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Lohen knows he's a bad kid.
Every time he has a favorite, he breaks it. His touch, no matter how hard he tries to be gentle, wears and tears it down. It's become a joke, really. His clan muses that the more he likes something, the more broken it is.
He can't help it.
When he holds his wooden toy in his hands, an urge gnaws at his chest. His hands itch. He doesn't stop until the grain is splintering between his fingers.
Soft toys get no mercy. Seams ripped, stuffing gouged out - he takes it all apart until there's nothing left.
It leaves him with an ache. Satisfaction, mostly, for disassembling it, knowing it to its innards. Loss, as well, because now that he has found the edge there is nothing to explore. It is his, for better or worse.
Even playmates don't like it. Maybe even disliking him entirely. The other children avoided him. Sometimes he wishes they'd never approached him in the first place, if they were just gonna run crying and tattle about nothings.
When turtles had become a household staple, Lohen had, of course, received one too. Holding it in his hands — he loved every bit of that creature. The patterns of its shell, the rough edges contrasted to its soft body.
He couldn't handle the twist in his stomach. The turtle had been the one exception to his habits, and now it had become the object of his obsession. Each time the turtle had looked up at him, an overwhelming urge to squeeze, maybe even crush, had overtaken him. Displaying demonstrable discipline for once, he feigned boredom and had the turtle given away to some other noble family.
For the longest time, he despised this possessiveness. Human connection was out of the question. It was a simple reality, exile himself from humanity, lest he holds on too tightly.
Truth is, he wanted to hold someone without breaking them. His heart yearned for someone who could withstand every ounce of affection he imposed. Yet, even deeper in his stomach, he wanted to break them. It should be vile, repulsive — simply meant to be suppressed. Until he met someone who wouldn't break, and would even ask for more.
“Harder-!” Varka’s voice is wracked with pleasure, distorted from each thrust drilled into him.
Now, they are here, in a far-flung corner of the forest. Varka is laid bare; he's stripped from the waist down, with an unbuckled breastplate and undone dress shirt.
Just like this, slotting between Varka’s legs - all is right. He can grip tight, and Varka’s thighs won't give. Bite into the flesh of his chest, and he does not relent. Every hit, every scratch, every thrust - Varka can take it.
Ambushing Varka brought a high like nothing else. Although, he had gotten too greedy the first few times. Laying out traps in his paths, hiding near his nap spots, stalking him during his late-night wanderings — Lohen had truly conditioned Varka to be warier of his antics. Yet, no matter how Varka pivots or adjusts, Lohen always knew where to find him. Learning every last bit of Varka's behavior was just as exhilirating as eliciting every last bit of pleasure.
The voracious curiosity had driven him to observe in the dark. He was thrilled to find his suspicions correct. He was quite proud of the last time he'd fucked Varka; he loved coordinating and executing it all, and seeing utter bliss on his plaything's face. Loved him so much, that he'd allow him a few days time to let Varka's sore holes recover from the terrible tandem that The Captain and the Vice Captain are.
Yet, seeing the way Varka was reeled into the pleasure by anyone other than Lohen himself — it brought those rancid childhood memories rushing back. It filled with him with an intense twisting and turning in his stomach. His fingers twitched with the bubbling jealousy he'd been stewing.
The only logical way out, is to pour every ounce of posssessiveness into each thrust. To spread those supple thighs around his hips, to make those legs tremble with need.
So, he chose one of the more reasonable sizes from his collection. Then, he chased Varka down into a corner of the woods. After, he bound those sturdy wrists, and pressed Varka’s back against the tree trunk.
The size difference had never mattered, especially like this. Varka’s legs splayed open, inched forward for Lohen to thrust into without much effort. Lohen grins, watching the way Varka’s thighs seize and tremble from straining in exhaustion and excitement.
Lohen's thrusts are an agonizing, frantic pace. Cruelty always made the two of them painfully aroused. His own bottom growth strains at the seam of his undergarments, soothed only with the pressure as he slams his hips against Varka’s.
With glassy eyes, twitchy thighs — Lohen recognizes the cock-drunk look in Varka’s eyes.
