underneath the thick layers of gauze, he can see his mouth - his throat. He swallows hard, his fingers twitching beside his body where his arms lay. Panic causes people to talk too fast, eager to fill silence, to change a mind. Brett spoke like was drowning, grasping for excuses like they were a lifeline that would save him from an inevitable tidal wave.

He approaches Brett in silence, the sound of his heavy boots striking the metal floor causing the prisoner to flinch. He glowers down at him, running his right hand down his tie.

"You were just going to rough him up, is that so ?" he finally speaks, his eyebrows raised. Brett jumps, caught off guard with the proximity of the Duke. He nods, frantically, and his fingers twitch again. Wriothesley's eyes darken, the chill in the room becoming harder to ignore. Then, his hand is around the inmate's throat.

Brett chokes in a gasp and the Duke's fingers tighten against the warm flesh. The man flails widley like a fish out of water, hands flying up to grasp at Wriothesley's wrist but there's no use. He's weak, from both his injuries and the pain medication coursing through his veins. His mouth falls open, attempting to take in air but it's pointless. Wriothesley's grasp is firm, unmoving, pressing tighter with each attempt at resistance. The machine he's hooked to begins to beep widely as Brett's heart rate spikes in fear, growing faster with every passing second.

"Do you know what I hate more than liars?" Wriothesley voice is smooth yet dangerous. "Liars who think I'm stupid." An icy feeling prickles through his body, wisps of frost dancing around his fingertips, which are pressed tightly into the warm skin of the man's neck. He leans in closer to the struggling inmate. "You think losing your sight is punishment enough?" he pauses, deliberately. Brett's fingers dig into his wrists deeper, attempting to break free, to peel Wriothesley's grasp off of him. He's fighting for air - for life, his lips turning blue, the veins beneath his skin bulging. "No, I think we can do better than that."

The chill in the room sharpens, ice kissing the skin of Brett's neck. Wriothesly watches him, relishing in the way he fights pathetically beneath his grasp. A cruel smirk curls onto his face, finding amusement in the way Brett struggles beneath his hold, the weight of the Duke's threat settling over him. The wild beeping of the machine doesn't help ease the discomfort in the room, it only urges Wriothesley on. It's only when the inmate's movements slow, face red and lips blue, his hands beginning to go lax when he lets go. Brett chokes and gargles on his saliva as he fights for air, which has now only been granted to him.

"If you think I'm sparing you, think again. Your sentence was only four years. Now?" Wriothesley pauses, shifting his cold gaze to Hektor, who looks had him with a wild eye. He's terrified, rightfully so. The Duke doesn't spare either of them another glance as he nears the door. "Now, it's as long as I decide it should be. Monsieur Neuvillette will be here tomorrow to discuss these changes with you both."

Wriothesley leaves the infirmary, ignoring the fearful gaze of the assistant he had dismissed earlier. There is no doubt that she heard all of what happened in the room, but he doesn't care. He doesn't even think about that. There's only one thing on his mind, one person which plague his thoughts and that's a nobleman with red hair, who is residing in the infirmary room below his bedroom.

He makes quick work through the winding, vast halls of the fortress, briskly making his way back to his office. He nearly tramples Sigewinne when she's leaving, apologizing for his lack of attention.

"How is he? Is he awake?" he asks, almost a bit too quickly. Sigewinne blinks at him, observing him in a way that leaves him with an unsettling feeling. Whatever she's thinking, she doesn't say outloud, opting to nod her head with a smile. The Duke makes way toward the elevator.

"Yes, he's back in bed. I just got finished wrapping his bandages and replacing his IV. You might be able to catch him before he falls asleep." she remarks. This stops Wriothesley in his tracks, his fingers hovering just above the button to close the doors. He shifts his gaze to look at her. He doesn't need to ask, she already knows. "He got your note. Whatever you wrote seemed to have an effect. He took the medicine."

"Thank you." he nods before pressing into the button. The elevator doors close.

Wriothesly approaches the door. He knocks twice, gently, before listening. There isn't a response. He opens the door a crack, poking his head in to see Diluc in bed. His eyes are closed. The smell of herbal soap and firewood fill his nostrils and he enters the room, letting the door close behind him with a small click.

Wriothesley carefully pads over to the bed where Diluc lays, silent. His chest rises and falls in a steady pace, face void of pain and discomfort. He thinks back on yesterday, when he first saw the man asleep, calm and peaceful and then to earlier, before he left, when he was awake. His eyes full of life, countless emotions hiding behind the crimson of his eyes. There truly was a drastic difference in his appearance when hes asleep in comparison to when he's awake.

His gaze falls to the bedside table, the note he sent up with Sigewinne sitting beside the bottle of pain medication he was prescribed. Spots of ink had bled through into the back of the paper, but not enough to reveal the few words he wrote to Diluc. He's surprised it had an effect, but content with it nonetheless. His eyes shift further, finding the folder which holds the nobleman's art. The papers are discheveled, the pencil on the floor. Wiothesley picks it up, flicking the folder open to put the pencil inside when he's met with a sketch he hasn't seen before.

A drawing of him.

In the sketch, he is asleep, in the chair he sat on earlier in the evening. He picks up the drawing, tracing his fingers delicately over each careful line of graphite. The drawing of him is a stark difference to what he sees in the mirror, when he does look at his reflection. He doesn't look hardened by life, by duty on paper. Instead, he looks soft, like he's found tranquility. Diluc has captured every small detail of him, every scar, down to the last stitching of his clothes all on paper perfectly... as if Wriothesley has been burned into his memory, permanently. Something tightens in his chest, a warm feeling travling from his hands throughought his body as he studies the drawing.

"Oh, you're back." a soft voice comes from beside him, pulling the Duke from his thoughts. Wriothesley carefully places the paper back on the stack, straightneing the rest of the papers along in it, topping it off with the pencil before closing the folder. He turns his attention to Diluc, who looks at him with heavy eyes. He looks exhausted, as expected. The medicine he took earlier was in effect.

"I didn't mean to wake you." Wriothesley responds, fully turning his body, his attention to the tycoon. Diluc only hums, blinking slow. He looks relaxed, like he hasn't put his walls back up. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired." he mumbles. His voice sounds distant. Wriothesley takes his appearance in, eyes searching the man's face. He looks softer, his features unguarded. He doesn't know what comes over him, his hand moving before his mind can stop him to gently brush one of the loose strands of Diluc's hair out of his face. His knuckle brushes gently against the man's cheekbone, soft and warm against the cool roughness of his skin. Something beneath his skin tingles, the air in the room heavy. The Duke becomes hyperaware of the way Diluc breathes, the way his own heart thumps in his chest.

Wriothesley pulls his hand away, clenching his fist briefly once it returns to his side. The absence of Diluc's warmth makes the cold against his skin feel like a bite but he brushes it off.

"Sigewinne told me you were paying a visit to the burn unit."

"I did." he responds, his tone cold as his mind flicks to Brett and Hektor. Diluc mustv'e picked up on his discontent because there's a glint in his eyes as he stares at Wriothesley, a silent question lingering in his gaze. "I didn't kill them."

But you wanted to.

It goes unsaid, the silence between them heavy but Wriothesley can hear it thrumming in his head as if it was spoken aloud. He can see it swirling in Diluc's crimson eyes, the way he looks at him, observing, waiting for the confirmation. Wriothesly pulls the chair closer, opting to take a seat. He pulls at his tie, his gaze never leaving the nobleman's face.

"I should've." he finally admits. Diluc sighs deeply, his eyes falling closed. For a moment, Wriothesley thinks he's succumbed to his exhaustion, that his vulnerability has fallen on deaf ears. He tilts his head back, relaxing against the chair, his gaze focusing on the ceiling of the room.

"Why?" he pauses, Wriothesley's attention falling back to him. He's looking at him again with heavy, droopy eyelids. "Did you think I wasn't going to make it?" Diluc's voice is small, soft, laced with exhaustion. He's on the brink of slumber, though the Duke can hear the fight to stay awake in his tone. The energy in the room feels thick, suffocationg of unspoken tension... and Wriothesley doesn't know how to respond, how to react to the sudden vulnerability that glimmers in Diluc's searching gaze. He knows it's the medication talking, stripping the man of the raging walls of fire he keeps around his heart.

An unsettling feeling delves deep in the pit of Wriothesley's stomach, the pressure becoming harder to ignore with each passing second they look at each other.

"Get some rest, Master Diluc." is all Wriothesley chooses to say, leaning his head back once more on the chair he sits in.

"Hmm." and moments later, the soft sound of Diluc's deep breathing fills the room.

-ˋˏ ༻───── ❧⋅♡⋅☙ ─────༺ ˎˊ-

Diluc is woken from the sound of his door closing, a heavy feeling weighing down his body. His head throbs and he feels groggy, mouth dry. He sits up, a yawn forcing it's way out along with a gentle groan. His head pounds, a barely noticeable ache traveling through his body as he stretches. Sigewinne warned him the pain medication might make him feel sluggish when he first wakes but it would fade within the hour.

He looks around the room, a sweet familiar smell of pancakes complimented by the rich aroma of sausage lingers in his nostrils. He searches for where the scent may be coming from, for answers as to who might've been in his room right before he woke. His eyes land on the box of food next to his bed, a folded piece of paper sitting atop it. Diluc grabs both the food and the letter, opening it up to reveal it's contents. The handwirting is similar to the note Wriothesley left for him yesterday.

I have a meeting with Monsieur Neuvillette to attend. Perhaps you can join me on a walk afterwards. If you're feeling up to it. -W

Diluc folds the paper back up, placing it on the bedside table where he grabbed it from before opening the box of his breakfast. It's fresh, steam wafting up into his face, carrying the sweet smell of pancakes and sausage. His mouth waters at both the sight and scent, his stomach grumbling out in want. He digs into the meal.

The food is warm, filling, but not enough to distract him from his thoughts which grow louder as the silence in the room grows longer. He was exhausted, his memory of last night feels almost like a dream, unreal, but he knows better. Wriothesley's words, the gentle look in his eyes, the annoyance laced in his voice at the mention of Diluc's attackers swirl through his mind.

The Duke never answered his question, either. Did he think Diluc was going to die? The nobleman cant quite shake the feeling that soaks through him as he recalls the way Wriothesley looked at him when he asked, the raging storm behind those deep blue eyes. It was like he wanted to say something, the words caught in his throat... but he changed his mind at the last minute, frost lacing through the energy the two of them share, blocking Diluc off from his thoughts. He doesn't blame him, nor does he hold it against him for hiding behind his cold exterior.

If anything, he understands, empathizes.

Afterall, it's not like Diluc himself is much different in regards to vulnerability. They hold people at an arms length, Diluc afraid of letting people get close because he's tired of watching his relationships go up in flames, tired of finding ash - walking through the cinders of what something once was. It seems Wriothesley is the same, keeping his heart, his soul caged within a thick layer of ice.

Perhaps... just maybe, Diluc's heat can melt through that frost just as it snuffs out his flames.

Perhaps .

Once he's through with his meal, he throws the empty box away before throwing his legs off the side of the bed, blankets pulled back from his body. The movement, though it jostles his ribs, doesn't send as powerful of an ache through his body as it did yesterday. His muscles still feel sore, small uncomfortable pangs of pain radiate from his abdomen but nothing as breathtaking as yesterday, and he's grateful for that. Sigewinne did mention that the IV bag of Hydrotherapy she was administering last night was supplemented with a Super Syringe of Saturation - whatever that was. All he knew was that it's healing capabilities were faster and more effective than just the Hydrotherapy alone.

Regardless, he's grateful for the assistance. He loathes the idea of spending all of his time in bed.

Unhooking the IV from the cathether in his arm, Diluc strolls into the bathroom. He cleans himself up, brushing his teeth and washing his face. He undoes the braid in his hair, combing through it before letting it stay loose, allowing it to freely flow over his shoulders and back. Only then does he pause to take in his reflection. Unlike yesterday, he doesn't see someone who looks so war-torn staring back at him. He looks more like himself, feels more like himself than he did just the day before. The bruise on his neck has faded further, still noticeable against his ivory skin but not as dark, as flushed. He removes his shirt, inspecting the bruise on his ribs. Though the color still blossoms along his side, it's not nearly as dark, either. As expected, they dont ache as painfully in comparison to the days before.

Once he's through observing and assessing his wounds, he exits the bathroom and digs through the closet, opting to wear something comfortable for the day. A black knit, V-line cut sweater and loose sweatpants that match the color. He's about to dress when there's a knock at his door.

"Come in."

"How are you feeling?" Diluc turns around at the sound of the voice, low and gruff, a stark difference than to what he was expecting. He thought Sigewinne was coming to check on him but instead, Wriothesley stands at the door, his blue eyes glued to Diluc's face, studying, observing. The way he looks at him makes heat travel through his body. He ogles at him like he's never seen Diluc before, like he'll never see Diluc again. He steps closer, calmly, but with each inch of distance that disappears between them, the stronger an unexplainable energy charges through Diluc's body.

"Better." he finally sorts through his thoughts -  finds his words though his voice comes out softer, breathier than he anticipated. Wriothesley's eyes flick down to the bruise along his torso, only briefly, before finding his face again, like they never should've left. "I thought you had a meeting..."

"I did." Wriothesley responds. Diluc is the first to look away completely, grabbing the sweater from where he placed it on the bed before letting it unfurl. He shoves his arms through and then pulls it over his head, straightening the material out at his stomach. The Duke hasn't moved from where he stands, only an arms length away, yet when Diluc turns to look at him again, moving to lift his hands so he could pull his hair out from beneath the neckline, Wriothesley closes the distance between them.

His fingers are warm when they close around Diluc's forearms, gently but firm. The nobleman pauses, eyes widening just barely, breath catching briefly in his throat. The sensation of Wriothesley's hands around his arms burns, despite the layer of material between their skin. The familiar scent of salt and earl gray tea, kissed with metal surrounds them. Wriothesley guides Diluc's arms down, back to his sides. Then, they trail up, fingers lingering along his arms until they reach his face first. The roughness of his knuckle brushes along the tycoon's cheekbone, a tingling sensation following the contact. His mind flicks back to last night, the feeling of the Duke's hand lightly grazing his face. There is no doubt he's flushed, Diluc can feel the heat from his cheeks. Still, he doesn't move. "What are you..."

Wriothesley's hands move further, behind his neck, his fingers brushing tentativley against his warm skin. It sends a fiery burst of energy throughout his body. He knows the flush on his cheeks has deepened, he can feel it as it travels up the back of his neck and curls around his face. The soft feeling of his fingers, the warmth emitting from Wriothesely's larger body makes Diluc hyperaware of their proximity - the lack of space between them.

The Duke tilts his head, leaning in a tad bit closer and Diluc's heart flips in his chest. For a second, he thinks Wriothesley is going to kiss him. It wouldn't take much, just a slight tilt of his head, a small lean to close the distance between them. He holds his breath unkowingly.

But Wriothesley doesn't lean closer.

The kiss never comes.

Instead, carefully, the Duke pulls his hair out from where it's trapped underneath the collar of his sweater, wordlessley answering the question that Diluc had asked only seconds before.

Wriothesely gently guides Diluc's blazing hair over his shoulders, fingers cautiously playing with the soft strands, twirling them between his fingers. The nobleman watches in silence, watches the way his deep blue eyes flick from his face to hands, the crimson red strands of hair wrapped between his fingers. Then, he slowly pulls away, but his eyes don't. They look at Diluc but not just at his eyes. They flick across the expanse of his face, observing him intently, like he's commiting the image - the sight of Diluc before him to his memory.

Though the silence isn't awkward, it's heavy with something unspoken between the two of them. Diluc doesn't know what to label it, the feeling that thrums through his body, warms his very being like a campfire on a cold, silent night. Wriothesley's presence, his gaze is as intense as it is magnetic. It burns through Diluc, but he's used to burning.

He wouldn't mind if he went up in flames - part of him feels like he just might.

"Monsieur Neuvillette had some last minute troubles to attend to at Palace Mermonia. Our meeting has been moved to the afternoon..." Wriothesley finally speaks, though his voice is low - sultry. It's smooth to Diluc's ears, pulling him from his raging thoughts but sending a feeling like warm honey through his body. He's painfully aware of their proximity, the air that is shared between them - charged, the heat in his veins, and the hammering of his heart in his chest. "So, about that walk?"

"Yes. I'm almost ready." He responds, the words coming out a bit quicker, breathier than he wants them to. It's not because he's nervous, no, nor is he overly excited but there's an unexplainable feeling thats been prickling at his skin since the Duke entered the room. His thoughts are still spinning, even when Wriothesley moves to give him space. Diluc gathers up the sweatpants he earlier chose, making way to the bathroom to quickly change into them. He pulls his loose hair up tight, securing it on the crown of his head. He allows the smaller, loose strands to fall and frame his face.

When he exits the room, Wriothesley's observes him. His gaze lingers, an unreadable glint in his eyes like something has shifted, the slight narrowing of his eyes giving it away. He watches as the Duke's stare flicks to his hair, which is now tied back rather than flowing freely down his back and shoulders. Wriothesley exhales, his breath slow and measured as he takes in the sight of Diluc now. His gaze feels heavier, like he's mourning something he's lost, like Diluc had unknowingly taken something from him.

It's unsettling.

Neither comment on it, Wriothesley turning toward the door, barely sparing Diluc another glance as he nods his head, a silent instruction to come forth - to follow.

He obeys.

Their stroll through the fortress starts off in silence. Occasionally, they share a few glances, usually in reaction to whatever they overhear from conversations of fellow innmates. They're stopped a few times by some guards who wish to exchange a few words, other times by fellow prisoners who strike up conversation with the Duke. Everywhere they go, people notice, stare, whisper amongst themselves. Diluc is used to the attention, it's never ending back in Mondstadt but he knows here, in the Fortress of Meropide, they're not staring and talking because of him. It's because of Wriothesley.

