Chapter Text
Diluc wakes up to darkness. His head hurts, his body aches. He knows his eyes are open, and yet he can’t see anything. The thought of total blindness crosses his mind before he quickly dispels it; he must not overreact.
Soon he comes to more fully, and he’s able to take in the state of his body. He’s laying on something soft. His hands are tied above him, and based on the way they ache, they’ve been that way for awhile. And the blindness is actually due to a strip of cloth tied tightly over his eyes.
He takes into account the fact that it’s not warm nor cold and that there is no sort of a breeze. He’s inside somewhere.
After processing all this, his heart begins to pound. He struggles to calm down, but it’s difficult not to panic. The last thing he remembers is the snowy mountains of Snezhnaya. He was attacked by the Fatui, with a Harbinger at the head of the attack, sent to teach him a lesson. He remembers barely making it out before there was an avalanche, which separated him from his attackers. He tried running, but…the rest is foggy.
And now he’s here, in some place, bound and blindfolded.
If it were the Fatui who finally captured him, then he doubts he would be so comfortable right now (relatively speaking), or even in one piece. After all, the Third Harbinger loves to dissect people and experiment on them, and from what Diluc has heard, that most of the Harbinger’s test subjects are either stolen children, prisoners of war, those out of favor with the Fatui, or those unfortunate to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
No, Diluc’s captors are definitely not the Fatui.
Then who?
Diluc can’t think of anyone, which concerns him. His breathing begins to come out in short breaths—he can’t help it. He struggles a little against his restraints, but they’re too tight to wriggle out of.
Suddenly, he hears voices, muffled as though behind a door. He can’t make the words out. There’s a click of a door handle opening, then a door swinging open. Someone steps into the room.
Diluc holds his breath, his entire body going rigid. He can feel the eyes of his captor burning into him. It takes everything not to squirm.
Light footsteps draw nearer to him until they’re right next to him. Diluc wonders what method of torture they’ll try first. At the moment, he feels like he’s most set up for waterboarding or maybe a beating. It’s torture in of itself not being able to see anything. He doesn’t know when any of these blows will come, or where they’ll land. His panic is beginning to increase again.
Then the surface under him dips under someone’s weight, making Diluc flinch unintentionally. There’s a sound of shifting fabric, of the other person in the room moving. Something finally clicks in Diluc’s head.
He’s on a bed. His hands are then tied to the headboard. Which means the form of torture is—
No. Diluc jerks away from the person sitting on the bed next to him, once again trying to wriggle free of his bonds. No, no, this can’t be happening—
“Shhh,” a soothing, male voice says. Diluc flinches again when a soft yet cold hand lightly touches his jaw. “It’s alright. Be calm.”
“Don’t touch me,” Diluc hisses.
The light touch recedes as the voice says, “Alright. If that will get you to relax.”
“What will make me relax is if you take this damned blindfold off.”
“The blindfold stays. But try to relax anyways.”
Practically impossible.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” the voice says.
Maybe not physically, Diluc thinks. He turns his head away from the voice.
“What’s your name?”
Diluc stays silent.
“I’m not going to leave until you answer me.”
Yet Diluc still clamps his mouth shut.
That cold hand returns, once again lightly touching Diluc’s jaw. It sends a shiver down Diluc’s spine. He shudders. The hand stays, though, caressing Diluc’s cheek. Diluc wants to pull away, but there’s nowhere to go.
Finally, he demands, “Where am I?”
“I’ll answer your question if you answer mine. And I’ll know if you’re lying, so I’d advise against doing so.”
Diluc clenches his jaw but says, “Diluc. My name is Diluc.”
“And I have a name, but you’re not allowed to speak it,” the voice says. “You may call me ‘Prince’ or ‘Your Highness.’”
“Are you a real prince?” Diluc can’t help asking.
The prince snorts, and his voice is full of amusement as he replies, “Yes. I am the prince of Khaenri’ah.”