The same look he had given Il Capitano.
An ugly emotion bubbles in his chest.
Reaching down into his boot, he slips out the small blade, brandishing it before Varka's glassy gaze. Varka's haze is momentarily cut as he looks down at Lohen. With a bite to the tip of his glove's finger, Lohen peels it off with his teeth. He'll need clean hands for this.
He places the glove in his other hand, while lightly pressing the unsharpened back of the blade against the center Varka's chest. He cocks his head to the side, letting the possessiveness of his jealousy spill into his fingertips. He taunts, "Think you can handle this, Grand Master?"
"I'm up for a challenge." Varka responds, a breath wavering with what Lohen chalks up to be that wonderful midpoint of anxiety and anticipation.
Lohen hums, lightly twirling the blade's handle to let the sharpened edge lay against Varka's skin. He says, "It'd be terrible if you were underestimating me."
With that dazzling, foolish smile, Varka tilts his head up. "Do your worst."
His worst starts with placing the glove into Varka's mouth, who grits it between his teeth cooperatively. He then steps back, pulling away the contact of the blade and letting his cock fall out of Varka's hole. The loss of contact leaves Varka's hole clenching around nothing, accompanied with a dissatisfied grunt.
Lohen places one hand over Varka's chest, lightly rubbing his thumb over the man's nipple, all the while returning the blade to its original position against Varka's chest. He watches as Varka's breaths slow, despite the way his eyes track the blade's edge intensely.
He drags the blade lightly, down to just above Varka's happy trail. The other man is careful not to let his body twitch too much. Lohen spots the way he's trying not to buck into the edge.
Moving his other hand down to Varka's abdomen, he traces the blade back up to right below Varka's sternum.
That urge comes back now, as the blade parts Varka's skin. The crimson underneath and its contrast to Varka's fair skin only stokes the voracity that twists in Lohen's stomach. Gratified by Varka's groaning against the glove, Lohen's dick twitches in want.
As the blood inches down, Lohen leans in and takes a long lick from the bottom of the trail, up until the source. The sanguine shoots straight to his brain stem, evoking the primal hunger he had let starve for ages. He takes a mouthful, lightly suckling on the muscle. It's reminiscent of the rare meals they have when meat is in abundance; he remembers the juice of the victual dripping down his lips.
Indulgence consumes him.
Each whimper, each quiver of Varka's body, all because of Lohen's ministrations. He teases Varka, with some cuts barely scraping the surface, and others slitting just deep enough to bleed. Lohen watches as Varka's body reacts, jutting into and reeling away from the blade's touch. He licks his lips again, delighting in the metallic relish. The sinew, a divinely delectable savory on his tongue.
He needs more.
Varka winces as Lohen stabs the knife into the bark, right by Varka's torso. He leaves the blade in place, before closing the gap between them. One of Varka's sturdy thighs presses up against his groin, and his own leg grinds against Varka's dripping hole, rubbing against his bottom growth.
The friction leaves them moaning. Lohen takes more and more of Varka's skin into his mouth, tasting every last bit of flesh he can. Varka's body trembles at the contact, sending vibrations that degenerate Lohen's own false nonchalance. He groans against the wound he's fixated on, rolling his hips into Varka's thigh, ruining his own trousers. The addicting scent, the intoxicating taste, the captivating touch — Lohen gets lost in all that Varka can offer. He's drenched through all his layers.
He needs so much more.
But guilt catches up to him. A regret gnaws at his jaw, hardly suppressed by the hedonism reigning over his mind. He wants to take, take, and take —
Delaying his own gratification, he pulls away and takes out the blade from where it's embedded. Swiftly, Lohen flicks his wrist and slices the ropes around Varka's wrists, freeing him. He hides away his blade.
Varka lets himself sink down against the trunk, groaning in relief as the sensation pools back into his arms. He rolls his shoulders a few times, before settling on supporting his back against the tree, with lightly bent knees for stability.
Lohen takes in the sight, before grasping Varka's face. The other man's breathing slows as he catches his breath, tenderly meeting Lohen's gaze. His eyes are glossy, a marker of Varka's suspension in the mental space of utter submission.