Eventually, they make their way down a more secluded hallway. It's just the two of them, the sounds of their steps, the gentle clanking of Wriothesley's chains reverberate through the metal walls which surround them. Yet, it's almost like he can't hear their movements behind the smokescreen his loud thoughts. The hazy memory of last night's conversation swim through his head. He can't help but feel exposed, smaller - but not in a way that is weak. He felt smaller in the way that he's just shed armor, the armor of his carefully crafted, delicately put together persona. The art of witholding was a second nature to him. He's vigilant in keeping his true thoughts locked away behind conscientiously measured words and a guarded expression... but last night's vulnerability came easy under the influence of medication. Now, the weight of their conversation, the unanswered question was like an ember left behind in a dying fire, unwilling to fade away.

"You seem steadier on your feet today." Wriothesley remarks, his tone low incase there were listening ears lingering nearby. It's enough to pull Diluc from his swirling mind, the reminscing.

"I'd hope so. Two days of lying in bed feels like an eternity." he responds, a bit dryly. He thinks back on his reflection yesterday before his shower and then of today, when he got up this morning. He did look better, he felt better - his strength, while slow, certainly returning to him. Though there is still an ache that burns through him with every movement - a consistent thrum radiating through his body. It's thankfully only slightly uncomfortable rather than unbearable.

"If I hadn't found you, eternity might've taken on a different meaning." The Duke responds. This catches Diluc's attention, his eyes shifting from the end of the hallway to Wriothesley. He barely turns his head, observing the tycoon from the corner of his eyes. His gaze flicks briefly to Diluc's lips and then leave his face entirely, training back onto the small door at the end of the hallway. He digs a key out from his pocket, unlocking the door. "Come."

Diluc obliges, entering the strange room first before his steps slow. Carefully, he approaches the end of the room, which is nothing but glass. On the otherside, countless types of fish and aquatic species that call Fontaine's ocean home swim around, the water illuminated by the sunlight from above. It's breathtakingly beautiful, the feel of sunlight, even if it is from behind thick glass is warm as it dances across his skin.

The door closes, footsteps nearing him. It's enough to pull his thoughts from the amazing view of marine life, but he doesn't tear his gaze away - even when Wriothesley comes to stand next to him. He can feel the Duke's gaze settling on his face just as he can feel his presence. The energy he carries is hard to miss, even harder to ignore.

"You never answered my question." Diluc finally speaks, his thoughts recalling Wriothesley's dismissal the evening before. He feels the man's gaze leave his face before seeing his head move to look out the glass from the corner of his vision. His eyes, like Diluc's, focus onto the depths of the ocean before them.

"Which one?" The Duke doesn't look at him when he speaks.

"Did you think I was going to die?" He listens intently to the other man, hyperaware of the way he breathes. An exhale forced through his nose, slow - controlled. Diluc finally tears his gaze away from the vast ocean before him, settling on Wriothesley's face.

"I don't make a habit of explaining myself." Wriothesley responds, stubbornly. His voice sounds guarded, a chill traveling through Diluc's body as the words blanket over the space between them. He narrows his eyes, pressing his lips together in slight annoyance. Now, the Duke turns to look at him, a small smirk forming at the corner of his mouth as he takes in the sight of the nobleman's displeased expression. "What?"

His voice sounds amused, a tad bit mocking. It's as if he's baiting Diluc, trying to draw a reaction out of him - something more than what he's already given. He doesn't give in, turning away moments later.

"Nothing." Wriothesley doesn't look away from him. Diluc refrains from meeting his eye as he takes the oppertunity to lean his weight against the desk in the room. He exhales slowly, tension uncoiling through his muscles. Though he's not in as much pain as he's been in the past two days, there's still lingering soreness which aches through his body. His eyes focus on two blubberbeasts that playfully swim alongside each other, ignoring how Wriothesley steps closer to him.

"Like I said... if I didn't get there in time, the outcome might've been different." Wriothesely finally answers. His tone is softer now and Diluc takes the response for what it is, refusing to press further on the subject.

Silence settles over them. Its neither uncomfortable nor calming. It's charged with an unrelenting feeling that presses down on him, thickening the air in the room. Or maybe that's just the effect of the Duke's presence, which moves closer to him. Wriothesley reaches out, his right hand gently yet firmly wrapping around Diluc's left bicep. The contact burns against his skin. He briefly peers down to Wriothesley's hand before moving his gaze back to the window, past the man's broad shoulder, staring out into the ocean, fighting every urge to look into the magnetic eyes of the Duke.

"Look at me." he commands, yet his voice is soft, alluring. Diluc hesitates, but only for a short moment before he gives in despite his instincts. He shifts against the table, turning his head, his gaze finally meeting Wriothesley's stare. The Duke looks at him with the intensity of a thousand suns, the weight of his eyes heavy. "Yes. I thought you were going to die... Any later and you would've. Sigewinne told me you were lucky."

Diluc swallows thickly, the signifiance of Wriothesley's admittance ringing in his ears. There's a glint of vulnerability in the brilliance of his eyes, accompanied by guilt and Diluc can't tear himself away from it.

"You couldn't have known. You can't hold that against you." he finally speaks, his voice is breatheless, just shy of a whisper. Gently, he places his hand over Wriothesley's. The Duke's gaze flickers down from the gesture before slowly dragging it back up the expanse of Diluc's chest. They linger on his lips, his tongue darting out to lick his own and the nobleman's cheeks warm. His lips part, puffing out a slow exhale.

Wriothesley steps in closer. His warmth engulfs Diluc, who feeds on it like he's been left out in a blizzard. The Duke huffs a breath of air out from his nostrils, his eyes flicking up to meet Diluc's, questioning - searching for any sign of unease. The nobleman swallows slowly, his breathing controlled. His heart is hammering in his chest, but his thoughts are no longer spinning. Their anchored to the sight of the man before him, who looks torn, like he's fighting an unspoken battle. His fingers subconciously squeeze at Wriothesley's hand, who responds by tightening his grip around Diluc's bicep.

Wriothesley's gaze flicks down once more to his lips, just for a moment, pausing there like he's contemplating...

The space between them disappears.

The Duke's lips are warm against his own, cautious, like a flame is at first when it begins to eat at something. Diluc's lips move gently in response, his right hand leaving Wriothesley's alone on his arm, opting to settle on the expanse of his chest, but not to push him away. No, his fingers twitch against the rought material of the man's suit, curling around the fabric. Then, the fire between them rages, exploding to life, heat freely flaring through Diluc's body ferociously.

Wriothesley unhands Diluc's bicep, wrapping around the small of his back. He moves closer into the tycoon's space, pulling him into his warmth, their bodies meshing together, a sharp exhale leaving his nose. The nobleman braces himself along the Duke's chest, fingers now tight as they grip his jacket. Wriothesley's free hand fixes against the edge of the table as he pushes back, pinning Diluc to it with his body, his lips moving firmly - deliberately, like he's been waiting his entire life for this moment, finally free from the shackles of his own icy restraint. It's intoxicating, the feeling of his lips as is the scent of the other man as it engulfs Diluc.

Wriothesley smells like the ocean... and he tastes like drowning.

Diluc's mind spins, his limbs feel like jelly and he's thankful he can support himself on the table, using it to keep himself upright, to prevent himself from falling, even though he feels as if he is. Wriothesley's other hand abandons the table, finding home in the dip of his waist and he squeezes, the hand on his back tentativley moving lower, tracing the curve of Diluc's lower back. His fingers slip beneath the fabric of Diluc's knit sweater before making contact with his bare skin. The touch burns through him, embers of desire igniting within his gut, eating away at his resolve before he can fight it, before he can snuff it out. As if he wants to. The nobleman is used to the familiar kiss of flames... but not this kind of fire, dangerous and alluring. Wriothesley pulls him closer and Diluc wraps his arm around the back of his neck, the fingers of his right hand curling into the Duke's soft, gray locks, pulling at the hair just slightly.

A low groan slips past Wriothesley's lips, into Diluc's mouth and it sounds like music to the him. As the Duke tilts his head, further deepening the kiss, like he can't get enough of the way Diluc tastes, the tycoon urges him closer, the fingers of his left hand curled around the fabric of the Duke's jacket, gripping at it as if Wriothesley would shy away... or perhaps to anchor him as he feels like he's losing himself into the abyssal depths of the sea. The taller man grinds his body into Diluc, pulling a small gasp from him and he uses that as an opportunity, his hot tongue darting out to experimentally lick into Diluc's mouth. He responds with his own, the wet slide of Wriothesley's warm tongue along his own leaves his heart stuttering, an electrified sensation trickling down his spine, warming his body. The heat pools in his gut and the taste of the man's mouth is intoxicating. The Duke's tongue swipes at his bottom lip before taking it between his teeth. He teasingly tugs on it and then closes his mouth over Diluc's once more, his kiss harsher - hungrier .

"Mmm.." Diluc finds himself humming in content, excitement raging through his body like a wildfire. He's never been one to succumb into desire, into want but his body speaks for him, and he lets it. He allows himself to yeild to his impulses, allows it to soar freely, giving up the control he's fought so hard to maintain over the years of his life.

The Duke breaks away from their kiss first, a thin string of saliva still connecting their mouths before it snaps, dribbling down the tycoon's bottom lip. Diluc's eyes flutter open as he swipes his tongue along it, and he's met with the breathtaking sight of Wriothesley, flushed with parted lips drinking him in. He looks destroyed, his gaze hazy, eyelids heavy, puffy mouth glistening with saliva. The both of them share frantic breaths, panting into the small space which divides them.

"I-" a loud knock interrupts whatever it was Wriothesley was prepared to say. His eyes flick over to the door, the glint of desire replaced by ice.

"Your Grace, Monsieur Neuvillette has arrived. He awaits your presence in your office." a voice calls out from the other side of the door.

"I'll be there momentarily."

"I shall pass that along." the sounds of footsteps fade away and Wriothesley's face falls against Diluc's neck. Hot air wafts out in puffs against the tycoon's warm skin, tickling his nerves. The grip on his waist flexes...

...and then it's gone .

Wriothesley has completely pulled away, taking a step back as he adjusts his tie and straightens out his jacket. The familiar sensation of frost blankets Diluc's body as he watches him silently run his fingers through his hair, smoothing out the evidence of their heated, physical exchange. He remains pressed against the table, not trusting his balance just yet, silent while he catches his breath. His mind spins with the events that just took place, though the icy feeling of disappointment snuffs out the fire that he only moments ago felt rage in his gut.

"Duty calls." Wriothesley is the first to break the silence, reaching out to gently fiddle with one of the loose strands of Diluc's hair. His fingers delicately brush against the man's warm cheek before he ultimately pulls away. He makes way for the door, pausing. "We will discuss this later."

Diluc is left alone, his thoughts swirling dizzily in his head.

-ˋˏ ༻───── ❧⋅♡⋅☙ ─────༺ ˎˊ-

Wriothesley makes his way toward his office, his expression blank, each movement calm. Yet, his thoughts are anything but so. They whirl around in his head like a blizzard, images of Diluc flashing through his mind. The sweet taste of him, the smoky, herbal oak scent which surrounds him, the sound of his breath as it caught in his throat, the way his smaller frame felt pressed against his body - hot and pliant, ready to just give. The sight of him flushed with puffy, kissed lips - the ropes of his self control fraying in ash, witnessed clear as day in the brilliance of his crimson eyes.

And oh, the sight of him with his hair down -  the blazing flames of his mane free of its shackles, glimmering in the lights in all its glory.... the softness of them against his rough fingers. The moment he laid eyes on Diluc when he entered this room this morning, something ached in his chest, a fiery feeling he's never felt coursed through his body, warming every muscle fiber of his being. He truly was the epitome of a phoenix, as fierce as one, too.

Diluc was breathtakingly, painfully beautiful .

Wriothesley has never much cared for the heat of the sun. He's used to the cold, the darkness that follows with living in the depths of Fontaine's ocean... but in that moment, he was ready to go up in flames.

If Diluc was a god - because archons, did he look like one... he would fall to his knees. He would worship him at his alter. He would take whatever Diluc feels like giving him and hold it in his chest, bury it deep within him, drown in it the until he takes his final breath.

Diluc was going to destroy him.

Wriothesley doesn't know if the thought scares him or excites him.

He opens the door of his office and is met with the familiar sight of Neuvillette and Sigewinne. Whatever conversation they were in had come to an end because of his entrance. The Melusine smiled at him, and he returns the gesture with a smaller smile before nodding his head at the Iudex, who reciprocated as a greeting. The three of them make way up the steps.

As Wriothesley takes his seat behind his desk, Sigewinne takes her leave, stating she's going to go check on Diluc while the both of them talk. He only nods his head in regard, informing her that he can be found in the observatory room and thanking her as she's walking out of the door. Neuvillette remains standing before him, turning his attention to the Duke.

"I apologize for having to push this meeting back. A few complications arose with one of today's trials so I was unable to leave Palace Mermonia this morning. I sincerely hope my rescheduling did not prove too great an inconvenience." the Monsieur finally speaks, elegantly but gentle. Wriothesley shakes his head in dismissal.

"It was no bother."

"Very well. Onto more pressing matters, then." The Duke slides two files, one on Hektor and the other about Brett, toward Neuvillette. He takes them both, silently reading through the contents of each folder while Wriothesley sips at his tea. He holds himself with ease, his posture relaxed and untelling of the thoughts which swim in his head. In the moments of silence, while Neuvillette reads through the files - the sweet taste of Diluc's lips, the feel of them linger like smoke after a fire. He wonders what would've happened if they weren't interrupted, what would've taken place in the observatory... and the thought is gone as fast as it appeared, Wriothesley forcing himself to not further dwell on the topic.

This isn't how it's supposed to be. He's spent his life mastering restraint. Wriothesley should have more control over himself, over his thoughts and yet, something about Diluc slips past his defenses. He's built himself up through years of disclipine and he's barely holding it together because of one kiss - because of Diluc.

He doesn't even realize he's still been holding his teacup the entire time until the Iudex's voice pulls him from his thoughts - a stark reminder that he's still in his office, working.

"Is everything alright? You appear.... distracted." Wriothesley finally sets the cup down, shaking his head.

"I'm fine."

"Have you been sleeping?" the question feels invasive. Wriothesley deadpans, but Neuvillette's expression remains concerned, worry lining his brows. "I don't mean to sound intruding, but you look as if you haven't slept much of late."

"Yes, I'm alright." he responds, though the Monsieur looks at him like he doesn't believe him. Thankfully, he doesn't push the subject further, his eyes falling back to the folder in his grasp. He continues reading in silence and Wriothesley leans back into his chair, fingers linking behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling of his office, patiently waiting.

"How long would you like to extend their sentences?" Neuvillette finally speaks when he's through with the files, folding them closed and delicatley placing both folders on Wriothesley's desk. The Duke leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, chin in his hand as he thinks for a brief moment. He wants to say life, they deserve it, or Wriothesley could just kill them both, too. But Neuvillette took time out of his day to meet with him and death would be a waste of the Monsieur's time, just as life could be seen as extensive.

"Ten years for attempted murder, three for aggravated assault." he finally concludes. Neuvillette nods in agreement.

"Very well. I shall go update them on the adjustments to their servitutde. They are in the infirmary, yes?"

"Yep. I'll escort you there." Wriothesley stands from his desk. Yet, before the both of them can even near the door, it swings open and there stands Sigewinne and a guard of the fortress... both accompanied by Diluc.

Instantly, their eyes meet, as if they were two seperate energies - a magnetic force which pulls them both to one another. Wriothesley can't help it. He should look away but the memories of their earlier activities make way to the front of his mind. From the looks of it, taking in Diluc's appearance, though his expresion is unfazed, there's a glint that reflects in the brilliance of his blazing eyes which speaks for him, telling the Duke he's thinking of the same thing - the kiss they shared in the observatory. Wriothesley's fingers tense, twitch where they rest at his side. The nobleman presses his lips together.

The air shifts around them, tension lingering in their stares. Wriothesley can see Sigewinnie watching the both of them, the tiny movement of her head noticeable in the corner of his eye. Neuvillette also turns to look at Wriothesley but thankfully, neither of them comment on the strange energy which fills the silence. Diluc is the first to look away, his focus turning to Neuvillette.

"Ah, Master Diluc." the Monsieur speaks as he offers Diluc a warm smile. He reaches out a hand, one the nobleman takes in a firm grasp. A brief handshake and then the tycoon is pulling away. "I was informed of the attempt on your life. I am glad to see you're on the mend."

"Thank you."

"Your sentence is nearly over. Two more days, if I am not mistaken. Please do pay me a visit at Palace Mermonia once you're out. There is some business I'd like to discuss with you." Diluc nods his head, his gaze flicking to Wriothesely at the mention of his sentence nearing it's end before it lands once more on the Monsieur. The Duke isn't one to wear his feelings on his sleeve, yet he can't help the way an uncomfortable ache shifts in his chest, tightening around his heart. It feels dangerously similar to loss. The quiet relization that Diluc is leaving soon, so soon settles in his bones. It's cold as it wraps around his body, like he's being pulled into the abyssal depths of the ocean.

His face, however, tells nothing. His expression remains impassive, a mask he's learned to wear over the years.

"How are you feeling?" Wriothesley asks him, drawing everyone's attention to him. He doesn't shift under the weight of all their gazes as they settles on him, his focus anchored to the man. Though the reminder of Diluc's nearing departure curls around the edges of his mind, like a poison that's slowly infecting it's host, the tone of his voice is unwavering.

"I'm fine. Sigewinne said I no longer require medical care."

"Yes, we are here to grab his belongings. He no longer needs to stay in the infirmary downstairs so I will escort him to his new chambers." the Melusine bubbles. Wriothesley nods, though he doesn't spare her a glance. His attention is tethered to Diluc, and he wouldn't have it any other way. He silently drinks up the sight of him... because soon enough, he won't get to any longer.

"Very well. I am going to escort Monsieur Neuvillette to the burn unit and then I will catch up with you." Wriothesley responds, his eyes never leaving the nobleman's face. Diluc nods, giving no verbal response and then the two groups part ways.

Neuvillette and Wriothesley make way to the burn unit in silence, though the Duke's thoughts still linger on Diluc. Neuvillette spares him a few glances every now and then, a questioning glimmer in his eyes but he never verbally says anything so the Duke doesn't bother to explain himself, either. Not that he needs to. It was just a kiss, nothing more... or so he tells himself.