Khaenri’ah. The godless land, lost to time, something out of legends. According to the stories, it was nearly destroyed five hundred years ago, but then it vanished. Diluc knows it exists somewhere, yet he has never seen it on a map. It is one of those lands accessible only those who have been there before. And only those foolish enough would ever dream of visiting it.
Being here is like being sentenced to death. At least in Snezhnaya, there’s always a possibility of escape or rescue if captured. But Khaenri’ah…Diluc will never escape.
He doesn’t bother asking why he’s here; there’s no point, because there might not even be a reason. He’s probably just an unfortunate soul, one who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, who was doomed to be ensnared.
He should have never left Mond.
“I know what you must be thinking,” the prince says. “But you have nothing to worry about.”
His voice sounds like it’s closer. Diluc squeezes his eyes shut, more instinctual than anything, since he can’t see a damned thing anyways.
“I’ll take care of you,” the prince murmurs. Then he gently takes Diluc’s chin, turns it towards him, and presses his lips to Diluc’s.
Diluc tries to wriggle away. His panic is practically choking him. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want this. He just wants to go home—
And yet, the prince’s kiss is soft and gentle and languid. Even if Diluc can’t get away and hates every moment of this, he can’t help noticing that the kiss seems almost…reverent? Or…loving? It stuns him.
The prince kisses him for a little bit, then starts moving. His frigid hand comes up to cup Diluc’s cheek as he kisses along Diluc’s jaw and then down his neck. Diluc shudders again, surprised at how good it feels.
He’s never been kissed on the neck before. Archons, he’s never even been kissed like this on the lips before. All of his kisses prior to this have been chaste, barely a peck on the lips, from two shy teenagers who never really had time for romance but wanted to try anyways.
Diluc has always wondered what it would feel like to deepen a kiss, since other people seemed to rave about it so much. He’s always wondered what it would be like to kiss the love of his life with such passion, wondered if it would be just like in the stories.
But there’s never been anyone.
And now there never will be.
Except for this Khaenri’an prince, whose cold fingers are now beginning to unbutton Diluc’s shirt.
That snaps Diluc out of it. This is not something to be enjoyed. This is something forced on him, a form of torture. This is something he only wanted to share with someone he loved, and now instead it’ll be taken from him.
“No,” Diluc says, starting to thrash.
His fighting doesn’t do anything to slow the prince down. He continues to undress Diluc with that same slow gentleness, ever patient as he deals with all of the buttons and fastenings of Diluc’s clothes, even with Diluc squirming. He can’t pull Diluc’s shirt off all the way, since Diluc’s hands are still bound over his head, but he lets it splay out on either side of him.
For a moment, the prince stops. His gaze—the only thing warm about him—burns into Diluc, who tries to turn on his side in an attempt to hide himself from view. It doesn’t work, of course. Worse, the prince stops him from moving by putting a hand on Diluc’s hip, momentarily shocking Diluc from the contact and from how damned cold his hand is.
That’s when the prince shocks him again by saying with a note of wonder, “You’re beautiful.”
Diluc’s breath catches, because even though he hates this prince and hates what he’s doing to him, his voice sounds genuine.
He doesn’t have much time to process it, because then the prince starts kissing down Diluc’s torso. Diluc jolts under the touch, his skin crawling with revulsion wherever the prince goes. He keeps traveling lower and lower, going tantalizingly slowly, like he’s determined to map out every inch of Diluc’s torso.
But then he travels back up again to lick a stripe across Diluc’s nipple, and Diluc can’t help gasping. The prince seems to notice, because he does it again—and then he starts suckling on it, while the hand that was on Diluc’s hip travels up to Diluc’s other nipple and starts playing with that one, too. Diluc squirms even more under the touch, now not sure if this is completely out of revulsion or…something else.
The prince is relentless, and yet not aggressive. It’s like he wants Diluc to enjoy this as much as possible, which is ridiculous, because why would a captor care about their prisoner’s pleasure?
Diluc bites down his gasps and tries not to squirm so much, even if he’s starting to sweat and as a warmth gathers in his belly. He turns his face into the crook of his arm, and the prince lets out a huff of amusement.
“I told you I’d take care of you,” the prince says. “And I meant it.”