Something within him softens at the sight. It plucks at his heartstrings, drawing him closer to Varka. He squeezes the man's face lightly in his palms, drinking in the way Varka sighs and melts into the touch. It reminds him of the way he felt for that little turtle, all those years ago.
Strange.
"Wait." Lohen stiffens himself as he commands Varka, removing himself from the warmth to turn and pick up the bag he abandoned in the corner of the clearing. Jostling it out of the bottom of the drawstring, he takes out the medicinal herbs and bandages. He glances at the plethora of toys and equipment he had packed, displeased his preparations hadn't paid off much. Regardless, he returns to Varka.
Each pass of the mixture, each secure pat after bandage, all efforts to tack down the fattening dread in his chest. With the elation evading him now, he can't help but feel as if he's tarnished something good again. Despite this, he mourns how thin these scars will become.
"Lohen," says Varka, voice careworn yet laden with wanton, "mind if we do more?"
"Not at all," Lohen says, far faster than he intends, "lay on your back."
For now, he has control, he has ownership.
Varka sprawls out on his back, eyes tracking Lohen's movements. Lohen looms over him, resting the toy over Varka's abdomen. He smirks down at him, taking Varka's plush thighs into his hands.
"Please don't make me ask..." Varka pleads, stretching out to touch Lohen's forearms lightly. Lohen tilts his head to the side in contemplation, moving Varka's legs to rest on his shoulders. He presses a chaste kiss to the inside of Varka's legs, before squeezing the man's thighs around his cock.
"Then you'll just have to settle for this." Lohen counters as he fucks Varka's thighs in a slow, agonizing pace.
Impatient and unrestrained, Varka moves without permission. He grinds against Lohen, pressing his thighs as close together as possible.
Lohen tugs back control, prying Varka's legs apart. Varka chokes out a soft whine before yelping as Lohen slaps his soaked sex. After a brief moment of absence, he plunges two fingers into Varka's front hole, a mild apology.
"Such a needy slut." Lohen scissors Varka's hole open, savoring the stretch from the earlier abuse. Glancing down at the way it gapes for him, Lohen is filled with the urge to wreck him some more. Ruin him, until he knows no other. Surely, that is the only solution.
"Cover your eyes." He commands Varka, stilling his movements. Varka obliges, folding his arms over his eyes. Lohen rewards him and sinks his fingers in, knuckle deep. Slipping in a third finger, he watches as Varka's hole clenches down around his digits, as if clinging onto him.
"Who do you belong to?" Lohen asks, pausing.
"You…" Varka mumbles.
"Not good enough." Lohen says with another prompt smack to Varka's sex. He'll wring the answer out of him, no matter how much it hurts. "Who am I?"
"Lohen, please - ah!" Varka whines, punished once more.
"Full title."
"The V-Vice… fuck…" Varka babbles, drowning in the pain and pleasure. "C-captain - ah!"
The punishment had come before Lohen's contemplation. The twinge in his stomach nags at him again. He inserts his fingers again, aggressively prodding the answer out of Varka. The latter only groans, crying and whimpering. Lohen spanks Varka's hole again, sure to include his erect dick in the impact.
"The Vice Captain of the F-fifth Company…!" Varka sputters out, reeling and keening at the touch. His muscles are wound tight, tense as he quivers with Lohen's touch. He cries, "I'm yours, Lohen, please, I'm yours."
"Prove it." Lohen says as he moves Varka's arms away from his face. "Ride me."
Varka wobbles to his feet while Lohen lays down. He eyes Lohen's cock, swallowing down his hesitation. He lowers himself onto Lohen's cock, and leans forward until Lohen gets a faceful of his chest. The undertone of the copper seeps through the earthy mixture and sharp sterile gauze, complimented with the warmth of Varka's sticky exposed skin and pounding of his heart.
Lohen shuts his eyes, taking in all that Varka has to offer. Varka's intemperate quality possesses all he is. His hips sing utter devotion, a pace steadfast yet immoderate. The unmistakeable wetness echoes in Lohen's mind — a stark reminder of Varka's demand for pleasure.