Once they arrive to the room which Hektor and Brett are resting in, Wriothesley remains in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, mute. Neuvillette is brief with his explanation, informing the both of them that they're being charged with attempted murder and aggravated assault, both of their sentences extending for thirteen additional years. Hektor doesn't argue, accepting the consequences for the part he played in Diluc's attack. Brett was displeased with the news, angered as he vocally expressed his complaints toward the Monsieur. He claimed it wasn't fair, that Xander had lied to them, that Diluc should be charged for aggravated assault which resulted in his blindness. He rehashed the details of the day before, when the Duke had paid them a visit and threatened him - nearly strangled him to death.

"The Duke is free to run the Fortress of Meropide how he sees fit." was the only response the Monsieur gave, his voice stern and final. Brett didn't bother to argue any further, accepting that thirteen more years in the Fortress of Meropide is his fate and there is no changing that. They leave them both to dwell on their actions, Neuvillette first and Wriothesley following close behind. They make way back to the Duke's office, paperwork for the change in Brett and Hektor's sentencing awating a signature from the Iudex.

"I could not help but notice the tension in the room earlier." Neuvillette breaks the silence between the two of them first, setting his pen down as he hands the paperwork back to Wriothesley. The Duke looks at him with a cocked eyebrow as he takes the documents from the man, stashing them away in their respective folders. "Is there something going on between you and Master Diluc?"

"Tension is natural in certain circumstances." Wriothesley responds, refusing to confirm nor deny. It is not as if he doesn't trust Neuvillette. They have a close business partnership, one just shy of friendship. Truth is, the Duke himself doesn't exaclty know what it is which simmers between him and the tycoon. He's still trying to figure it out. All he knows is that there is something there, charged with a force thats difficult to ignore. In the end, whatever it is might not even matter, anyway. The thought of Diluc finishing his sentence and leaving lingers in his mind similar to the scent of smoke that lingers in the air after a fire. "Though I imagine you are already aware of that, Monsieur."

Neuvillette just hums in agreement, nodding his head in understanding. He's not one to push for answers in situations similar to these, and Wriothesley is grateful for that. He bids the Duke farewell, reminding him to get plenty of sleep and then takes his leave for Palace Mermonia.

Though it's just past dinner and he knows Diluc is probably in his chambers for the eveining, Wriothesley doesn't move from where he sits at his desk. Even though he itches to see him, even though he promised they'd talk about the kiss they shared earlier, he doesn't leave the confines of his office. Instead, he drowns himself in paperwork, refusing to think about the tycoon... or the fact that he's leaving the fortress in two days.

All he has is himself to blame for starting something that was bound to end.

-ˋˏ ༻───── ❧⋅♡⋅☙ ─────༺ ˎˊ-

Diluc barely slept through the night.

His head felt heavy upon his shoulders from both exhaustion and from his spinning thoughts. Every time he closed his eyes during the night, he was back in the observatory with Wriothesley. He can recall their conversation perfectly, the glint in the Duke's eyes, the intensity of his presence - his touch. The ghost of his lips lingered on Diluc's, the way his mouth had tasted loitered on the tip of his tongue. The grip which the Duke had on his wasit, the feeling of his warm hand on the small of the nobleman's back was seared into his memory... as was the sight of Wriothesley after he pulled back from their kiss.

There was something undeniably raw, undeniably real in the brilliance of the Duke's eyes when he looked at Diluc after they kissed. He looked like a man destroyed - ready to fall to his knees. Nobody has ever looked at Diluc that way, with such admiration - pure and unfiltered adoration.

Then a guard knocked on the door... and the look was gone, replaced by ice.

A frosty feeling prickled at the back of his neck at the thought.

He couldn't shake the feeling their physical altercation left him with, both exhilirating and terrifying. Nor could he shake the feeling he was left with after seeing an evident glint in Wriothesley's gaze at the mention of his sentence nearing its end. It was barely preceptible, just a little flicker but Diluc had picked up on it, just as he noticed the way the muscles in Wriothesley's fingers twitched when Neuvillette had brought it up.

Diluc wanted to ask him about it, his thoughts on his sentence nearing completion... ' We will discuss this late r' Wriothesley had promised to him before he left him alone in the observatory after their kiss, but later never came. The Duke had paperwork, meetings, other inmates to attend to - more pressing matters which demanded his attention so perhaps thats why Diluc didn't see him the rest of the evening... or during breakfast. But really, what did he expect? For Wriothesley to come knocking at his door? No. Besides, Diluc already knew this thing between them wasn't something that was going to last, not when his sentence was only a week - that week nearing it's end.

It was meant to be buried in the depths of the Fontaine sea, left to be forgotten - washed away. Tomorrow, when he gets to feel the kiss of sunlight on his skin once more, he can put this past him, but for now...

Diluc only has himself to blame for listening to his heart.

He spends his final day in the library, using books to keep his mind off of everything. He still can't work, nor can he spar in the Pankration ring as much as he itched to. Sigewinne had made that clear to him last night after she escorted him to his new room: no fighting. His ribs were still bruised, still ached with every movement, but thankfully not as distractingly as they had been the past few days. If anything, it was more of a dull thrum, a slight pressure and then it would fade - easy to not think of and even easier to ignore. When the time for lunch came, he made his way to the coupon cafeteria for a meal, and when he was through, he made his way back to the library.

He didn't make it back to his book as soon as he wanted to, though.

He turned to corner and stopped dead in his tracks. Wriothesley was standing at the entrance of the library, arms crossed and he was staring right at the nobleman. He didn't offer a smile, but exhaustion had sunk into his features. The brilliance of his deep blue eyes appearing duller, the glimmer they usually carry extinguished, replaced with something sad. The nobleman barely furrows his brows, lips pressing together in a displeased manner. Wriothesley approaches Diluc, arms uncrossing and falling to his sides and he comes to stop once he's standing beside him, shoulder to shoulder with the tycoon. He was no longer looking at him.

The air between them shifts into something thick, heavy as it settles between them. It squeezes at Diluc's chest like a vice, ice prickling throughout his skin. Wriothesley's warmth no longer feels comforting but rather suffocating. The muscles in his body slowly tighten.

"I'll come find you tomorrow to discuss the details of your departure." Wriothesley breaks the silence, turning to finally look at the tycoon. His glance is only brief, but it feels like minutes under his stare. Diluc doesn't want to look away but he forces himself to, eyes training back at the library before him. A feeling familiar to disappointment churns in his stomach and he stomps it out like it was a fire he was snuffing.

"Ok." is all Diluc says in response, realizing that Wriothesley wasn't going to press on the subject about the kiss they exchanged. Something familiar yet painful aches in his chest but he's walking away by then, this time leaving the Duke to stand there, alone. A sharp exhale of what sounds like disappointment can be heard from the larger man, but the phoenix pretends it goes unnoticed. He can feel the Wriothesley's gaze burning into him as he makes his way into the library yet, he doesn't turn to look back.

He spends the afternoon, well into the evening reading. Later, Diluc skips dinner, opting for a shower instead and then he returns to his chambers. He doesn't leave for the rest of the night, using the time he has to sketch before exhaustion finally pulls him into his bed. Despite his lack of sleep from the night before, his mind still races - keeps him up for most of the night, refusing to shut off. He tosses and turns, unable to find comfort in the sheets as his mind replays everything that's happened the past few days. Every lingering touch, every look, each breath they shared - the way Wriothesley kissed him and the taste of his lips. None of it would leave him alone. Eventually, it's nearing 2 AM when he finally gives up, tying his hair back in a braid as he throws on a sweater. Diluc leaves the confines of his room, opting for a stroll to calm the storm raging in his head.

The fortress is quieter at night. The walls creak and shift beneath the pressure of the ocean, gentle thrums reverberating through the cold metal but it's scarce of chatter - most of its prisoners are fast asleep. Guards stand posted around the vast hallways, glancing at Diluc as he passes them without a word, without acknowledgement. He sees them, but pays no mind to them, too caught up in his own head. Diluc doesn't think of where he is until he finds himself down a familiar hall, a door he remembers all too well at the end of it. There is an old metal sign bolted to the wall next to the entrance, evidence of its age reflecting in the flickering lights which line the hall. The once polished surface was dulled, scratches laced across it.

' Observatory ' it read, though the print was fading. Diluc reached for the handle and to his surprise, it clicked open. He pushed, revealing the room which was once illuminated by sunlight now dimly lit by the spotlights which surrounded the outside of the fortress. The ocean is suffocating when it's quiet, cold and dark, scarce of warmth and comfort. It reminds him of an abyss, endless and silent - the hollow beams of silver light from the spotlights consumed in the void. Something familiar unfurls in his chest, stretching through his body.

The appearance, the energy of the room is a stark difference in comparison to the day before, when it was glimmering in the sunlight.

The never ending stretch of the ocean's darkness draws Diluc in, captivates him like they're sucking the thoughts out of his head. He nears the window, oblivious to the set of eyes which silently watch him from a dark corner.

"Can't sleep?" a deep, smooth voice reverberated through the space, Diluc's heart spiking at the sound of it - the familiarity of it. An ache rolls through his body, consumes him and he holds his breath as he turns to its owner, tearing his gaze away from the hypnotizing nothingness of the black sea.

Wriothesley stands from where he sits, stepping out of the shadows so that Diluc could see him. His expression is indecipherable but the way he looks at the phoenix leaves his nerves tingling - the energy in the room, between them swirling restlessly. The Duke stares at him like he's waiting, expecting something but the tycoon just peers at him, impassive.

"It's mesmerizing , isn't it?" Wriothesley nods toward the window, though his eyes never leave Diluc's face. "An endless void that devours you entirely - your thoughts, your feelings, your breath." The nobleman knows he's talking about the darkness of the sea but the way he looks at him, the way the brilliance of his blue eyes travel across the expanse of his face makes Diluc feel otherwise - like Wriothesley is speaking of something else, someone else. He shifts on his feet as the words curl around him, engulf him the way flames would, the way the sight of the ocean did. The Duke stalks toward him but before he can get too close, Diluc takes a step back. A flicker of pain flashes through Wriothesley's eyes, replaced quickly by ice.

"I didn't expect anyone else to be in here." he finally sorts through his thoughts, finds his words. His voice is steady, despite the unease that slowly creeps up his back.

"I'm the only one with a key. The room is locked otherwise."

"I should go."

"Should you?" Wriothesley's tone feels testy, like he's trying to bait a response out of Diluc. The nobleman narrows his eyes, jaw clenching just briefly, like he's trying to keep himself from speaking - asking what exactly it was which churns between the two of them. His mind flicks back to their kiss, back to the Duke's promise: ' We will discuss this later ,' and he can't help the way his fingers tighten as the memories, the words swirl through his head. He swallows thickly, his questions remaining unspoken.

He doesn't want to leave. He doesn't want to walk out of that door - out of this fortress with unanswered questions. Diluc is used to getting results, typically from violence and bloodshed but results nonetheless. He feels tethered here to the room - to the Duke, but part of him fears what this could be, whatever it is.

Whatever it is would never work between them, anyways. Diluc's home, his life, his duty is in Mondstadt He's still got a long list of questions that need answering - justice waiting to be served.

Some things are simply just meant to be left alone, never to look back on. Some people are simply just meant to be memories.

"Goodnight, your Grace." Diluc responds, firm and final but they burn as they roll off his tongue, leaving an unpleasant aftertaste. He turns away, each step toward the door heavier than the last. His muscles are wound tight and something grips at his chest, like it's pulling at him to stay. As the distance between him and the door shrinks, Diluc tells himself this is the right thing, the logical, necessary choice.

From behind him, he hears the Duke let out a heavy exhale and turn, his footsteps barely audible against the metal floor of the observatory. He can feel his gaze linger on his back and for a moment, he thinks Wriothesley is going to say something - hopes he's going to stop him from leaving... but nothing comes. No words, no reaction, absolutely nothing. Diluc doesn't know if it's disappointment or relief which fills him - perhaps a bitter mix of both.

He leaves the observatory, hands balled into fists, every muscle coiled tight, an ache in his chest. He leaves Wriothesley alone in the room, just as the Duke had done to him.

Diluc skips breakfast in the morning.

It wasn't because he slept in, no. Even with his little 2 AM stroll through the fortress, he still could only manage an hour of sleep before he woke for the day. His thoughts were still a hectic mess, worse after his little run in with the Duke in the observatory. His body felt heavy with exhaustion, yet completely awake at the same time, itching in excitement to be free of these metal walls - to feel the warmth of raw sunlight after a long week without.

He skipped breakfast because he simply just didn't have the appetite. Wriothesley was to blame for that. This ache, this feeling of loneliness, of mourning, mixed with confusion tears through him like a fire, but it doesn't burn in a way he's entirely familiar with.

Diluc opts to take a shower, thinking that perhaps the water could help wash away these restless feeling that dwell within him. As the hot spray cascades down his face, the droplets falling from his chin, he pretends they're tears. He doesn't know how long he stands there in the water but by the time he's finished, his mouth is parched, head light from dehydration and his fingers are pruned. Once he's through, he begins to dress. He fastens the buttons of his outfit up with practiced ease, adjusts each strap without extra hassle. Piece by piece, the familiar ensemble comes together, and with every strap, every button, every lace done up, he feels more like himself.

Finally, Diluc grabs the crimson red cloak, the expensive fabric familiar beneath his fingertips. He pulls it over his shoulders and fastens it in place before taking in his appearance in mirrior. For the first time in the entire week, he finally fully recognizes who stares back at him in his reflection... and he's ready to leave the fortress behind him - let it stay buried at sea.

If only it were that easy.

"Mr. Ragnvindr!" a knock comes from his door, an unfamiliar voice calling out to him from the other side. He opens it and is met with the sight of guard he's not yet seen before. The man doesn't offer him a smile, and Diluc doesn't offer him one, either. He simply raises an eyebrow in question. "The Duke is waiting for you in his office."

Diluc nods and the guard returns the gesture before disappearing down the hall. He ties his hair up, grabs his gloves, securing them in place and then his bag... and the nobleman doesn't look back as he leaves the room for good. Unease settles over him the closer he gets to the Duke's office, muscles coiling tighter with each step. His mind keeps replaying their conversations like a broken record, round and round the words spin dizzying in his head.

He stands before the doors and pauses. Inside, he knows Wriothesley is in there, waiting for him. This will be the last time he ever sees him... and the thought prickles icily through Diluc's body. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself, his racing mind... and then he knocks.

The door slides open.

It's another guard.

He ushers the tycoon inside, directing him to go up the stairs and Diluc obliges, the sound of the door closing behind the guard is loud, vibrating through every nerve in his body. The two of them are now left alone in the room.

As he makes his way up the stairs, he's met with Wriothesley's broad back, first. The Duke isn't looking at him but rather the books on the shelves, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Take a seat." is all he says, back still faced to Diluc. The tycoon does so without a word, and finally Wriothesley turns around. His eyes are on the file which sits on his desk, only briefly flicking up to look at Diluc, and he pauses. They travel down the expanse of his body silently, the muscles beneath the skin flexing as he swallows. Though exhaustion etched into his features, there's something else that swirls in the brilliance of his blue eyes, mournful. Diluc doesn't like the way the energy between them shifts - doesn't like the unrelenting ache that reverberated through his chest. He clenches his jaw and finally, Wriothesley takes his seat.

"Your sentence is over as of today. You are free to either stay and reside here, in the Fortress of Meropide or you may return to the city." he pauses, "Which will it be?"

"I wish to leave." Diluc responds without a beat, without hesitation. Wriothesley exhales deeply through his nose, a glimmer of understanding laced with sadness in his eyes as he observes him. The tycoon can't help the way his lips press together tightly, the way his chest tightens after he speaks. The weight of the Duke's stare is heavy and his gut churns with an unsettling feeling.

Diluc shifts in his seat.

"I knew you'd say that." Wriothesley finally says, his tone softer, quieter than it's been. There's a hint of vulnerability in his voice as he admits his thoughts, tearing his gaze away as he flips Diluc's folder open and picks up a pen. He quickly scribbles down his signature, closing the folder.

"My home, my business is in Mondstadt." Diluc finds himself explaining in a way to provide comfort, the words falling from his lips faster than he can hold himself back. A sad smile finds Wriothesley's face and it only makes his heart feel heavier.

"I know." Wriothesley stands from the desk, file in hand. "At least... let me escort you back to the city?"

It sounds almost pleading... and paired with the depth of the Duke's eyes as they bore into him, like he is trying to grip at a lifeline for the last time burns through Diluc. He should refuse, it would be the logical decision. He knows the way back to the Court of Fontaine, he can return there himself but the look, the tone of Wriothesley's voice tightens around his heart like a vice.

Even though the type of fire - uncontrollable fire, that Wriothesley ignites within him terrifies Diluc, he's used to burning anyways.

"Okay." he finds himself agreeing before he can stop.

-ˋˏ ༻───── ❧⋅♡⋅☙ ─────༺ ˎˊ-

The sunlight is warm as it kisses Diluc's ivory skin for the first time in a week. Blazing down on him from the sky, the smell of the sea and trees, the sounds of birds chirping in the distance, the feel of the cool breeze on his face brings a familiar feeling of peace in Diluc. He smiles despite himself.

But it's not enough to completely unwind him.

Wriothesley walks beside him quietly, and his presence keeps Diluc tense. No words have been exchanged between the two of them since they left his office, not even during the ride through the underwater passage on the aquabus as they made their way to Opera Epiclese,  where trials are held, including his own. The silence between them was loud, suffocating, and it made the ride to the Opera house feel longer than it truly was.

As they walk down the path, Diluc takes his surroundings in. There are people and Melusines scattered amongst them, chatting with one another. They pass countless Maison Gardiennage Gardes on their way to Marcotte Station, each one observing the two of them, especially Wriothesley as they pass. Diluc ignores the way Wriothesley would glance at him, rarely returning his gaze. He doesn't know if he regrets agreeing to this - to letting the Duke escort him back to the Court of Fontaine or if he's glad. It's an answer he's been trying to figure out since they sat by one another on the aquabus to the Opera Epiclese.

Wriothesley had sat a bit too close to comfort, their thighs brushing against one another with every shift of the the boat the entirety of the ride. The warmth from the larger man was both comforting and suffocating, and he can still feel the press of his thigh against his own like it was burned into his skin.

His thoughts were interrupted when a scream broke out from ahead of them. People were running past the both of them, fear etched into their faces. Suspicion tore through him, the drive to fight - to protect took over. The phoenix turned to Wriothesley, who was already looking at him with the same glint. They sprinted up the stairs, toward the screams, prepared to fight.

As they neared the scene of the crime, the tycoon scanned his surroundings, taking it all in. Three Treasure Hoarders were at the station, weapons in hand. Their attention had shifted to Wriothesley and Diluc as they approached slowly. One Garde was gravely injured, blood oozing into the pavement while another stood over him, protective and terrified. Five human civilians and a pink Melusine amongst them were secluded off to the side, terrified and bound - held as hostages. Diluc and Wriothesley shared a glance. Neither of them spoke to each other but they didn't need to. Their eyes communicated perfectly.

"You." Wriothesley spoke first, addressing the remaining Maison Gardiennage Garde. "Go get reinforcements. We will deal with this until you return." the unharmed man nodded, frantically, and bolted off in a run, disappearing down the pavement. Wriothesley clenched his fists, metal gauntlets moving up his hands, encasing them as frost wafted off the material. As he readied his fists, prepared to fight, he cracked his neck, stalking toward the group of Treasure Hoarders responsible for the situation. Diluc was prepared to join him when he saw a flash in the corner of his right eye. A woman, perched in the trees with a bow, arrow drawn and pointed right at the Duke.

Diluc didn't hesitate, dropping his bag without a thought, instinct taking over him as his claymore responded to his call, materializing in his grasp. The feel of his sword in his hands was one he was familiar to, a feeling he missed. He slid in front of the Duke's back just in time, the arrow striking the heavy metal of his weapon before it bounced off, forgotten about as it clattered atop the concrete. The tycoon looked up from behind the weapon's base, straight at the woman, locked in on his target. With practiced ease, he hurled the claymore at the tree she sat in with deadly precision.

"Take care of them. I've got her." he said over his shoulder as he bolted after his sword.

The blade buried itself into the trunk with an audible thunk, the impact of its collision shaking the entire tree, leaves rustling aggressively as a few wafted down from the clusters. The woman screamed as she lost her grasp and came tumbling to the ground, branches and leaves following, scattering amongst the grass. She let out a groan when she hit the dirt but before she could get up, Diluc was already on her. It didn't take much, the woman caught off guard - unprepared and he had grabbed the rope which hung from her belt and bound her wrists behind her back. Then he felt it, a presence behind him. Two pairs of arms grabbed at his shoulders, dragging him off of her.

Three other Treasure Hoarders had appeared, probably left their hiding spots behind the cliff, waiting as reinforcements. Two had a grip on him, the third stalking toward him with a knife in hand. Without hesitation, Diluc rams his foot into the chest of the first one, a harsh kick which sends him flying to the ground, wheezing for air. He turned, smashing his head into the nose of the second man on his right, ignoring the pain that vibrates through his body from the impact. His left foot came down hard on the third's foot, the force enough to startle him, giving Diluc the opportunity to tear his left arm free from the man's grasp. He crosses it over his body, grabbing one of several small knives off the right side of his torso before sinking it into the shoulder of the third man on his left.

As the blade sunk into the flesh, he pulled his right arm free, fingers wrapping around the second man's neck, who was still shocked from the direct hit to his nose. Blood dribbled from his nostrils, dripping from his chin and onto the tycoon's leather, fireproof gloves. He tried to fight Diluc, bare fingers gripping at his wrist in a poor attempt to pry the nobleman off - a mistake. A hot, molten feeling seared through his veins as his vision responded to him, flames engulfing his hand, blistering the skin upon his victim's throat and his hands. The poor man choked out a wail, eyes wide as he frantically attempted to escape from Diluc's grasp - from his flames. The smell of burnt flesh wafted into his nose as he kicked the third man - the one he had stabbed in his shoulder, forcing him onto his back and into the ground.

Diluc finally let go of his burn victim, allowing him to crumple to the ground pathetically as he writhed in pain, unable to speak. His presence went ignored as the nobleman's focus shifted to the first Treasure Hoarder, who had came at him with a knife before he slugged him in the chest with his foot. He swiped at Diluc with the blade, but he quickly ducking out of the way, left hand curling tightly into a fist as it made contact with his gut. The man let out a noise that sounded like a grunt mixed with a wheeze, the air knocked from his body as he hunched over. Diluc didn't allow him time to recover as grabbed the man's left arm, the one with the knife, and twisted it hard behind his back with practiced ease. His heavy boot made contact with the man's leg, forcing him to his knees and with a sharp twist, bone's cracking beneath his is fingers, he broke the attacker's wrist. The blade fell from his grasp, into the grass to be forgotten about. Diluc forces him to the ground with his knee, binding his wrists together in a tight knot. Three down, one more to go.

A strange mechanical sound rung out from behind him.

Diluc turned and was met with the sight of a large robot, an Annihilation Specialist Mek stalking toward him menacingly, sword dragging along in the dirt. The Treasure Hoarder he had just bound starts laughing from where he lay in the dirt, cruel and cold as Diluc stands to face his new opponent.

"Have fun with that one. We've been working on hacking into its software for quite some time, now. It's a beast." he says. Diluc doesn't verbally acknowledge him but he heeds the warning, taking a few steps back, warily studying the automatron. He's never fought one of these before, but he's heard stories. They are ruthless, unforgiving in their methods, unrelenting in their attacks... and they don't feel pain, they don't feel exhaustion the way humans do... which makes them deadlier.

Diluc takes a deep breath, clearing his thoughts. His gaze momentarily flicks up at Wriothesley, who's holding his own with his own group of Treasure Hoarders. It seems the original three also had reinforcements, too. To the Duke's luck, none were mechanical, though. That means the tycoon was on his own.

His claymore leaves the trunk of the tree, responding to his call - their connection as it materializes in his grasp. He narrows his eyes, jaw set as his fingers circle the handle of his blade, gaze settling on the mek that hones in on him. His mind clears, the voices that swirl in his head fading away into nothingness. He readies himself, instincts taking over his body.

The automatron barrels toward him, slashing its sword as it nears Diluc. He swings his claymore in response, blocking off the attack. As their weapons clash, the impact vibrates up his arms, throughout his tight muscles but it goes ignored. The mek twists away, swinging at him with its leg and he rolls out of range, turning with his sword to deliver a blow. His blade clashes with the automatron's once more. It's impact after impact - each swing, each dodge, each clash slowly wearing down the tycoon's energy but he doesn't give in. His muscles scream at him, his body aches with each movement but he keeps his speed, maintains his posture, forces himself to push through the exhaustion that is slowly creeping up on him.

Survival takes precedence. It burns through him.

Diluc doesn't know how long it's been - how much time has passed with him fending off the Annihilation Specialist but eventually, the robot pauses in its attack. A whirring noice fills the space the he stands back, observing cautiously as suspicion prickles at his sweaty skin. A purple glow begins to emit from the mek's sword, crackling as it charges up. Diluc barely has time to move as four strikes follow his steps on the ground, charring the grass in places where he once stood, dirt flying into the air from each blow. As he rolls out of the way of the final lighting strike, he sees the automatron race toward him, sword spinning and then it jumps.

An opening.

Diluc ignores the way his muscles scream at him, the familiar feeling of heat searing through his nerves as his vision responds to him, his blade bursting into flames. The heat of his fire is a familiar kiss along his cheeks as he swings his sword at the mek while it's mid air, ready to pounce on him. The automatron's weapon crackles with life and as his fire meets its electricity - the energy between the two elements charged and overloaded, a blast erupts, the shockwave powerful enough to send both of them flying back in opposite directions. Diluc skids back on his knee, digging his claymore into the dirt to break the slide as his gaze hones in on his mechanical opponent, who goes crashing into the rocks.

As it brings itself to its feet, it twitches oddly, sparks flying out from its torso. It seems the mek took the brunt of the explosion, the impact damaging its body. Diluc takes a deep breath, the cool air, the smell of the sea filling his lungs - grounding him. He picks his sword up, focusing the last of his energy on his vision as it tears through him like a raging wildfire, untamed.

" Burn ." he grounds out, an unrestrained molten feeling coursing through every nerve ending in his body. He can hear distant bellows of men, additional Maison Gardiennage Gardes finally honing in on the scene but they go unacknowledged. His sword erupts into flames as he swings, the fire taking shape as it leaves his weapon, soaring toward the automatron with precision in the form of a phoenix, leaving cinders in its wake. He barrels after his flames, the work of his vision crashing into the mek before his eyes. The beast swirl upwards in a fiery blast, dragging the robot along with it before crashing back down into the ground with an explosion. The Annihilation Specialist whirs uncharacteristically but by then, Diluc is already above it, bringing his claymore down in a final, devastating blow.

The mek's head goes rolling off to the side, metal pieces littering the scene. Its body sparks weakly, puffs of smoke wafting from its blackened, war torn form before it dies out, limp in the charred grass. It's nothing more than scrap metal, now.

Diluc falls to his knees, huffing as his heart frantically pounds in his chest, his lungs searing. The smell of burnt grass and ash engulf him as he sits there in the embers of his fight, exhausted and spent.

He's won.

-ˋˏ ༻───── ❧⋅♡⋅☙ ─────༺ ˎˊ-

Diluc's muscles were burning, ready to give out on him.

One moment he was kneeling in the ashes of his victory, the next he was on his back. The Treasure Hoarder he had stabbed in the shoulder was on him, blade pointed at him. The nobleman was caught off guard at the moment and was forced to act last minute, forearm crossed over his chest, hand grasping at the man's wrist as he pushed back with all he had left in him.

His body ached, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. His arms shook from the strain and he held his breath, afraid that if he allowed himself to exhale, his body - his muscles would give in. He was completely spent, unable to even conjure a flame long enough to have an effect. The battle between him and the Annihilation Specialist had taken everything out of him.

He was slowly wavering, losing his strength. The tip of the blade sunk into the side of his neck, enough for it to sting as it drew blood but not enough to do significant damage. Diluc still fought, unrelenting in his effort to survive.

A blast rung out, icy flakes exploding upon his face as his attacker was blown off his body. The tycoon turned his head to look at where it came from and Wriothesley came into view, his blue eyes glimmering with a murderous tint, lips downturned in a frown as he stalked toward the Treasure Hoarder. He didn't spare Diluc a glance, a strong hand wrapping around the back of the poor man's neck in a vice grip as he yanked him to his knees.

"Keep your hands off him." he snarled, the rumble of his voice thick with venom - with disgust. Diluc's gut churned with something hot, something unfamiliar as the tone in Wriothesley's words settled over him. It was as if he was personally offended, like someone had just tried to take something he held dear to him. He watched as the Duke tossed the Treasure Hoarder unceremoniously - like he was a sack of meat, to the feet of the Maison Gardiennage Garde which followed behind.

He finally lets his head fall back into the burnt grass, out of breath, limbs heavy. Wriothesley turned and stood over him, extending his hand out. Diluc slid his own into it. The Duke ducks down, wrapping the nobleman's left arm over his shoulder as he hauls him up off the ground, gently gripping at his wrist. Diluc let out a groan, his body protesting at the sudden movement... but he allows the Duke to lead, leaned his weight against him. Wriothesley's right hand snaked behind the small of his back, settling into the dip of the his waist. The touch burned, his memories hazily flicking back to the observatory, where they shared their first kiss. Having his body pressed against the larger man's warmth, the smell of him wafting into his nose brought back feelings like embers reignited. Diluc swallowed thickly, ignoring his thoughts as he allowed the Duke to maneuver him over the fence and onto a bench to rest.

Diluc let out a sigh, leaning back against the wood as he stared up at the clear blue sky. His body was sore, every muscle spent and exhausted. A warm hand rested against his knee and he looked down, finding Wriothesley kneeling before him, worry etched into his furrowed brows... but also something more.

Adoration .

"You're injured." the Duke breaks the silence first, referencing the small stab wound on his neck. It was nothing but a minor inconvenience. It stung, annoyingly, but wasn't unbearable.

"It's nothing." Diluc waves it off. Wriothesley takes a handkerchief out, his hand leaving the nobleman's knee to grip his chin, gently but firm. He can't help it, his breath catches in his throat and he can feel his ears burning, warmth curling around his face from the touch. His skin tingles from the contact and the Duke doesn't say anything as he dabs at the blood, the ash, the grime which covers his neck and face.

"You were..." He speaks as he finishes cleaning off Diluc's face. Wriothesley trails off, trying to find the right words as he observes him, taking in the sight of him. The look in his eye is familiar, the same exact glint swirling in them the morning they took a walk, when he had touched the nobleman's hair. Wriothesley was ogling him like he was the most exquisite thing he's ever seen, like he was committing him to his memory. It brought back that familiar warmth he felt in that silent moment between them in the room, like something had been reignited within him. Diluc knew he should put some distance between them, shut whatever this is down but he didn't. He didn't fight, he didn't object, not even when the Duke's hand on his chin moved, thumb softly running over the corner of his bottom lip. The Duke's gaze flicked down to his mouth briefly and Diluc swallowed thickly, his heart hammering in his chest and not from exertion but from the touch, the gesture and how Wriothesley was looking him like he was a fucking god. The raw glint in his eyes was as intense as it was captivating, tethering his attention.

His crimson eyes shifted momentarily to an approaching woman... and then the touch was gone as fast as he could blink, replaced by an icy feeling that crystallized through his nerves. Wriothesley stood, turning to address the lady.

They gave their statements, recollecting everything from the very beginning. The woman, the Captain of the Maison Gardiennage who introduced herself as Chevreuse let them off, informing Diluc to stay in the city since he would more than likely have to testify the events at trial on a later date. Afterwards, they set off on an aquabus toward the Court of Fontaine, silence finding the both of them once more as they listened to the Melusine point out landmarks, like Fontaine's Research Institution seen in the distance. Yet, the energy between them was loud, different, thrumming with something unlabeled but undeniable.

It wasn't until they were in the elevator of the Waterway Hub when the silence between them comes to an end, Wriothesley being the first to break it.

" Divine ." is the only thing he says. Diluc turns his head to look at the Duke, brows furrowing lightly in confusion at the single word which interrupted the silence between them. Wriothesley meets his gaze, the depths of his eyes consuming, anchoring Diluc to him. The edges of Wriothesley's lips curl into a small, amused smile. "And terrifying. You fight like a force of nature."

The nobleman stiffens, his jaw flexing before he swallows thickly as the weight of Wriothesley's words settle over him. A familiar sensation of warmth reverberates through his chest as he soaks in the compliment, unable to tear his gaze away. The subtle feeling of heat travels up his neck, curling around his face. Something about the Duke's expression is more telling than the words itself, like there is a deeper meaning to his observation.

Wriothesley turns away as the elevator jolts to a stop, the doors siding open. Diluc leaves the confined space first, taking a deep breath of the fresh air as they step into Vasari Passage. The sound of chatter, music, and running water from the large spectacle in the center fills the atmosphere, but it's nothing more than background noise. Diluc takes a right, walking past the fragrance shop. Different hints of floral perfumes waft from the store as they walk further, until the tycoon stops at the hotel next to Damoville Purveyor.

"Well, this is my stop." Diluc says as he turns to Wriothesley. The Duke briefly glances at the hotel before his gaze settles on the nobleman. There's a flicker of hesitation, subtle and almost imperceptible like he's considering something. Diluc shifts, fingers twitching at his side. "I suppose I'll see you around until the trial."

"How about dinner before we part ways?" Wriothesley nonchalantly shrugs, his voice casual but there's a tinge of hope lingering behind his words and it makes Diluc's stomach flip. His eyes carry the same weight they did before he had kissed him that day in the observatory, searching for any unease, for protest. His body aches from his fight, exhaustion weighting heavily on his shoulders... but the thought of sharing dinner with Wriothesley, sitting across him, soaking up his presence is tempting.

It's too tempting, and it terrifies him.

"Perhaps another time." he responds gently, despite the disappointment that curls through his nerves, that glimmers in Wriothesley's gaze. Diluc's stomach betrays him in that moment, grumbling out, interrupting the silence between them. The Duke raises an eyebrow but he's made his mind up. He needs a shower and a good night's rest. Thankfully, Wriothesley respects his decision, nodding his head, despite the defeated glint that swirls in the depths of his blue eyes.

"I'll see you around then, Master Diluc. Take care of yourself." he says softly, offering the tycoon a gentle yet sad smile. He doesn't like how the sound of it sends a sharp pang through his chest, how it squeezes at his lungs and makes it hard to breathe... but Diluc turns away anyways, forcing himself to walk off. He can feel Wriothesley's gaze linger on him as he nears the door, and when he reaches for the handle, he turns around one last time despite himself but the Duke has already begun to stroll away. Diluc clenches his jaw, letting out a deep exhale before entering the hotel lobby, making his way to his room.

-ˋˏ ༻───── ❧⋅♡⋅☙ ─────༺ ˎˊ-

A familiar, mournful sensation swirls in the depths of Wriothesley's stomach.

He walks silently, by his lonesome, through the Court of Fontaine. Few Maison Gardiennage Gardes acknowledge him as they see him but he keeps the pleasantries short. His mind is otherwise occupied by Diluc, and conversation with anyone but him just doesn't sound appealing.

Wriothesley should know better. His life is chained to the fortress, belongs to the depths of the sea. His duties, his focus has been the Fortress of Meropide for years and it will continue to be so. Yet, he can't help the way he craves Diluc's presence, the way his thoughts are tethered to the tycoon. He can't help the way his heart aches with this gaping hole that only seems to disappear when he's in the nobleman's presence. Every lingering stare, every gentle touch, every shared breath clouds his thoughts, swirl around in his head like snowflakes in a blizzard.

A week ago, he had first laid eyes on him. Diluc was an interesting character. Impassive, quiet, cautious. He carried himself respectably, his stoicism flawless. He's a man of unwavering principle - unshakable, despite Wriothesley's efforts to gain a reaction of any sort. Diluc was a difficult man to read, except those eyes of his. It was what he noticed first - blazing red, swirling with unspoken thoughts, feelings which stem from his childhood, from his adventures, from his life. Yet, despite the depths of his eyes, brimming with everything he doesn't speak of, a vibrant warning, Wriothesley couldn't help but become intrigued by him.