He mouths Varka's chest, suckling to leave more marks. He grasps Varka's chest, fondling the fat and squeezing the muscle, extracting every last whimper. A slight sore settles in his pelvis with the force of Varka's indulgence. He suspects that he'll lose himself in Varka's flesh soon, and he needs to act quick.
"On your hands and knees, mutt." Lohen commands him, holding his forearm to Varka’s throat to push him back. Varka whines, but obeys anyway.
He cries out when Lohen’s strap leaves him empty as he stands. Turning around, he kneels down before planting his hands beneath his shoulders. A gorgeous presentation of obedience, just for Lohen.
Grandeur fills Lohen’s being. The sight of the Grand Master himself, docile on his knees, sends Lohen into bliss.
He slams back into Varka’s sopping hole, fingers digging into his hips. Varka's moans spill out with each thrust, arching his back to take more of Lohen's cock. The combined force ruts against Lohen's own anatomy, building up bliss once again. It mounts from the base of his being, wearing away at his discipline.
He doesn't want it to end just yet.
Slipping out again, and letting his own pleasure go, he calls back his own control. Varka, infatigable and indulgent, reaches behind to hook his fingers into one of the straps around Lohen's hips. He cries out, "Please, Lohen…"
Lohen responds with a brisk spank to Varka's ass.
Before Varka can protest, Lohen grabs his wrist and pulls him back onto his cock. Varka's mouth goes agape, lost in the harsh release of the intrusion. Words evade him, reduced to whines and cries.
Lohen spanks him again as he picks up the pace again. Varka's reactions are addicting, he can't help but chase the high. Punctuating his thrusts with his spanks, Lohen revels in Varka's depraved moans.
He finally lets go of Varka's wrist, letting him crumble forward into himself.
"You really are just — hah! — a slut, huh?" Lohen says as he continues fucking into Varka, the mental and physical pleasure melding into one.
He takes a handful of Varka’s plush ass, prying it to the side to watch as he slams in and out of his hole. Varka gasps as Lohen strengthens his grip. His hands are hardly large enough to take every last bit of brawn into his palm, digging instead into as much of Varka’s round as possible.
"Geez, Lohen, it's like you're branding me." Varka says, momentarily lucid until the haze returns, shrouding his countenance. Lohen’s hand is practically clawing him apart, sure to leave marks.
The image of branding floods Lohen’s vision. Varka with his personal mark, a permanent reminder of how Lohen owns him. No matter who would fuck Varka, all they'd be greeted with is this undeniable proof of Lohen’s ownership.
He ruts into him faster, getting harder against the strap. The sounds of Varka’s hole getting wetter and wetter drive him mad.
Varka's moans have devolved into basal whines. Resting his face into his folded arms, he remains ass up as he whines and cries out from Lohen’s pace.
His flesh is a ruined red, his face is a loopy mess. Like this, he is irrefutably right under Lohen’s thumb.
A wave of bliss overcomes Lohen. The pleasure emanates from his bottom growth, sending a sharp ecstasy up his spine to blossom in his chest.
He rests up, flush against Varka’s ass. A heat blooms in his face, embarrassment clutching him. Glancing down at Varka, who meekly rolls his hips back onto him, he smiles. He deserves to be rewarded for making Lohen come untouched.
He pulls out, and pats Varka’s side thrice. A familiar signal for Varka to turn over, he hence complies.
"Such a good puppy," says Lohen as Varka complies with his order, "such a good roll over."
Varka’s arms and legs are folded in surrender, belly exposed as he lays on his back. Lohen runs his hand up Varka’s abdomen and chest, groping and caressing as he pleases.
Humiliation. Indulgence. Submission. It's this utter inversion of their professional roles that strokes Lohen’s ego. Varka could domineer anyone, fight them into submission, subdue Lohen if he pleases — but instead, he is docile and easy. Lohen could bark orders at subordinates, unfeeling, but a whisper of a command that sends Varka to his knees — that is far more gratifying. Like this, like his very own pet, Lohen feels like the most powerful being in all of Teyvat, for conquering the heavens itself in his hands.