Five days ago, things between them shifted. No, Wriothesley's thoughts shifted. He had found Diluc on his last threads of life, the flame he carried nearly snuffed out. He remembers sitting there the entire time, beside him as he was unconscious, unaware of the Duke's presence. Unwound and relaxed. Diluc, like the rest of those who reside in the fortress, was under his watch. Yet, he was also a special case. He didn't belong in the Fortress of Meropide, and Wriothesley wanted to be sure that he did everything to make sure he would get out. He didn't account for the nobleman's history to catch up to him, to nearly cost him his life. Though it was clear the tycoon didn't hold it against him, he still felt a shred of guilt for what had happened.

Two days ago, they kissed in the Observatory. It was a line Wriothesley shouldn't have crossed, but he did anyways and it's scarred into his head, into his body like a burn. The memory, the taste doesn't just linger like an ember, it's still vivid in his thoughts like a fire. The way Diluc gripped at his suit, the feeling of his fingers as they curled into his hair is etched into his memory, into his body. The smell of him as it engulfed Wriothesley lingers in his thoughts like smoke. He's never liked the heat, but he'd burn himself up, set himself ablaze if it meant he'd get another kiss, another second in the nobleman's presence. He reminisces in the feeling of Diluc's hair, soft against the rough pads of his fingers. He looked so elegant with it undone, cascading freely down his back and shoulders. Wriothesley thinks it truly is a shame he keeps it tied back.

He remembers their conversation in the observatory after the sun had set. Wriothesley had went there to clear his head, ease his swirling thoughts. When sunlight is scarce, the ocean truly represents an abyss, infinite nothingness. It steals away all your thoughts, captivating... but so is Diluc. He didn't expect the nobleman to step into the room, but he wasn't displeased when he did, either. There were so many things he wanted to say in that moment - they lingered on the tip of his tongue but he held himself back, couldn't find the proper words, the right way to convey his thoughts. Diluc looked as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't have been that night, guilt swirling in those crimson eyes of his. Yet, Wriothesley also saw something else. Want. Hope. Loneliness. It was as if he was waiting for the Duke to say something, do something... but he didn't. He said nothing and instead, Diluc left him there, alone.

Watching Diluc walk away from him that night burned painfully more than Wriothesley had wanted it to.

The Duke enters Palace Mermonia in silence, nodding to one of the Gardes as he nears Neuvillette's office. He knocks twice on the door and right away, there's a response from inside the room.

"Come in." Wriothesley does so. The Iudex looks up from his desk, a smile finding his lips and he rises from his seat to greet him. "Ah, Mr. Wriothesley. Chevreuse had informed me about the incident that took place at Marcotte Station. I'm glad to see you're unharmed."

"Thank you."

"Here I thought Master Diluc would be accompanying you. I was told he was quite a sight on the field. Took on four Treasure Hoarders and an Annihiliation Specialist Mek by himself. I was hoping to speak with him - express my gratitude for his assistance with the situation. Is he alright?" Wriothesley's chest tightens at the mention of him, memories of the earlier battle finding the forefront of his mind. Seeing him today in his element, going head to head with the automatron ignited something that he tried to freeze over. Diluc truly was the epitome of fire, a force of nature. The way he moved, the way he fought was brutal, ferocious, merciless. Wriothesley knew he was talented, skilled in his craft but seeing him on the field was entirely different. He was breathtaking, impossible to ignore. He tore through the field, though his opponents like an untamed wildfire, unwavering determination blazing in his eyes as he held his ground.

Wriothesley had wanted nothing more than to kiss him right then and there in the ashes of his victory.

He would've if it wasn't for the damn Treasure Hoarder.

The Duke hands Neuvillette the folder which contains the signed documents which finalized that the tycoon had served his sentence in full and was free to roam the nation once more as a civilian. The Monsieur took the file from his grasp, flicking it open and briefly scanned the documents before setting it on his desk.

"Master Diluc is fine. He didn't sustain any substantial injuries." Wriothesley finally answers matter-of-factly, his tone tight. Neuvillette furrowed his eyebrows, a frown slightly curling into his face as he observed the Duke.

"Is everything alright? Forgive me for intruding but you appear bothered." Wriothesley's gaze falls to the folder on the Monsieur's desk as he presses his lips together. "Perhaps we can talk over some tea?"

"That won't be necessary. I'm okay and I'm sure you're busy. I appreciate the offer, though. Thank you."

"Is it about Master Diluc?" he presses and Wriothesley can't help it, the way his fingers twitch or the way he swallows thickly, an icy feeling similar to mourning crystallizing its way through his body. "Sigewinne might have mentioned something between the two of you the last we talked. I take it that is true."

"There isn't anything between us."

"Is that truly the case or have you both yet to discuss it?" Wriothesley doesn't answer, the silence an answer enough. It's loud as it grows between the two of them, and he's unable to meet Neuvillette's gaze so he focuses on one of the little trinkets instead laid upon his desk, the disheveled paperwork he's been working through as his fingers fidget with the cuffs that hang off his belt.

"Doesn't matter. He lives in a different nation." he finally responds dismissively with an exhale.

"He travels for work. Fontaine is good for business. I do remember him mentioning the idea of opening a second tavern here in the Court." Wriothesley's eyes perk up at that, an eyebrow raising as he studies the Monsieur's face. Something warm swarms in his stomach as the words settle on him. "I advise you talk to him before you make your decision. I've seen the way you look at him."

The Duke chuckles at that, airy and brief but he can't help the small smile that tugs at the ends of his lips. Neuvillette is a perceptive being, he'll give him that much. Wriothesley thought he was hiding it well, but eyes are unwilling to lie.

"Well, I appreciate your insight. I'll take it under consideration." He nods toward the Iudex, who responds with an own bob of his head. The Duke turn away, making way toward the door to exit the office. He speaks once more over his shoulder before leaving, "Thank you, Monsieur."

-ˋˏ ༻───── ❧⋅♡⋅☙ ─────༺ ˎˊ-

A knock sounds out at the door and annoyance reverberates through Diluc.

His body was spent, his muscles were sore, and he was exhausted. He's finally just taken a seat after a shower, prepared to order room service to fill his empty stomach, to just relax for the evening with some historical document on Fontaine, which was already playing in the background... and now someone was bothering him. With a grunt, he stands from the sofa and pads toward the door, quickly tying his hair back on the crown of his head.

When he swung it open, his eyes widened and his heart flipped in his chest out of surprise, his annoyance quickly and easily replaced.

He wasn't expecting anyone to show up, much less Wriothesley, who stood leaning against the frame with a bag of what smelled like food in his hand. The Duke's gaze flutters down Diluc's body until they meet his stare and the tycoon feels heat swirling beneath his skin from the very obvious gesture. He presses his lips together, swallowing thickly as he tries to make sense of this visit.

Nothing comes to mind.

"Look, I know you said no to dinner but I figured it was because you are exhausted so I thought takeout would be a better option." Wriothesley's voice cuts through his thoughts, grounding him to the present and all Diluc can do is blink, at a loss of words. His fingers twitch against the door handle, the smell of sea salt and bergamot earl gray tea filling his nostrils, laced with metal and whatever it was the Duke had ordered and brought to his door. His stomach betrays him, grumbling out and the corner of Wriothesley's lips curl up in an amused smirk. The nobleman only flushes in embarrassment. "So, are you gonna invite me in or will I have to get on my knees and beg?"

Diluc does so, despite himself, his thoughts swirling as the words settle on him. The sight of Wriothesley on his knees, begging... he pushed the image away as fast as it came. He knows this probably wouldn't be a good idea, letting the Duke in for dinner so late in the evening. Every logical, rational part of him tells him he should say no, turn him away but he ignores the better of his instincts, moving out of the way as he further opens the door. Wriothesley makes his way inside the hotel room, setting the bag down on the table. He takes a moment to remove his shoes, placing them next to the couch to be forgotten about. He turns his focus back to the bag and begins to unpack its contents. Diluc grabs two plates and utensils for the both of them.

"What did you bring?"

"Foie Gras and onion soup. Macarons are for dessert." Wriothesley responds as he turns to take the plates from Diluc. The nobleman briefly returns to the small kitchenette to grab bowls before setting them on the table next to the takeout. The Duke thanks him before motioning for him to sit, so he does, watching silently as the man splits the dishes between the two of them. The food smells rich and buttery, paired with the sweet aroma of the onion soup has Diluc's mouth watering. His stomach embarrassingly grumbles again and Wriothesley only smiles as he hands him his meal.

"Thank you."

The Duke takes his seat next to Diluc, the sofa cushions dipping from his weight as he settles. Though the silence isn't unbearable, it thrums with an energy that has his thoughts swarming. The food is delicious, rich in taste as they explode upon his tongue but it's not strong enough to distract his thoughts, to take his mind off of Wriothesley's presence. He thinks back to the day when he had brought him lunch while Diluc was healing, bed bound. The conversation swirls in his head much like the taste of the soup swirls in his mouth. He can't bring himself to look at Wriothesley as he eats, his gaze flicking back and forth from the boring historical document on the television to his dinner.

"I spoke with Monsieur Neuvillette today." Wriothesley breaks the silence first and Diluc finally looks over at him. The Duke is already watching him, his expression indecipherable but there's something lingering in the depths of his eyes. "He told me you were thinking of opening another tavern. Here. In Fontaine."

Diluc looks down at his food, swirling a piece of duck liver on his plate. What the Iudex told Wriothesley was true. He has an appointment on a later date with a realtor to scope out a few different properties within the Court of Fontaine. Angel's Share has been doing exceptionally well, but Diluc wishes to expand his network of intel and what better way than to have additional taverns in different countries? People love their liquor and liquor leads to loose lips.

"Yes. I'm going to check a few properties out later in the week." he finally responds, setting his meal down on the table. Though he's not finished with the entirety of it, he's had his fill.

"I assume that means you'll be in the city every now and then?" he continues, his tone soft and shy of hopeful. Diluc doesn't like how it makes his heart clench.

"That assumption is correct." Wriothesley sets his own plate down, wiping his face with a napkin before discarding it on his plate. He settles back on the couch, arm extended along the backrest as he watches Diluc, who's been observing him the entire time. The Duke looks relaxed, casual, like nothing has happened between them but the nobleman cannot relay the same energy. His thoughts still swirl with everything they were supposed to talk about but haven't. The kiss they shared plays over and over in his head and the unknown, the lack of answers to his questions is slowly dwindling away at his patience. He narrows his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why do you ask?"

Wriothesley just shrugs his shoulders in response, his gaze flicking to the television. Diluc presses his lips together, fighting the urge to roll his eyes as he grabs the plates and begins to clean up, discarding the touched food and packing up the leftovers before storing them in the fridge. He can feel the other man's eyes as they settle on him once he's stood from his seat, following him as he moves about the hotel room but he doesn't look at him once.

Diluc begins to wash the dishes, slowly at that, in a way to distract himself. Unanswered questions swirl through his head, linger on the tip of his tongue. Why are you here? What do you want from me? Yet, he doesn't say anything, even though he feels the way Wriothesley's gaze observes him like a warm hand reaching out - only the tycoon doesn't take it. He doesn't feed into it, his eyes focused on the dishes, his ears attempting to focus on the film even though words go over his head - in one ear and out the other, unprocessed. He can't find it in himself to understand what's happening in the film, not that wants to. He's still trying to sort through his feelings, decipher the energy between them that burns with something inexplicable. It's suffocating and despite how tired his muscles are, he can't help but grow tenser with each passing minute. He can hear Wriothesley stand from the couch, the sound of footsteps nearing him as the space between them vanishes, replaced by warmth. He only briefly turns his head, catching sight of the Duke who now stands behind him. His eyes focus back on the sink as he continues to busy himself with washing.

"You're avoiding me." Wriothesley's voice cuts through the silence, through his thoughts. Diluc's fingers tighten against the utensil he holds and he can't help the way his jaw clenches at the observation, an accurate observation. Though it's not entirely true, he has looked at the Duke several times throughout the evening, it's never long enough to acknowledge whatever it is which lingers between them. When he finishes up the last of the dishes, he rinses the soap suds out of the sponge and dries his hands.

"One could say the same about you." he retorts, his tone colder than he intended it to be but nonetheless, the words are out. He hears Wriothesley let out a slow, controlled exhale, briefly meeting his gaze before he grabs a glass from the cupboard. "Would you like something to drink or are you heading out?"

"I presume you mean what happened in the observatory." the Duke responds, ignoring his question. The words draw Diluc's attention and he turns to look at him completely, his heart thumping heavily in his chest. He doesn't respond, his silence is enough of one. When Wriothesley speaks again, his voice is steady but there's an underlying hint of what sounds like disappointment in his voice. "Do you want me to leave? Is that it, then? We pretend it never happened?"

Do you want me to leave?

The words reverberate through Diluc, his memories of the night they first ate dinner together coming to the forefront of his mind. "Do you want me to stay?" Wriothesley had asked him. At that time, he had said yes to him staying... and though he should say yes to him leaving tonight, he finds himself hesitating.

"I have tea, water, or grape juice." Diluc finally speaks, disregarding the questions entirely. There's a glimmer of vulnerability in the Duke's eyes, brief and near imperceptible but the nobleman saw it anyways, like he was genuinely asking - weighing his options. Something aches inside his chest, but he ignores it, holding Wriothesley's gaze, waiting for a response - for anything.

"Grape juice?"

"Yes. It's a favorite of mine. Homemade." Wriothesley nods.

"I'll try that, then." Diluc grabs the bottle from the fridge along with an additional glass. He fills both with juice before handing one to the other man as he turns to lean against the counter. Wriothesley's fingers tentatively brush against his own, unintentionally but the contact burns. Diluc swallows thickly, ignoring the way such a small, accidental gesture has his mind reeling - ignores how his instincts tell him to put some space between the two of them as he stands there, bringing the beverage to his lips. He takes a sip, the familiar refreshingly sweet and tart taste of grape juice swirling upon his tongue. He wonders what it would taste like on the Duke's lips but the thought is snuffed out as quickly as it appears. He's doing everything he can to not think of the kiss, of his touch despite how unrelenting these memories are proving to be. His eyes remain trained on the film, yet his mind remains on Wriothesley.

The man sets his glass down on the counter. He's not looking at Diluc, but instead the glass as if he's deep in thought, weighing his options, deciding on something unspoken. The tycoon's fingers tighten around the glass as he waits, the silence growing heavier with every second, the energy between them thrumming uncomfortably.

"Why are you here, Wriothesley?" he finds himself speaking first this time, his voice vulnerable, quiet - almost a mumble but audible enough for the Duke to pick up on it. He sounds exhausted, utterly defeated. He can feel the other man observing him and at this point, Diluc is just staring at the glass in his hand. The taste of grape juice is no longer appealing to him, not when his head feels heavy with all these questions. He's starting to get a headache from the consistent thinking that just leads to nowhere. He finds himself speaking again, before he can stop the words from coming out, before he can listen to the better of his instincts. He just needs answers and he's tired of waiting for them. " You act as if it didn't happen. Do you regret it? Does ignoring it make it easier-" he pauses, exhaling slowly as he tries to calm his nerves, his thoughts, the frantic thumping of his heart, "because I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

Silence.

It's deafening .

It weighs heavy on Diluc as his words, his admission, the vulnerability behind them swirls between the both of them. Diluc's fingers tighten from where they hold the edge of the counter, as if he's gripping on a lifeline before he gets swept away in a tidal wave. It's hard to breathe, the air in the room thick. His chest aches with every inhale. His heart aches with each passing second. His soul aches as the silence grows longer.

"Look at me, Diluc." The tycoon doesnt want to, afraid of what he might see - or might not see. Yet, Wriothesley's voice is soft, coaxing and he finds himself turning his head up to look at him anyways, even though an unsettling feeling burns through his body. His eyes settle on the Duke's and the muscles in his jaw tighten painfully. The brilliance in Wriothesley's gaze is as gentle as it is intense, raw and unguarded yet completely indecipherable. He reaches out, gently brushing one of Diluc's blazing strands of hair from his face, curling it around his finger, thumb lightly grazing his cheekbone. "I don't regret it."

Diluc swallows thickly, words dying out in his throat but his eyes burn with unspoken questions. Why? Why avoid it, then? Why not bring it up earlier? Why are you here? Why? He exhales through his mouth, slow and controlled, trying to ease his thoughts as the Duke studies him silently.

"I don't-" he pauses, his hand leaving Diluc's hair to run through his own. The nobleman sets his glass down on the counter, next to Wriothesley's as he watches him silently, waiting, lingering on his words. His heart frantically pounds in his chest. "I don't usually want things I cant have."

His voice is quiet yet steady despite the undeniable fear in his tone, despite the unease which glimmers in his eyes. It's brief but Diluc sees it clear as day and his heart pulses with a sharp ache, tension coiling through his body. He finds himself speaking before he can stop himself, but he's not entirely sure he wants to. He doesn't even realize he's been holding his breath the entire time until he exhales his words into the open.

"Who said you can't have me?"

Wriothesley sighs deeply, hands coming up to cradle the tycoon's face gently. His hands are warm against Diluc's skin and the touch has him reeling. Wriothesley looks as if he's drowning, yearning for air - for a lifeline but unable to reach it. He leans in closer and for a moment, Diluc thinks he's going to kiss him, his breath hitching in his throat as his stomach flips. But it never comes. Instead, the taller man leans down and presses his forehead against his. The intimacy behind such a simple gesture makes his heart lurch and he finally exhales, slow and controlled. Their breaths mingle between the small space which separates them. Wriothesley is holding on, restraining himself with everything he's got and Diluc doesn't know if that scares him or excites him.

"Tell me to stop." he whispers, broken. "I shouldn't want this as much as I do. I keep telling myself I have a choice - that I wouldn't do this again but..." he pauses, finally opening his eyes and Diluc swallows thickly as their gazes meet. A familiar feeling burns through him, searing through his veins, unrestrained and wild... and he lets it - allows himself to burn in it despite how terrifying, how powerful it is. Wriothesley looks as if he's ready to jump in the fire with him, his control slowly slipping between his grasp. Diluc leans forward, just a tad bit, his nose brushing against the Duke's hesitantly. "To hell with it."

The distance between them disappears.

Wriothesley's lips are on his own, firm and final, kissing him like a starved man. He holds Diluc's face like it's an anchor, grounding him and he can't help how he melts into it, allows it to consume him. There's a sweet tinge that lingers from the grape juice they drank earlier. He inhales deeply, taking in the Duke's familiar scent of the ocean laced with metal and tea and it goes straight to his head, makes him feel like he's floating. Or drowning. Diluc doesn't know but he doesn't care to dwell on it. He lets the feeling cloud his thoughts, his judgement, just as he lets his body speak for him. His heart beats frantically in his chest, the muscles in his body feel like they're ready to just give.

His hands press against Wriothesley's stomach and slide up the expanse of his chest, one stopping to grip at his suit and the other moving to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. The Duke's hands leave Diluc's face, trailing over his shoulders before finding the curve of his back. He pulls Diluc completely into him, their bodies meshing together, feeding off each other's warmth. Wriothesley's kiss deepens with a tilt of his head, his careful fingers slipping beneath the sweater Diluc wears to press against the bare skin on his back. The touch burns through him, heat pooling in his gut.

Diluc's fingers tighten against Wriothesley's suit, tangling in his hair with a tug. Again, just like in the Observatory the first time, the Duke groans low against his lips, the sound reverberating through the nobleman's body as a chill follows. It sounds painful, like he's a chained animal and he pulls Diluc closer, impossibly closer as the fingers slip from the curve of his back to the dip of his waist, tightening around him. His kisses become feverish, hungry, tongue wet and warm yet delicious as it swirls with his own. The tycoon gasps against his lips, the heat building in his gut becoming restless.

Wriothesley pulls back, the both of them gasping for air, the warmth of their breaths wafting against one another's spit slick lips. Diluc opens his eyes and he's met with the sight of the Duke, flushed and destroyed, blown pupils and heavy lidded eyes glazed over with a carnal hunger that makes a chill run up his spine despite how warm - how hot his body feels. He can feel the flush which curls up the back of his neck over his cheeks, the way it simmers at the tips of his ears. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, his head feels light and airy. The fire that rages through him is both terrifying yet welcoming.

"I..." Wriothesley starts to speak but he trails off, licking his lips instead. There's something in the way his breath stutters, like he's caught between restraint and surrender. Whatever it is he wants to say claws at the back of his throat but refuses to come out. His eyes flick across the expanse of Diluc's face, painfully silent. Unease settles through him and he's afraid that the Duke will completely pull back, snuff out the fire they've only just rekindled. He doesn't want to be left back out in the cold, not again.

"What?" he whispers breathily, timid and gentle like he's trying to coax the words out. The fingers curled in Wriothesley's hair loosen, fidgeting with the black and gray tufts absentmindedly. He's afraid that this moment between them will collapse if he holds on too tightly. He doesn't want it to fall to ash, he wants the opposite - Diluc wants to burn. He's prepared to let the fire that restlessly churns beneath his skin consume him entirely. Diluc holds his gaze, his eyes softening as he tilts his head back. The Duke swallows thickly, the muscles flexing beneath the skin on his throat and the nobleman's gaze flicks down momentarily to watch it. He wants to run his tongue over the skin, imagines it, the salty warmth upon his lips. He wonders how Wriothesley would react to the gesture and the thought excites him. He doesn't move, though, still waiting for Wriothesley to finish his thoughts. "Are you have second thoughts about this?"

"Hell no."

"Then, what?"

"Are you sure - about this, I mean. Are you certain you want to go through with this?" Wriothesley asks, almost nervously and he swallows again. As his gaze hones in on the bob of the other man's throat, his thoughts flick back to the idea of dragging his tongue along the expanse of the warm skin. He didn't earlier, but now that the words are out, the question lingering in the air between them, he's got no need to hold himself back.

So he leans in.

Diluc drags the flat of his tongue up the column of the larger man's throat until he reaches his jaw. Wriothesley's breath catches in his throat, his fingers pressing harder into the soft skin of Diluc's waist. He lets out a shaky exhale through his nostrils as the tycoon peppers little kisses along the warmth of his jawline, and the taste that lingers on his tongue is exactly as he imagined. Salty, like the ocean.

"Careful, phoenix." he warns huskily, the words reverberating through Diluc's body, warming the pit in his stomach. When he pulls back to look at the Duke, the depth of his blue eyes swirl with something dangerous but caged, waiting to be let free.

"Is that enough of an answer for you, Your Grace ?" Diluc finally speaks, gently yet provocative as he peers up at Wriothesley through the thickness of his red lashes. His voice carries no hesitation, unmistakably decisive. The edges of the man's lips curl up into an amused, delicious smirk and he cocks an eyebrow as the words sink into him. He pulls away, fingers trailing down the tycoon's arm before wrapping around his wrist, firm yet gentle. As he guides Diluc away from the kitchenette and toward the bedroom, excitement burns through his body like a raging wildfire.

As Wriothesley gently leads him inside of the room, he closes the door behind them and twists the lock in place with a click. It's loud against the silence between them, finalizing what's been decided between the two of them, what's been thrumming in the energy they share. The Duke sheds his cloak as he saunters toward Diluc,  allowing it to fall to the floor to be forgotten about. As he crowds the nobleman's space, he pulls his tie free and tosses it to the bed, his eyes never leaving the tycoon's face. Diluc watches every movement carefully, the air between them thickening as anticipation swells in his stomach.

"Take your hair down, Master Diluc." his voice comes out thick yet demanding, unshakable. The way it settles over Diluc's body sends a chill down his back. He swallows hard, arms raising to pull the tie loose. The blazing strands of his hair fall down his back, cascading over his shoulders and Wriothesley's breath hitches in his throat as he watches him, his gaze unwavering. He's looking at him the same way he did when he first saw it undone, when he had pulled it loose from Diluc's sweater as he was changing. He soaks up the sight of Diluc, ogling him like he's a god, raw adoration swirling in the depths of his blue eyes. "Archons..." he mutters hoarsely, reaching out to tuck one of the loose strands behind the nobleman's ear.

His fingers linger against the strand and the undeniable awe in his eyes has Diluc holding his breath. "Has anyone ever told you that you're breathtaking?"

"No..." Diluc whispers breathily, afraid of what his voice might sound like should he have used it. A flush paints his face, heart hammering frantically in his chest as he stands there, silent, watching the way Wriothesley memorializes him. He stares at him like he's etching every detail of Diluc's face into his memory.

"Well, in that case... let me be the first." his eyes flick up from where they rested on Diluc's lips to meet his gaze. "You're breathtaking, painfully so."

The flush which paints the tycoon's face deepens into a darker crimson color, he can feel it as the heat travels to his face, simmering at the tips of his ears. He doesn't say anything, his fingers splaying across the larger man's stomach as Wriothesley's warm hand leaves his hair alone. It moves to his jaw, gently guiding his head back before his lips are on his own once more, soft and loving, a stark contrast to the feverish hunger the Duke had kissed him with earlier. Wriothesley exhales through his nose, his free hand settling on the small of Diluc's back as his lips move tentatively with the other's. The nobleman doesn't waste any time, his fingers moving to carefully pop each button undone on his suit. Once it's freely open, Diluc slides his hands carefully up his chest, drinking in the curves - the feel of Wriothesley's muscles underneath the thin, silky material of the dress shirt with his touch.

Wriothesley's hands move to discard the jacket, tossing it to the floor absentmindedly before tugging at the black sweater Diluc wears. He pulls it up over his head and lets the knit top join his own jacket on the floor, brushing the tycoon's flaming red hair behind his shoulder. He feels bare, standing here with his shirt off, strangely exposed. He never realized how much of himself he hides away behind tailored suits and tight gloves. Each scar on his body tells a story - his story. Wriothesley takes a moment to study him, the history permanently etched into his skin. He drags his fingers carefully along the scars, a tingling sensation following. Eventually, his soft wet lips find his searing skin of his shoulder and he peppers a trail of kisses up the column of his neck. Diluc sighs from the contact, allowing his eyes to fall closed, allowing himself to relish in the intimacy.

Their lips meet again in another soft kiss, and as their lips dance together, Wriothesley's warm hands circle Diluc's waist. One settles on the curvature of his back, palm flat against the searing skin. As Diluc loops his arms around the Duke's neck, his other hand travels further up along his spine, sending a shudder down his body as it leaves goosebumps in it's wake. The fingers tangle in Diluc's soft hair, and then they pull. It's not harsh, but it's enough to elicit a gasp from him, one which Wriothesley uses to his advantage. Their tongues swirl together, the kiss shifting into something hungrier and the heat that churns in Diluc's gut rages again with want, with need.

All he can taste is Wriothesley. All he can feel is Wriothesley. Every sense in his body is tethered to the taller man kissing him, and he soaks it all in. Diluc uses his arms to pull him closer, arching his back and pressing his body into the Duke's larger, sturdy frame. Each kiss is needier than the last, as if Wriothesley is slowly losing his grip on his self control. Diluc's heart wildly thrums in his chest, his legs growing weaker by the second. The fire beneath his skin rages uncontrollably, blazing through every nerve ending. It pulses in the veins of his painfully hard cock. His senses are on overdrive, hyperaware of the smallest touch, the slightest press against his skin.

The fingers curled in his hair eventually let up, finding his waist. Wriothesley leaves a chaste kiss on his lips, like he's fighting every urge to pull away but he does so eventually, urging Diluc to sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under his weight as he obliges, peering up at the Duke from behind his thick red lashes. Wriothesley stares back at him with blown pupils, unfiltered desire swirling in the depths of his eyes.

Between Diluc's legs, he slowly lowers himself to his knees, his gaze never leaving the tycoon's face while he unfastens the straps of his gloves. He pulls one off with his teeth, holding it there while he works on the other, tossing them behind him without a thought once he's through. Diluc's gaze remains unwavering, watching his every movement, yet something within him feels as if it's ready to fracture. His breath hitches in his throat when the bare warmth of Wriothesley's hands finds his thigh. The touch burns, despite the layer of cotton fabric between their skin. His hands slide further up, fingers carefully following the curves of his flesh, halting once they're at the elastic band of his sweatpants. They hook inside the fabric and the Duke gently tugs at them, placing a soft kiss along Diluc's collarbone.

The nobleman braces his hands against the mattress and shifts his hips, allowing Wriothesley to pull the rest of his clothes off of his body. They're left on the floor, disregarded completely as his fingers curl around the supple flesh of Diluc's thighs. His gaze is honed in on the tycoon, intense yet hypnotic. His hands are rough but warm, welcoming against the bare skin of his legs. One hand travels lower, curling around his left calf, gently maneuvering the leg up to rest on his shoulder as he places a sweet kiss along the searing skin of Diluc's sensitive inner thigh. His jaw clenches from the contact as he swallows thickly, anticipation restlessly churning throughout his body as another shudder runs down his spine. Wriothesley stares at him like he's a fucking deity, kisses his body like he's worshipping him at an alter, each kiss feeling almost sacrilegious. The feeling - the sight of him on his knees before Diluc is as intense as it is magnetic, tethering him to the moment.

Diluc watches, breath caught in his throat as Wriothesley's warm lips move up the expanse of his thigh. Each gentle kiss has his gut flipping, heat churning uncontrollably beneath his skin. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, raw desire growing restless within him. His hands follow his mouth, caressing the supple flesh of Diluc's thighs, gently squeezing the muscles like he's coaxing him to relax. The tycoon's fingers twitch the way flames do in the wind as he grasps for control over the excitement. Every brush of his lips, every waft of hot breath was slowly loosening the steel grip he keeps on himself. Diluc isn't used to yielding, and yet here Wriothesley was, coaxing it out of him - reminding him what it feels like to pay mind to his wants, his desires.

"May I..?" Wriothesley trails off, his blue eyes flicking down to the flushed tip of Diluc's aching cock. He drags his bottom lip between his teeth, nodding his head. the Duke drags his left hand up the nobleman's leg, fingers gently wrapping around the base of his shaft. Licking his lips like he's preparing for a meal, he peppers hot wet kisses along the underside of the searing skin, tracing the bulging vein with his lips before darting his tongue out to lap at the sensitive tip, swiping away the salty precum that's begun to swell on the slit. Diluc lets out a shaky breath, a barely audible groan following past his lips.

He allows a thick droplet of warm saliva to fall from his mouth onto Diluc's cock, collecting the fluid with his fingers as he skillfully drags his hand down the shaft. A sigh fall from his lips, the sensation tingling through his body... and then Wriothesley's lips are wrapped around the head of his dick, moving lower and his entire body tenses as a shudder runs down his back. His mouth is hot and wet, tongue firm against the underside of his cock, dragging painfully slow against the skin. Diluc's eyes flutter closed, a timid moan coaxed from his throat. It feels divine, searing through every nerve ending in his body.

As Wriothesley bobs his head, his hand follows, twisting ever so slightly as he changes direction. It feels amazing, heat unfurling within his gut like an untamed wildfire as it rapidly spreads through Diluc's nerves. His muscles spasm and twitch, heart hammering in his chest as his fingers tighten against the blankets upon the bed. He can't help it, his hips absentmindedly jerk from the stimulation, the leg which rests on the Duke's shoulder curls as he pulls him closer. His left hand leaves the bedspread, tangling into Wriothesley's soft gray locks of hair, tightening as he holds onto him like he's an unshakable anchor that keeps Diluc tethered to this moment. He feels as if he's drowning in it - in his feelings, in the pleasure that sears through his body.

"Wrio.." he chokes out a plea, and he doesn't recognize the sound of his own voice - pathetic and undeniably needy. His voice, usually sharp, now cracks under the weight of his desire. It wasn't just arousal which swirled in his gut but also grief, which clawed toward a feeling dangerously similar to comfort. The other man only responds with a guttural groan, the sound vibrating against his sensitive dick. He shivers from the sensation, fist tightening in Wriothesley's hair. A particularly harsher squeeze, paired with the feeling of the Duke's slick hand sliding up his shaft has Diluc letting his head fall back. "O-oh."

He comes off Diluc's cock with a pop before dragging the flat of his tongue along the underside, slow and deliberate. It flicks over the slit, a soft kiss following before his mouth leaves completely. Diluc's eyes flutter open as he takes the moment to catch his breath. When he looks down, Wriothesley is already staring at him, carnal hunger swirling in his eyes, yet accompanied by adoration - a small smirk curling at the edges of his spit slick lips. Diluc doesn't know what to make of the sight, the intensity of it settling heavily on him. He swallows thickly.

"Do you have oil?" he asks, voice gravelly, an octave lower than it usually is. Diluc nods, his eyes flicking over to the bedside table. As the Duke moves, the tycoon lets his leg fall from his shoulder to rest on the floor. Wriothesley reaches over to pull the drawer open and his hand digs through its contents. He pulls a small vial out, gaze returning to the nobleman. He maneuvers Diluc's left leg back up to rest on his shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss to his inner thigh. His stomach flutters, anticipation coiling within his body. "Lie back for me."

Diluc lets himself fall back, bracing on his elbows as he watches the Duke. Wriothesley carefully peppers little kisses along his searing skin, trailing slowly closer to his weeping cock, which he painfully slowly jerks off with his left hand. With his right, he pops the cork from the vial, allowing the oil to pool in the palm of his hand before securing it closed once more, placing it on the bed. As Wriothesley's warm lips find their way up his shaft and to the tip, his body shudders, a fiery tingling sensation traveling down his spine, the heat of it pooling in his stomach.

He swipe his tongue over the head, a sigh falling from Diluc's lips from the gesture. He lets his eyes flutter closed, allows himself to just relax - to feel everything. Wriothesley takes the head of his cock back into his mouth, the heat, the softness of it makes him ache. Gentle fingers dip low, between his cheeks, prodding at his hole. His body tenses in anticipation, excitement searing its way through his body as a tremble and as the Duke's lips move lower around his sensitive dick, a finger pushes in, slow and controlled. The intrusion doesn't hurt, it feels weird at first but also pleasant.

Wriothesley takes his sweet time, lips moving deliberately along his cock, tongue hot and flat against the underside, cheeks hollowed out. The finger inside of him moves in rhythm with the Duke's lips, gently pressing up against the walls inside. Diluc twitches, soft groans falling from his mouth. He can't help the way he pulls Wriothesley closer with his leg, the way his heart flutters, the way the pleasure burns through his body and pools in his gut.

"...fuck-" he mutters breathily, fingers curling against the bedspread. He looks down for a moment, brief but it's enough to make an uncontrollable shiver travel down his spine. Wriothesley is looking right at him, watching, soaking in the sight of Diluc flushed and unraveling before him. The intensity makes his stomach flip, his chest heavy as he lets out a deep exhale.

A second finger pushes in, joining the first. It burns, but not uncomfortably. The tycoon bites down upon his bottom lip, a barely audible whine clawing its way from his throat. It sounds foreign to his ears, pathetic and desperate, completely unlike himself. Each slide, Wriothesley's fingers press in deeper, and then an intense, toe curling pleasurable sensation digs its claws deep into his body, causing him to jerk as he inhales sharply. The Duke raises an eyebrow, mouth still stuffed with Diluc's sensitive cock as he deliberately presses against the same spot once more. The nobleman chokes out a moan, the same feeling raging through his veins, this time stronger.

The feeling of Wriothesley's mouth around his dick, hot and wet mixed with the sensation of his thick fingers fucking into him makes it feel as if he can't breath. Diluc drowns in the pleasure as it consumes him, his breaths coming quicker like he can't get enough. His fingers clutch at the sheets, muscles twitching absentmindedly and a familiar pressure begins to grow stronger in his gut, sears through him. His body feels hot, like he's been thrown into the flames as tension coils throughout his body. His hips jerk and he allows himself to fall onto his back, one hand tangling into Wriothesley's hair.

"Wrio- ahhhh fuck..." he chokes out desperately, a debauched groan following. The Duke only hums, pulling his mouth off Diluc's cock before pressing a kiss to the underside of the tip.

"Ohhh I know, sweetheart. Feels good, doesn't it?" his voice is gravely, a sliver mocking and it only feeds the fire that rages inside. Diluc doesn't speak, not trusting his words but he nods, frantic, another needy whine falling from his lips. The endearment, sweetheart, it makes his heart swell, makes his gut clench, an electrifying feeling prickling through his nerves. Wriothesley places a wet kiss upon his inner thigh, his free hand moving along his shaft. The tension in his stomach coils tighter, the twitching of his muscles becoming stronger. The pleasure builds and builds and builds, unrelenting. "Look at you, writhing just from my fingers."