Lohen slips off the toy from its harness, and slaps it against Varka’s lips. "C'mon, now. Take the bone."
Eager for the treat, Varka takes the length into his mouth. His eyes water, his longstanding want finally quenched. He chokes a little, before the toy properly settles against his tongue where he holds it in place.
Lohen starts by slipping his fingers back in, alternating from a mean to merciful pace. He then lightly pinches the base of Varka’s bottom growth, before pressing down more with harsher circles. Every last movement is a culmination of all the tricks he's learned to make the man scream. He denies him for a little while, before returning the touch all at once.
His hands bring a pleasure Varka can hardly bear. Without their usual restraints, Varka’s legs twitch and quiver uncontrollably. As he twists and turns, Varka eventually settles on locking his legs around Lohen and dragging him in closer. A wordless, desperate plea for more.
'Yes, love,' Lohen thinks as he bites down on his lip, 'you are mine, all mine.'
With a hoarse cry, Varka’s body convulses. His hole clenches around Lohen’s fingers, mouth loose and eyes glossy.
The afterglow always feels like witnessing the first rays of light after a rainy evening. Sweat like morning dew, eyes as if freshly awoken — Varka has always been gorgeous.
His lucidity returns, and he immediately glances down at the dirt and debris that's clung to his body. His breathlessly chuckles.
"What are we, boars playing in the mud?" He laughs with his full chest, dusting himself off. "It'd be nice to get a long bath after this. But I guess we'll make do with the waterfall I spotted earlier."
Lohen nods, standing to fix himself up and hand Varka a rag from his bag. When he hands the man's remaining clothing back to him, he notices Varka admiring his bandages.
"This is good stuff. Would've been handy a few weeks ago with that other fight we had. 'Appreciate it." Varka remarks.
"I happened upon a trader during patrols." Lohen says, leaning against a nearby tree. The memory of the specifics are poisoned with the speculations pooling in his mind. Small talk information sinks to the bottom of the well in his mind, with a festering and nagging feeling bubbling to the surface.
"This good stuff seriously needs to be distributed more." Varka continues the conversation for them. "Would probably be nice for surgical recovery."
“Capitano’s surgery is beautiful work, no?” Varka says as he looks up at the stars, and Lohen wonders alongside Varka if they'll ever talk to the harbinger again. Lohen hopes not. With that glint in Varka's eyes, he guesses Varka yearns for a proper duel next time.
His fondness deflates into a frown. Il Capitano. The Captain. The man is still on Varka's mind even after all his effort. He scolds himself, 'stop it.'
Lohen nods, forcing himself to laugh amidst the jealousy. “Yes, indeed, Grand Master. Your choice in small talk topics is simply… remarkable.”
“Well you agree, and that's what matters.” Varka remarks, shrugging. He looks down at his own body, pinching a portion of his belly. “His abdomen is so sculpted too. Unlike my own - can't seem to lose this gut.”
“I hope you never do.” Lohen says, grinning at the sight. “It's quite cute.”
“Cute?!” Varka guffaws, rising to his feet. “I, the Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius, Knight of Boreas. Cute?!”
“Indeed you are!” Lohen waves him off dismissively, crossing his legs and leaning to stretch his back. The humor helps the tightness in his chest ease for just a slight moment.
“I should have you written up for insubordination.” Varka grumbles, crossing his arms. He adjusts his clothes, straightening his collars and fiddling with his armor.
"Your results are quite nice too, y'know?" Varka says, without glancing in Lohen’s direction. Lohen freezes as Varka continues rambling. "It helps that you're no longer binding your stomach and chest."
Lohen pauses, thumbing at the garment through the dress shirt. He will his voice to not waver as he clarifies, "You mean the corset?"
He hadn't expected Varka to be paying attention the few times he's gotten redressed. The scars had been traced over by Varka's cruelly kind hands in the afterglow. The few occassions that he has gotten undressed, he redressed in the dark before slipping off into the night. Varka must've been awake back then.
The questions swirl in Lohen's mind.