The pace of the Duke's hand speeds up, his fingers working skillfully inside of him, curling with every thrust in. It leaves Diluc trembling, tension coiling tighter in his gut with each stroke. His mouth falls open, a choked moan forcing its way out as his body jerks from the stimulation. His toes curl, leg on Wriothesley's shoulder pulling him impossibly closer, one hand reaching out to run through the man's gray soft dark hair. Wriothesley places another kiss along his thigh, his hot lips leaving a tingling sensation upon the nobleman's sensitive skin.

"I - nnngh I..." Diluc groans, his breath hitching in his throat. The Duke's thick fingers press up against him, the hand on his shaft slides smoothly as it works up and down his dick, thumb swiping the tip every so often, collecting the precum which leaks from his slit. His body spasms uncontrollably, his breaths coming and going erratically. Diluc feels as if he's close to tumbling off the edge of a cliff, close to falling and he fights to keep himself anchored, unsure if he should allow himself to succumb to the intensity of the pleasure. "Wrio, I'm.... nnnngh"

"It's okay, sweetheart. I've got you." the Duke responds gruffly against the searing skin of his inner thigh, "Let go. Let me have a taste."

A shiver travels down Diluc's spine at his words, his body responding for him as a broken moan slips past his lips. Wriothesley's lips join his hand on his sensitive cock, wrapping around the tip and moving low, following the movement of his hand as he strokes him. The hot, wet feeling engulfing his dick alongside the delicious curl of his fingers pressing into his walls makes his body jerk. The tension in his gut coils tighter, his hips jerk up despite himself. Diluc's fingers clench hard at Wriothesley's hair and his head falls back as the tension in his gut snaps aggressively. His mind feels hazy, broken fragments of his thoughts swirling around in his head as pleasure rips throughout him, wasting away his restraint. His orgasm rages through him like a wildfire, consumes him entirely as he fights for air like he's suffocating in the smoke of it. The Duke groans around his cock, his hands and lips slowing as they milk whatever they can out of Diluc, whatever his body is willing to give him.

His ministrations begin to slow, allowing Diluc to ride out the high of his climax while he swallows up every last drop the tycoon has in him. When his erratic, desperate breathing begins to calm and his muscles slowly uncoil - the fog in his mind finally dissipating, Wriothesley slides his fingers out from within and removes the nobleman's cock from his mouth. He presses a tender kiss to his inner thigh, pulling back to stand as he begins to unbutton his dress shirt.

Diluc's eyes flutter open, observing him for a brief moment before he forces himself to sit up as Wriothesley slides his shirt off. His mind feels light, airy, his body buzzing with the intensity of his climax. He watches as Wriothesley's hands move to his belt and Diluc reaches out, grasping at his wrists to stop him. The Duke raises an eyebrow, halting in his movements as their gazes meet, charged with energy.

"Wait. Let me, please." Diluc is the first to speak, his voice a bit timid as his face flushes. Wriothesley nods his head, letting his hands fall to his side as he watches the nobleman unclasp his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. Diluc leans in, pressing a kiss along Wriothesley's hip as he pulls down his pants. The Duke's hard cock springs free, the tip glistening in the soft lighting of the room with smudged precum and he licks his lips, desperate to get a taste. His careful hands slide up the expanse of Wriothesley's thighs, inching closer to the man's thick cock however, he stops in his tracks when the Duke grabs his chin, firm. Diluc looks up at him through the thickness of his red lashes.

"No hands." he says, his voice final. Excitement flips in the nobleman's gut at the tone, the implication. Diluc's eyes flick briefly down to the metal cuffs which are still attached to Wriothesley's belt, settled on the floor alongside the man's pants which have pooled at his ankles. He drags his bottom lip through his teeth as an idea comes to mind.

"You look like you want to ask for something, Master Diluc. Go on, use your words." Wriothesley remarks with a raised eyebrow, his voice a touch teasing. A shiver rages down Diluc's spine, the words, the plea caught in his throat. He's not used to this, the feeling of wanting to be bound, to give himself over in such a way. Submission isn't something he's entirely familiar with. Fire doesn't submit - it ravages uncontrollably, consumes in its entirety. It's untamed and yet, something about the Duke makes him want to give in, to give himself over completely. Wriothesley's voice pulls him from his thoughts, "Well, sweetheart?"

"Use them." his voice comes out low, small as his gaze flicks from the metal cuffs back up to the Duke, who observes him patiently. The sound of his own voice - the tone startles him... too soft, bare. This wasn't just permission but surrender, and for Diluc, who has always led - an unwavering flame in the dark, this vulnerability felt dangerous, like uncharted territory. He reaches out, unclasping them along with the key from his belt and hands them to Wriothesley, who takes them with an amused smirk, something dangerous in his eyes.

"On your knees." He commands, and Diluc obeys. He slides off the edge of the mattress to the floor, the carpet digging into his kneecaps as he raises his wrists before him, upturned. Wriothesley's observes him carefully, his gaze is steady but not demanding. He tosses the key to the bed, grabbing one of Diluc's wrists in his calloused hands, tentatively sliding his thumb over the aged burn scars which litter his ivory skin. Goosebumps travel up the expanse of Diluc's biceps, over his shoulders, following the electricity that tingles throughout his body from the caress of his fingers. His heart pounds in his chest, heavy, yet his breaths come slow, calm and composed. The first cuff wraps around his wrist, the metal cool as it presses against his searing skin, snapping in place with an audible click that pulls at something within him. The Duke pauses, letting out a slow exhale. "Are you certain this is what you want, Diluc?"

"Yes." he responds without a beat, without hesitation, finalizing his decision verbally. Here, in the dimly lit room, there is no space for nobility, for the expectations that follow his title. In this quiet moment shared between the two of them, he was just Diluc - bare and human. Wriothesley obliges, the second cuff snapping in place, bounding his wrists together. Diluc lowers his hands, his gaze flicking up to find the Duke's, who reaches out to caress his cheek. The touch his gentle, thumb lovingly grazing his cheekbone like he's made of porcelain as he peers down at the nobleman with the intensity of a thousand suns.

"If you need to stop at any time, pinch my thigh. Understood?" His voice comes out huskily, a clear order. Diluc nods, not daring to pull his gaze away, not even when Wriothesley's left hand moves from his face to curl in his long hair, fisting the blazing strands between his fingers. He tugs the tycoon's head back. "Open your mouth."

His soft, bitten lips part just as ordered, tongue darting out, flat as it rests atop his bottom lip. With one hand still tangled in his hair, Wriothesley uses it to guide his mouth to the tip of his cock, smeared precum mixing with his saliva, salty as the taste blossoms along his tongue. Gently, his hardened dick is pushed past his lips, into the wet heat of his waiting, open mouth. Diluc's eyes flutter closed, a soft groan clawing its way up from his throat as his lips wrap around Wriothesley. He hears the Duke let out a ragged exhale through his nose, slowly moving Diluc's head along his dick with the use of his hair.

"Fuck.." Wriothesley whispers, breathy. Diluc shudders at the sound, cheeks hollowing out as he sucks lightly. Wriothesley keeps his thrusts shallow in the beginning, the sounds of his soft pants filling the room but Diluc wants more, craves more. He pushes his mouth further along the Duke's thick cock, forcing more of it past his lips. The fist curled in his hair tightens, Wriothesley's dark eyebrow raising. "Greedy. Am I not giving you enough?"

Diluc looks up at him through the thickness of his red eyelashes, lips still wrapped around the Duke. He can't verbally speak, not with his mouth somewhat stuffed but he knows the way he's peering up at Wriothesley is enough of an answer. He can tell because a delicious smirk forms on his lips as he glowers down at Diluc.

"Very well." he muses, pushing his hips forward, guiding Diluc's mouth with his hair further along his hard cock. The nobleman's eyes flutter closed as he steadies his breathing, relishing in the taste of Wriothesley's dick as it fills the hollow of his mouth. The tip bumps along the back of his throat and Diluc can feel tears begin to slowly prickle in his eyes. He hums in content, and Wriothesley only lets out a breathy groan in response as he pulls his hips back, only to thrust back in.

The movement startles Diluc, who is unable to move his head away. He takes what Wriothesley gives him, drags his tongue along his shaft with each jut of the Duke's hips, with each forced bob of his head. The fingers in his hair tighten, Wriothesley's grunts breathless and desperate, Diluc's muffled little moans needy and content. The tears that swell in his eyes gloss over his vision, one slowly trickling down his cheek but still, he takes, he pleases, something he hasn't done in a while. His dick weeps from between his legs, hard and begging to be touched again but he ignores it, opting to focus on the Duke.

Wriothesley's breathing soon becomes unsteady, the thrusts of his hips messy. Diluc focuses on keeping his breathing calm, though his jaw aches. The carpet digging into the skin of his knees burns, but he barely registers the discomfort. His hands clench into fists, tears rolling down his flushed cheeks as saliva dribbles off his chin, but still, he takes what Wriothesley gives him, allows him to stuff his mouth and use it as he so wishes.

The Duke opens his eyes to look down at Diluc. He looks torn, sweat glistening on his chest and forehead as he pants through parted lips. Gently, with the hand not curled in the nobleman's hair, he caresses his cheekbones, thumb swiping away at one of the tears as his thrusts slow. Wriothesley pulls Diluc's mouth off his cock, letting his grip on the blazing strands loosen before he tentatively combs his fingers through them. He must've understood the confusion in the tycoon's gaze, because he offers him a sweet smile.

"Sorry, sweetheart. As amazing as your mouth feels, I don't want to cum just yet." His voice is gruff, low and melodic, almost hypnotizing. Diluc finds himself nodding before he remembers telling his body to do so. Wriothesley gently helps him to his feet, rough hand circling his bound wrists as the other rests on the curvature of his back, supporting him. He pulls Diluc in for a breathless kiss, sweet but entirely devouring, their lips sticky from saliva. The Duke's tongue slides alongside his own with a groan and the nobleman's knees almost buckle beneath him, from both kneeling too long and the intoxicating sensation of Wriothesley's mouth, hot and heavy upon his own. If it wasn't for the Duke holding onto him, letting him lean against his larger frame, surely he would've toppled to the ground.

Wriothesley pulls back, his grip falling from the chains of the handcuffs to reach up, cupping Diluc's face as his deep blue eyes study him, soft and endearing. The way he peers at Diluc makes his heart squeeze, steals the breath in his lungs. The Duke looks utterly destroyed, with a flushed face and wet puffy lips. The nobleman is sure he looks the same, just as unraveled.

Wriothesley's thumb rubs along his cheekbone, swiping away a lingering tear, near dried. He gently, almost lovingly, presses a kiss to his cheek, moves up to press one more on his temple, and then a final kiss to his forehead as he inhales slow yet deep. Diluc's face warms from the gesture, his heart stuttering as an ache dangerously familiar to a hunger he's denied himself over the years - to a warmth he's thought he's buried swells up in his chest, threatening to swallow him whole. It's both exhilarating yet utterly terrifying. He doesn't know what think of it, how to react. It leaves him breathless.

Guiding him to sit at the edge of the bed, Wriothesley steps closer, out of his pants which were pooled at his ankles and kicks them away to be forgotten about. He reaches past him and grabs the key he had earlier tossed on the bed, unlocking the metal cuffs. He clicks one link undone, thumb brushing slowly along the burn scars before he pauses, eyes flicking up to meet Diluc's watchful stare.

"Are we through with these?" he finally speaks, quietly.

"We don't have to be. What did you have in mind?"

"Do you trust me?" Wriothesley's eyes are soft as they dig into him, yet his voice sounds almost afraid - raw and vulnerable. Trust has never come easy to Diluc yet, in the shared moment between the two of them, he finds himself nodding without a flicker of hesitation.

"Yes, I do."

"Then put your hands behind your back." The words are firm, but not demanding. Diluc obeys anyways, and Wriothesley reaches around to secure them in place, the cuff locking around his wrist with a click. He pulls back, setting the key on the bedside table. With a jerk of his head toward the bed, he speaks once more, this time as a command. "On your knees."

Diluc struggles to crawl atop the mattress with his hands bound, but Wriothesley thankfully helps him, a firm hand keeping his balance steady. Then, it settles on his upper back, between his shoulder blades, and urges him down. His head falls against the pillow with a soft thump and he turns to look over his right shoulder though he can't see much from the position. His wrists are bound behind his back, his rear exposed to the cool air. It feels almost humiliating yet, excitement trickles through him, partnered with anticipation.

The Duke's warm hand finds his hip and he feels the mattress dip beneath his knees from the other man, who settles behind him. His legs are gently nudged further apart with Wriothesley's thigh as the hand on his back tentatively traces the curvature of his spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Diluc shudders from the touch, fingers absentmindedly twitching before it stops on the small of his lower back. The hand on his hip disappears but he hears a pop - the removal of the cork from the bottle and something inside of him tenses.

Then, he feels it. Something warm and wet and hard pressing against his entrance. He wriggles his hips, breath stuttering in his throat as heat travels up his back, simmering in the tips of his ears.

"Breathe, sweetheart." Wriothesley's voice rings out from behind him, reassuring, and his body reacts just as told. Diluc inhales deeply, calm and he feels the other man slowly pressing into his tight heat. It burns, but the pain is not entirely uncomfortable. Inch by delicious inch the Duke sinks deeper into his body and it forces the air from his lungs along with a low pitched whine. He feels his heart frantically beating in his chest, his fingers tightening into fists as he screws his eyes shut, every thought in his mind dissipating into nothing as Wriothesley fills him with a murmured, breathy curse, stopping when his hips meet his rear.

Despite the earlier prep, Diluc is still so undeniably tight wrapped around him. His hole greedily sucks Wriothesley in, hot and slick from the lube. He can feel the nobleman clenching around him, the muscles fluttering as they work to become accustom to the intrusion.

One hand remains on the small of Diluc's back, the other finding the dip of his waist and he feels Wriothesley's chest press into him, a soft kiss placed upon his shoulder blades. It makes his face flush, his body tremble as heat begins to slowly churn in his gut.

"Are you okay?"

"Mmm...mhmm..." he nods, teeth digging into his bottom lip. He feels full, so full like he can't even breathe.

"Take a breath, Diluc. I need you to use your words."

"Yes - yes I'm okay. Please just... just move. Please..." his voice comes out quiet, nearly a whisper yet utterly needy. It sounds unlike himself, but he doesn't spare a thought on that. Wriothesley rises off of his chest, a smirk forming along his lips from the response. Cool air blankets over his bare skin, no longer kept warm from the Duke's larger body.

"Oh? You're begging already?" the words are taunting, and Diluc can't help the way he shivers despite how hot he feels. Slowly, he pulls back, his cock slipping away from within before he calmly thrusts forward again. The tycoon chokes out a breath, eyelids fluttering closed as his body welcomes the entirety of Wriothesley's dick back in. Tension slowly curls in his gut, a whine tearing its way from his throat. The dauntingly slow pace the Duke moves his hips at is just not entirely satiating him. He wants more, needs more. He needs to feel him etched into his body, needs to be molded around him. The pleasurable heat tingling beneath his skin threatens to consume him... and he wants nothing more than to burn in it.

"Wrio... I'm not.." his breath hitches as the Duke pulls away, the words dying in his throat momentarily. "I'm not going to break." Diluc gasps when he slides back in, still slow, filling him. He shudders from the feeling.

"I know." he pauses, pulling away again, "I'm just appreciating the view." he snaps his hips forward, harsher this time and Diluc isn't able to hold back the moan which forces its way from his lips. His entire body jerks, pleasure tearing through him, the metal cuffs clinking as they're pulled tight, fingers curled into fists.

Wriothesley's hand on his hip tightens, pulling Diluc's body back toward him, the hand splayed out flat against his back pushing down, holding him in place. The movement forces his cock deeper inside of him, the arch of his body causing it to rub up against his prostate. His entire body tenses from the sudden powerful jolt of stimulation, toes curling in response partnered with a pathetic whimper that falls from his parted mouth.

His hips snap into him before pulling away at a set pace, not exactly harsh but not gentle, either. Each delicious drag of his dick into him, jutting up against his sensitive bundle of nerves sends electrifying pangs of pleasure to tingle throughout the entirety of his body. Sweat pools against his skin, his breaths coming out ragged - occasionally as a broken moan, other times as a desperate whine. Wriothesley groans quietly from behind him, the momentum of his hips unrelenting.

"Nnngh f-fuck... Wrio -" Diluc chokes out between his cries, absentmindedly pulling at the cuffs that bound his wrists, the metal digging into his skin. Tension and pleasure churn in his gut, coiling tighter with each thrust. His cock is painfully hard, weeping precum which sticks to his abs as the tip slides against his searing skin with the force behind each of Wriothesley's thrusts. Diluc's pliant body trembles, the muscles of his hole fluttering around the Duke's hardened cock. A familiar heat grows beneath his skin, threatening to consume him, itching to rage uncontrollably.

Wriothesley's hips slow, the warmth of his hand leaving his hip and back. One curls around his shoulder, the other grabbing hold of the chain between the cufflinks and Diluc is pulled up onto his knees with ease. The entirety of his hard cock is completely engulfed inside of the nobleman, forcing him to settle his body weight against the Duke's hips. A whine tears through his throat from the movement, a full feeling enveloping his senses.

The rough hand on his shoulder tangles into his blazing hair, yanking his head back and Wriothesley's hot lips engulf his own, wet and hungry, thoroughly devouring. His hot tongue lazily fucks into his mouth, slides against his own just as he jerks his hips against Diluc's ass, grinding his dick inside of him. He muffles the low groan that seeps from the tycoon with another kiss, his other hand abandoning the cuffs to wrap around his front, holding him in place as he fucks up into Diluc.

"You taste as divine as you feel, phoenix." Wriothesley growls against his lips, his words finalized with a particularly harsh thrust. Diluc whines, pathetic and needy, completely unlike himself but he's got no grasp on his self control. The restraint is gone, he's completely succumbed to his pleasure - allowed his desires to consume him. A shiver rakes down his spine in response to both the stimulation and the words - the sultry sound of Wriothesley's gruff voice.

His hand abandons Diluc's hair, settling along his throat. Wriothesley's fingers don't tighten, but the subtle pressure is enough to make the nobleman shudder. A firm hand grips his wrist and his hips snap up again, repeatedly, each deep plunge of his hard cock forcing the breath from his lungs.

Diluc's kiss bitten lips fall open, choked moans and wanton whines tearing free from his throat. Pleasure racks his body, heat rippling beneath the skin. The tension pooling in his gut relentlessly churns, wounding tighter with each thrust, threatening to snap. His eyes are screwed shut, yet tears seep through and slip down his cheek, a few caught in his red lashes. Diluc's mind feels hazy, and he barely registers the feeling of Wriothesley's hot tongue dragging along the side of his throat, lapping up at his sweat, tasting him.

"Nnnngh Wrio - please" Diluc cries out, toes curled as another tremble racks through his body. Each thrust sends a jolt of electricity to ravage his nerves. Sweat glistens off his skin, and he's so close to burning. The pleasure that pools in his gut hurts, deliciously so.

"I know, sweetheart. I know." the Duke grunts along his ear, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. His hand abandons Diluc's hip, wrapping around his neglected sensitive cock and the nobleman can't help the way he juts his hips forward, into Wriothesley's fist. A few pumps, coupled with the snap of the Duke's hips and Diluc unravels completely.

Pleasure tears through his body mercilessly, every muscle coiling tight as his climax consumes everything. With a pathetic cry, white sticky spurts of cum spill into Wriothesley's hand, which continues to slide along his dick. Diluc's entire body spasms from the intensity of his orgasm. Wriothesley slowly fucks him through the entirety of it, hand lazily stroking his twitching cock as he trails wet, open mouth kisses lovingly along the column of his throat and shoulder. As Diluc floats into the afterglow, body still trembling, the Duke stops moving entirely, holding up his pliant body.

Diluc doesn't know how long it's been, leaning against the other man, slowly calming his earlier erratic breaths. The Duke slips out of him and helps him to lay on his side, silent as he grabs the key from the bedside table and unlocks the cuffs. He tosses both off to the side, peppering small kisses along the irritated skin of the nobleman's wrists, where the metal had dug into.

"How do you feel?"

"Mmm... good.." Diluc mumbles, lazily blinking up at Wriothesley. His muscles feel like jelly, spent and exhausted. His mind is still hazy from his orgasm, fragmented as he lays there, observing Wriothesley in an almost dazed state.

"Still with me, sweetheart?" he asks gently, laying Diluc's wrist down before his hand move to stroke a lock of his red hair from his sweaty face.

"Yes." Wriothesley leans down, pressing a kiss to his cheek before moving lower, lips sensually moving against Diluc's. Something flickers in the nobleman's gut from the tenderness, a stark difference to how the Duke ravaged him only moments before.

"I think we can get one more out of you. What do you think?"  Diluc's eyes widen in that moment as realization snaps him out of his daze. His eyes flick down to Wriothesley's still hard cock. He hasn't cum yet.

Excitement pulses through his tired body, igniting a heat he had thought was satiated only moments ago.

"...You haven't cum yet." he quietly verbalizes his observation. Diluc shifts, sitting up despite the protest of his body. His hand splays out along the warmth of Wriothesley's broad chest, dragging up his shoulder, around the back of his neck before he pulls him closer for another kiss. Brief, but soft. "Sit down."

A singular eyebrow raises, but he obliges nonetheless. He moves to sit as instructed, his back leaned against the headboard. Dark blue eyes study Diluc as his sore, somewhat shaky thighs straddle Wriothesley's hips, one hand settling on his broad shoulder to steady himself. The Duke's hands him the bottle of oil before his warm hands wrap along his thighs, fingers gently digging into the supple flesh.

The nobleman pours some of the oil upon his hand, warming the liquid in his palm before sliding it along Wriothesley's hard cock between his legs. He groans from the gentle stimulation, grip tensing along Diluc's thighs, like he's fighting everything in him to not completely tear the tycoon apart in that very moment.

He lines the thick head of the man's cock along his hole, the tip catching the ring of muscle easily as he slowly sinks down upon the length. His mouth falls open, despite the easy slide. Each inch pushes more air from his lungs, the familiar fullness slowly coming back to him as he shudders. Wriothesley leans closer, hot breath wafting out in a sigh against Diluc's collarbone before he presses a kiss to the sweaty skin.

Diluc reaches out, one hand on the man's chest, the other curled around the back of his neck as he bottoms out. A whine claws its way from his throat, but it's quickly swallowed by Wriothesley's lips as they capture his own in a wet kiss. The hands which grip his thighs move, sliding to settle on the small of his back, the other grazing along his spine up his back until the fingers are tangled gently in his blazing hair.

Lifting his hips with trembling thighs, Diluc begins to move, pulling away before sinking back down on Wriothesley's cock. He takes his time, relishing in each drag as the Duke devours his mouth in wet, hot kisses. Their tongues glide together, a dance they're familiar with as Diluc's senses are entirely consumed with Wriothesley. All he feels is him, all he smells is him, all he can taste is him. He doesn't know where he ends and where the other begins, heat simmering beneath his skin, sweat glistening along his body. Shocks of pleasure ripple through Diluc with each trembling movement of his hips. It’s too much, but not enough. The way Wriothesley kisses him like he’s precious, almost sacrilegious. The way his hands never push, they only hold onto him, allowing him to take what he needs. Something tender twist in his chest and he feels as if he's free falling, not entirely sure if he wants to catch himself before he crashes into the ground.

Wriothesley begins to gently roll his body, meeting Diluc's  hips. Their bodies move together like a tide, crashing and pulling, again and again. The fingers fisted in his long locks of red hair tugs, forcing his head back as the Duke's spit slick lips move along the curve of his jaw and down the column of the tycoon's sweaty throat. His hot tongue lavishes the salty skin, teeth grazing along Diluc's pulse point and he responds with a cry, his nails digging into the back of Wriothesley's neck. With a guttural groan, he closes his lips around the nobleman's throat, sucking a bruise into the creamy ivory while Diluc chases his pleasure with each lift of his hips.

Wriothesley doesn't stop there, leaving dark bruises along Diluc's skin anywhere he can. On the column of his throat, his collarbones, the base of his neck, beneath his ear. He paints his skin as if it were a canvas, leaving evidence of this night to blossom in purple upon his body. The tycoon trembles in his hold, desperate fractured cries of pleasure clawing its way from his lips. Heat pools in his gut, the familiar tension of it growing tighter by the second.

"Archons, Diluc..." Wriothesley groans against his ear, breathless and low, the rumble of his voice hypnotizing. His mind replays the sound of his name falling gruffly from the Duke's lips, hot breath wafting against his earlobe. His body burns, overstimulation seeping through him. Yet, he still craves more.

When he moves to grasp at his hardened cock, weeping between the both of them, Wriothesley's hand shoots from his hair to wrap tightly around his wrist. Diluc whines in protest, opening his eyes when the room spins.

One second he was on top, the next he's grunting as his body is pressed into the mattress, the Duke hovering over him. His fingers curl between Diluc's, pinning his hand to the mattress, his other gazing down his thigh, catching the bend of his leg and pushed it up, the nobleman's ankle resting upon his broad shoulder.

"Sorry, sweetheart. This time, I want you to see you fall apart untouched." He murmurs, brushing a strand of loose hair from his face before the hand settles on the bed, next to his head. Diluc shudders beneath him, his body slick and shaking, wrists still tingling with the ghost of  Wriothesley's grasp. The position feels exposing, too intimate - leaves him feeling utterly vulnerable and yet, he doesn’t pull away. The fire beneath his skin threatens to ravage him, consume him entirely... and then his thoughts shatter with a harsh snap of the Duke's hips.  A cry breaks from his throat - sharp and unguarded. It rips through him like his body has betrayed him, voice cracked open by pleasure he can no longer temper as his back bows off the bed. His fingers tighten around Wriothesley's as his body greedily sucks him in.

With each unrelenting thrust, the Duke's cock drags along his prostate, sparks of electricity coursing through his veins. He curls his free hand into Wriothesley's dark hair, clutching at the soft tufts. His toes curl, his body aches and when he opens his eyes, briefly, blinking away the tears that blurry his vision and the sight Diluc is met with leaves his frantic heart stuttering in his chest. Wriothesley stares down at him with such undeniable adoration, raw and dangerously soft. Something warm in his heart swells, threatens to engulf him... and this time, he welcomes it.

Blazing red hair splayed out beneath him like the wings of a phoenix, crimson eyes glossed over, cheeks flushed and stained with tears. His lips are swollen and puffy, glistening with spit. Diluc looks as if he’s being consumed from the inside out - absolutely wrecked, his usual stoic demeanor replaced with something vulnerable... and Wriothesley can't help but stare, completely at a loss for words. Beneath him, panting for air, each thread of his resolve has been unraveled to expose something warmer, delicate. Diluc truly is breathtakingly, mind numbingly beautiful.

Wriothesley leans down, hips steadily pushing into Diluc as he consumes his begging lips with another wet kiss. Their bodies mold together, the nobleman's cock twitching between them as he whines against the Duke's devouring mouth. Each delectable thrust pinches the air from his lungs, pushes a desperate moan from his mouth. Wriothesley has picked at every thread of his carefully put together armor and has completely torn it apart. Diluc feels as if he's drowning in the moment - in the feeling. The flames in his gut ravage through him like a wildfire, uncontrollable, and the tension that has painfully built shatters completely. Every nerve in his body feels raw, skin too tight, too hot. It’s too much, and he loses himself in it, drowning in the flames - burning on the altar of Wriothesley’s devotion.

Diluc's entire body trembles as white hot pleasure sharpened into something near painful burns insistently throughout his body. His orgasm tears through him like a lightning strike - fast, hot, and utterly blinding. His mind shatters, eyes screwed tightly shut as his back arches off the bed. His fingernails absentmindedly dig into the skin between Wriothesley's knuckles - holding onto him as if were a lifeline, the other raking down his broad sweaty back, leaving puffy red welts in its wake. The fingers settle around his waist, digging into the skin. The tears which have pooled in his eyes slip down his flushed face, a few caught in the thickness of his red lashes, glistening in the dimly lit room. He clenches tightly around the Duke's thick cock, the stuttering jut of his hips going unnoticed to Diluc as he drowns, completely engulfed in his orgasm.

Wriothesley groans against his collarbone, snapping his hips one final time, burying himself deep as his own climax washes over him. He fills Diluc, slowly jutting his hips forward, using the nobleman's body to milk his orgasm but also to fuck the other through his, even though his body trembles with overstimulation, dumbed down to a whimpering unraveled mess. He presses a sweet kiss along the side of his face, the salty taste of the man's tears lingering on his lips as they move up to delicately press against his sweaty temple. Their shared erratic breaths is the only sound between the two of them, filling the silence that is neither uncomfortable nor unwelcoming.

Wriothesley slides out, slow, and Diluc winces, inhaling a sharp breath from both the empty feeling - the loss of his dick from within but also because he's entirely overwhelmed. The emptiness leaves him feeling open, and not just physically. The quiet air settles around Diluc like a weighted blanket, thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and something heavier. There’s still a thrum beneath his skin, nerves still tingling with embers that haven't decided if they're done burning. He lets the Duke move his body, let the leg which rested on his shoulder gently settle on the mattress. He barely registers the next words that breathily waft over him.

"I'll be right back. I'm going to grab a towel." Wriothesley kisses his fingers before letting go, disappearing into the bathroom, and Diluc doesn't move from where he lays, completely spent yet glowing. His eyes fall closed and he faintly hears the sound of running water. They only lazily flutter open when footsteps begin to near him.

Wriothesley gently cleans him up first with the warm, damp towel. He wipes up the evidence of their activities, the lube, the spit, the cum. It feels intimate, makes his heart ache. As the towel drags along his soft dick, Diluc's entire body tenses and he reaches out to grasp at his wrist, brief.

"Mm sorry..." he murmurs but the Duke shakes his head, a small smile curling at the edges of his lips.

"Sensitive?"

"...very." he admits, breathy, like he's embarrassed. He hates how fragile he feels, but not because of Wriothesley. It's because of himself - because it feels good to be taken care of, and he doesn’t know what to do with that after neglecting himself of such a kindness for so long. He's not used to people sticking around, tending to him after feeling the sear of his flames which guard his heart. Wriothesley catches his wrist, fingers gentle rubbing circles along the puffy red indents from the cuffs, along the old burn scars which litter his creamy skin before he places a warm tentative kiss upon the pulse point.

He finishes cleaning Diluc up before wiping himself off, discarding the soiled towel. The nobleman shifts, pulling the rumpled covers out from beneath him before the both of them settle together on the mattress. The blankets are pooled at their waist, Wriothesley pulling the man's pliant body into his own, arm draping around his midsection as he trails lazy kisses along his neck and shoulder. The energy between them shifts into something intense yet soft, borderline domestic and his heart aches. He doesn't want to think about how natural this feels, or how long he's craved this closeness - this safety without entirely realizing it.

Diluc knows they should talk about this, about everything that's happened between them but at the moment, all of his thoughts are fragmented. His eyelids feel heavy, exhaustion settling deep in his bones as a yawn crawls its way up from his throat. Right now, he just wants to relish in how nice - how completely right this feels, and perhaps get some sleep. Tomorrow, they will talk about it.

Tonight, he allows himself to be selfish. He allows himself to ignore the voice that screams danger, listening to his aching heart instead.

"You look as if you could melt into the sheets." Wriothesley chuckles from behind him, against his skin, the words tickling his neck. Diluc shifts, pressing closer into the Duke's warmth. "You fought like hell today."

"So did you." he mumbles, earlier's battle against the Treasure Hoarders briefly flicking through his mind.

"It was nothing compared to how you looked out there." He pauses, nestling his nose into Diluc's soft hair. "Get some rest, Master Diluc."

Silence settles over them... and exhaustion lulls Diluc to sleep only moments later.

-ˋˏ ༻───── ❧⋅♡⋅☙ ─────༺ ˎˊ-

His entire body aches. His limbs feel heavy, still thick from sleep but also from last night, a soreness tingling from his rear a stark reminder of his heinous activities. Diluc doesn't open his eyes, curling up tighter underneath the warmth of the covers. Fragments of last night swirl endlessly in his head, sending a molten feeling to melt through his body.

The way Wriothesley fucked him, unraveled him thread by thread, until he was completely undone, writhing uncontrollably beneath him. The way he talked to him, the sound of his voice, low and melodic. The way he kissed him, both tender and carnal, sweet and entirely devouring, leaving Diluc with the breath stolen from his lungs.

And... oh.

Oh, the way Wriothesley looked at him, drank up the sight of him like he was starved. The vulnerability, the rawness, the intensity behind his blue eyes made his heart stutter, made his body shiver - stole the thoughts from his head. Wriothesley looked at him as if he was a prayer answered, as if he was the only thing that mattered, completely and utterly consumed.

Something warm blossoms in his chest from the memories, swells uncontrollably, threatens to devour him. Diluc smiles to himself, his eyes finally fluttering open to welcome the sunlight that seeps in through the curtains. The soft rays glimmer through the room and as he turns his body...

an ice cold feeling douses his nerves.

The bed is empty. The floor of the room is littered with only his clothes, the Duke's attire nowhere to be seen.

The silence is deafening, or perhaps it's the ringing in his ears that feels mind numbing as something dark, ugly and bitter slithers through his body, poisons him.

Diluc swallows thickly, pushing down whatever thoughts swirl in his head, ignoring the familiar painful ache in his heart as he stands. He dresses quickly in last nights attire - black knit sweater and sweatpants. He grabs his hair tie, setting it on the nightstand. He'll need it later after he showers, but a glass of water is preferred first.

A sound at the front door pulls him from his thoughts, which were already listing off the things he needs to do for the day. He turns toward the commotion, grabbing one of his small knives before creeping out into the hotel living room. He flattens his back against the wall, fingers tensing around the blade's handle.

The door swings open and Diluc moves to attack, only to reel himself back last second as the familiar face, startled, nearly drops a drink carrier he holds. Deep blue eyes widened with surprise stare at him.

"Goodmorning to you, too, sweetheart. Was last night not satisfying enough?" Wriothesley muses, eyes glittering with humor before his gaze shifts to the blade Diluc nearly stabbed him with. His face flushes, both out of embarrassment and from the memories of last night's activities.

"I thought you left."

"I mean... I did, to get breakfast." he pauses, his observant eyes flickering across the expanse of Diluc's face. As the words settle between them, realization strikes the Duke's features and he chuckles, entering the room to set a paper bag a the drinks down on the table. He picks up a folded piece of paper, turning toward Diluc as he hands it to him between his fingers. "I take it you did not read my letter."

Embarrassment fully consumes the nobleman.

"No..." he mutters, sheepish, "I just woke up."

"I can see that." Wriothesley teases, amusement edging at his tone while his hand ruffles Diluc's blazing, messy hair. The nobleman deadpans, briefly, but his features soften when the Duke's fingers graze the side of his face before tilting it up. He places a sweet kiss to his lips, soft and slow, and it makes Diluc's knees feel like jelly.

"Mmm..." the tycoon hums before pulling back, despite not wanting to. "We should talk about last night."

"Yes-" Wriothesley is interrupted by Diluc's stomach, a loud growl cutting out into the open. His eyebrows raise in response, a teasing smile curling at the edge of his lips. "Perhaps over breakfast, before you starve."

"What did you bring?" his eyes flick over to the four cups and the paper bag. Wriothesley pulls away, nearing the table as Diluc follows.

"I didn't know if you prefer tea or coffee so I got both, but then I realized I also didn't know if you like your coffee plain or with milk so I got you one of each of those, too. There are some pastries from one of my favorite bakeries in the bag." he pauses his ramble, which almost sounds nervous as he turns to Diluc, "After breakfast, I have to go back to the Fortress - duty and responsibilities and all but we could do dinner tomorrow night?"

His voice sounds hopeful, a tad vulnerable and Diluc can't help the way his heart lurches, from both the tone but also the gesture. As the implication behind Wriothesley's words settle over him, his eyebrows furrow together.

"Are you asking me out on a date?"

"Yes...?"

END