How often had Varka watched him get redressed, to leave without bidding him a farewell?
"Well, we should probably head back and get cleaned up at base-" Lohen cuts Varka's words off, with a swift throw of his polearm.
It plunges deep into the bark behind Varka, precisely missing his precious head. Varka opens his mouth, probably in protest, and Lohen refuses to hear it. He follows it up with an arrow from the crossbow atop his wrist.
The bloodlust must have been palpable. Varka turns on his heel, grounding himself after he's dodged the attack. His eyes locks with Lohen, flustered, but followed by a gleam of excitement. He remembers his authority, and exclaims while summoning his own longswords, redirecting another one of Lohen's arrows with the flat of the blade. "You rascal! If you wanted to spar this entire time, then you could've just asked me!"
Ask him to spar, and then what? What else is Varka quiet about? How much did Varka perceive? Is he quiet, observing, and waiting for the other shoe to drop?
Absolutely not.
He fires in quick succession, herding Varka to backing up. Calm calculations be damned, he will wear down Varka with every last bit of relentless violence he can. If Varka can keep his cards close to his chest while Lohen bares himself, then he'll give everything.
Tugging the polearm out of where its embedded, he slams it down vertically with as much speed as he can. Varka parries with the junction of his claymores, and Lohen lets his weapon bounce back from the momentum. He changes his grip, and focuses on plunging forward.
Have the others seen even a sliver of fear in his eyes? Or are they only familiar with the battle-eager Grand Master? Or are others strong enough to actually see Varka break a sweat, like this, or do they see a calm, airy Varka? Do they cut him too? Have they ever beat him like he never has? Who else has he fought with? Who else cleans up the monsters Varka tires of? Has Varka ever tired of anyone before? Will Varka tire of him?
The lump grows in his throat as he releases another arrow from his wrist, following it in quick succession with relentless strikes with the spearhead. He cannot risk allowing the other to close the distance, especially not with Varka's delectable long limbs, or his formidable claymores. His body feels in opposition to itself, tensing to protect but persisting to attack.
"Hey, you've never wanted to actually kill me before. What gives?" Varka comments, a wide-eyed confusion that only sends Lohen reeling. Surely, Varka has now peered into his soul itself and found the ugliness laid bare.
His desire has always been uncouth. Unacceptable. It is unbecoming of a noble lady, despite it being a paragon of honor for the boys of the clan. His destructive fingers have been denounced for their lack of daintiness. The way he wants to lay claim to things that are his, has always been forbidden.
He's heard them speaking about him in hushed tones. He knows that behind closed doors, they resent their daughter. Despite this, they gloat about how Lohen is such a role model to the clan, for all his feats. They will never admit the origin of those feats emanate from the darkness they've seen within him, as if acknowledging the shadow will swallow up the torchlight of the clan's combatant spirit.
If they view him to be a unreckonable beast, he will do so. He will throw in everything he's got. Even with his muscles screeching in surprise, he will overwhelm anyone, even the Grand Master himself.
Who, despite being ambused like this, is still keeping up. Varka has swapped to defend, unfazed. Any other man would've given in to the rush of a fight, but never Varka. An idol, really. The pinnacle of strength with the freedom of pure hearted laughter. Even with Lohen maniacally hacking away, he is refusing to raise his sword to his fellow man. This is not the Varka that charges into battle. Lohen catches a glint of pity.
The nerve.
That slight twinge of Lohen’s heart gives Varka an opening, the momentum of their clashing weapons sending him disarmed to the ground.
"What is the matter with you?!" Varka scolds him, one hand pinning his chest to the ground and the other to balance himself. Lohen scoffs at the familiar phrasing. The back of his mouth stews with bitterness.
Of course he's ruining it all again. Here they are, bodies at an impasse and a breath apart, with Varka waiting for him to verbally yield.
So, he laughs. Caught in the torrent of ugly feelings he's corked away, all he can do is laugh and hope that it suppresses the tears. The urges inside him are gargantuan, pressing against the inside of his ribcage and escaping through his throat. The emotion strangles him, tight around his neck and harsh against his jaw.
Varka looks bewildered, before his pressure loosens with concern. He sighs and says, "I really don't get it. One moment we're fucking, then we're fighting, and now you're crying."
Lohen takes the opportunity, swiping off Varka's grasp, sliding to the side and slipping his legs around Varka's shoulders. He catches him in the triangle he forms with his legs, locking him in place.
Varka grabs onto his legs, attempting to claw out of the headlock, but Lohen reaches into his pocket. He pulls out his silver pocket watch, clicking open the garish case. His other hand reaches for the blade from earlier. Varka catches the glint of the edge, planting his feet evenly to struggle further as he watches Lohen bring the blade to his head.
Lohen takes a single lock of his hair. Slipping the blonde tuft inside the case, he fiddles with the crown, stilling the clock hands.
At least this way, he can trap the minute, the exact moment of the most lamentable mistake of his life.
Varka squirms out of the lock, swapping their positions. He's not held by his wrists like he expected to be, instead he is caged in by Varka’s large frame. Lohen stares up at him, putting away the blade and watch. He looks into Varka’s eyes, which scan his face with an intense focus. His commanding voice returns as he says, "Confess. Tell me what's going on."
Confession is such a strange word. Although, Lohen supposed, it is suitable. For the Church, it is reserved for transgressions. But more often than not, it is used for infatuations.
Simply, things that are not allowed, whether imposed by self or another.
Once, as a kid, Lohen had been observing Varka train with the other Knights. He was alongside the other noble children, who started imitating the techniques. His eyes were fixed on Varka with the smile that sent something that felt like freedom pounding against his ribcage.
Of course, the moment was ruined by a boy who had teased Lohen for having a crush. Not on Varka, but on this nobody who happened to be in the same direction. So, naturally, the ugly feeling erupted and boiled into his fists.
He was scolded for his attraction to the noble boy (false), and reprimanded for responding by giving him a bloody nose (true).
So confession should have been out of the question.
And yet, despite all of this, maybe he can blame his honesty on Varka’s intense gaze, or perhaps it truly is Lohen’s fault (originating from which self of his, however, is unknown).
"I want you." He says, breaking eye contact. This is the most he can muster, the last bulwark of the freshet pounding against his chest. He peers into Varka's eyes, pained, hoping the latter has the mercy to ease off. To let him fall apart elsewhere, anywhere else but beneath him and a breath apart.
Varka leans in closer, insistent on splintering through. "What? We just had sex."
"I want you to be mine." Lohen tsks, irate. The tension in his chest splits through, and the sting surges through. "Mine and mine alone."
"I want to own all of you." Lohen's voice cracks as he speaks. The words overflow, the agony and all its submerged affection burst through. "I want you to need me like I need you."
Varka gives him an astonished look, and Lohen wonders if he even cares enough to listen to his confession. Perhaps it should've never been said, these feelings meant for quiet evenings away from view.
But the image of anyone else having Varka only urges him to continue.
"Fuck, let me actually brand you." He says, with a wracked, broken laugh. His head feels light, and he begs his lungs to draw breath through the anger-masked sorrow. "I can't stand that you're anything else but my own."
"And I thought, so stupidly," Lohen berates himself, "that you would be mine if I just did good enough. Impressed you enough."
"But that will never be enough for you." He concludes. Varka's jaw is clenched shut. Lohen glances anywhere else but Varka's face, desperate to find solace in some other object than the one of his affections. After breaching their one, unspoken rule of a non-committal dynamic, how dare he find comfort in him?
Yet, their eyes lock. Lohen, determined once more to never lose, starts his rant again. "But can you blame me? Who am I otherwise, if not impressive enough? Too destructive for a clan of warriors, until I am impressive enough to make the knights. Will I ever impress you enough to keep you?"
How hilarious. A moment ago, Varka was expressive, with his long-winded, postcoital chatter; instead he is stunned to silence, hesitant and looking hurt.
For a moment, he is vindicated. He knew it, that tearing down the curtain to reveal the ugliness would make Varka turn away. He's staring at him now, with a fury-turned-disarray knit in his brow. A blank, open-mouthed stare while the ink from Lohen’s heart stains into the air between them, an indelible blotch onto their relationship.
Varka might as well have gutted him like a fish. His chest feels raw, with a stomach in knots so complex he ought to just spill them out onto a bucket for disposal. He spits out the most disgusting dream he can conjure, "I might as well lock you up and keep you to myself forever. Make Mondstadt wonder what happened to their beloved Grand Master."
Lohen waits for it, with a jaw unclenched even as he grins. That wonderful, corrective bloom of pain to the face. That warm, beating sensation as he tastes blood. His favorite part after their spars — a direct punch from Varka to the face.
The second between the contact is eternity.
Instead, he is being kissed. He feels every bit of Varka’s warmth. Cracked lips, exhausted muscles, marred skin.
He touches Varka’s cheek, with a gentleness foreign to himself. The slight weathering of the man's skin grounds him. For the first time in his life, he knows what it is to be tenderhearted.
Varka gives him an alarmed look, that quickly melts into a mutual fondness.
He sighs, pulling away to sit down on the forest floor. His outstretched arms and legs, a designated space for Lohen alone. So, Lohen follows, settling and filling in the emptiness.
Varka's arms circle around Lohen, jostling him closer. He rests his head against Lohen’s shoulder, exhaling as the tension leaves his shoulders. Lohen wraps an arm around Varka, before settling his fingers to tangle in his messy blonde hair.
"Look, Lohen…" Varka says, his face buried into the crook of Lohen’s shoulder. "You know I can't do a lot of that."
Of course. It doesn't make it any less disappointing. Lohen grumbles, squirming to pull away. Varka refuses, and reels him back in, squeezing tighter.
"Listen. I trust you." He clarifies, "You're the only one I really can, especially with this stuff."
How had he forgotten? Lohen returns the contact, resting into Varka's hefty warmth. A small smile returns to his lips at the nostalgia. Right, he had happened upon Varka pathetically trying to dominate himself. He had stepped in, whisked up the Grand Master and resolved the problem. The very start.
"But uh, you already knew that." Varka clears his throat uncomfortably. After some humming, he echoes, "Hmm… So, you want me to be all yours…"
Varka is running a hand up and down his back. Lohen remembers how Varka’s hands have often struggled staying still, either tucked away or riveted at work. He suspects Varka is attempting to soothe himself more than Lohen. The man wistfully sighs, admitting, "I… haven't been anyone's in a long time."
He pauses, contemplative. With a pensive countenance, he pulls out of the hug ever so slightly to peer into Lohen’s eyes. For a brief moment, Lohen sees a youthful doubtfulness in his eyes, borne of diffidence rather than dislike.
"Ah, forget it." Varka grumbles to himself. He holds Lohen's shoulders, forcing eye contact as he tells him, "Give it all to me."
"Let's see how it turns out. Alright?" Varka says, with the confidence that wavers ever so slightly. Lohen nods, eyes widening as Varka grins in relief. Varka kisses him again, shifting to hold his face close.
Tears roll down his cheeks, a shaky cry escaping his lips. The strain in his chest is cut free, a twang of soreness easing into a floaty freedom. A burden that's haunted him, weighed him down all this time, dissolves with Varka's wordless kindness. An understanding he never thought he deserved.
They'd never kissed this much before. The warmth emanating from Varka’s palms, the light radiating from Varka’s smile — it all spins Lohen dizzy. He had peered into the depths of what Lohen turns away from, and wrenched open his chest to let all the sunshine in.
If Varka could handle all of Lohen’s violence, surely the sweetness wouldn't be too difficult?
So, Lohen tilts Varka’s head up, nestling his fingers into his hair, and kissing him again and again and again. They tangle into each other, a clinging with claw marks borne from infatuation.
Like this, with lungs begging for air between breaks of kisses, Lohen forgets what it's like to be a bad kid.
Maybe, just maybe, if he can hold this close to his heart, then maybe his core isn't cursed to rot everything that surrounds it.
And maybe, just maybe, Varka can push him to be a good enough person. Or even just good.