The worst part is, he still sounds genuine. Diluc doesn’t react. So the prince forces another reaction out of him.
He pulls away from Diluc’s chest and plants a kiss right above the hemline of Diluc’s pants—the lowest he’s ever gone. Diluc jumps despite himself, the panic appearing once again. He tries to kick the prince off of him, but the prince pins him down by the hip effortlessly. Then he starts unlacing Diluc’s pants.
The panic turns into searing white-hot fear.
“No, no, don’t—don’t do this—please don’t do this—” Diluc can’t believe he’s already resorted to begging, but he can’t help it. He’s terrified, and his stomach has dropped out of him—that pleasant warmth is long gone. Even though this prince has been gentle so far, Diluc knows it’s all a ruse that will soon let up as soon as the prince gets Diluc out of his pants. Diluc has heard about how painful penetration is, especially for one’s first time—he’s heard that some people even bleed. He can’t imagine what it will be like when someone doesn’t care about the other’s discomfort and only uses them as an object to please themselves.
Mortified, Diluc realizes the blindfold is damp, which means he’s crying.
The prince’s movements stop for a moment. When he moves again, he’s moving upwards, and both hands cup Diluc’s face. The gesture makes Diluc’s eyes burn with more tears, but this is more with longing. He can’t remember the last time someone cupped both sides of his face so tenderly like this.
The prince kisses him again, just as soft as before. “I was only going to use my mouth. Nothing more than that.”
Diluc has a hard time believing him.
The prince continues to kiss him, gradually deepening the kiss but still keeping it languid, as his hand runs down the smooth, toned panes of Diluc’s torso. Diluc’s whole body goes rigid as the hand slips into his pants, but the moment it wraps around his cock, he lets out a gasp despite himself.
It goes without saying that there’s only been one person to touch there, and it’s been Diluc himself. This is a completely different sensation, and Diluc feels himself hardening. He doesn’t want to be hard, but the prince’s hand begins to move—keeping the same pace—and Diluc starts to burn. The white-hot fear recedes, replaced by that pleasant warmth in his belly, which only grows with every skilled movement of the prince’s hand.
Throughout all of this, the prince keeps kissing him, even smiling a little when Diluc gasps at the pleasure. When one of those gasps finally turns into a choked off moan, the prince kisses him harder, like he’s trying to savor the sound.
Diluc really doesn’t last long. Mortifying. Before he knows it, he’s letting out a whimper of sorts—it’s so pathetic that he can’t really call it an actual moan—and spilling into the prince’s hand. His whole body is trembling—and his arms are really starting to hurt—but he’s not sure if it’s from the effort of holding himself back or from finally giving into his release. A mixture of emotions swirls within him—he can’t tell if he’s angry at himself or blissed out. Above all, he’s frustrated.
That frustration only grows as the prince plants one last sweet kiss to Diluc’s lips before withdrawing from the bed. His sudden absence is like a shock of cold water, and Diluc snaps out of whatever haze he’s in. This is a perfect time for the real torture to begin, for someone to start cutting up his torso after it was so clearly laid bare by the prince’s ministrations.
But within a few moments, the prince is back—he announces his return with a rustle of the bedsheets and a sudden warm, wet cloth to Diluc’s torso, which makes Diluc jump. Diluc stays completely rigid as the prince cleans him up—and then tucks him back into his pants and laces them back up.
Then, to Diluc’s complete bafflement, he starts to button up Diluc’s shirt.
When he’s done, the prince cups Diluc’s cheek again.
“You’ll be able to take off the blindfold when I’m gone,” the prince says. “The bonds, too.”
“What is this?” Diluc demands.
“What is what?”
“Why aren’t you taking any pleasure for yourself?”
“I took much pleasure for myself just now.” The prince runs a thumb over Diluc’s cheekbone. “You were lovely.” The words are spoken softer, almost wistfully.
“This is part of the torture, isn’t it,” Diluc says. “You get me to relax just so you can break my mind all the more when someone starts cutting into me.”
“No one will be cutting into you. This is not meant to be torture. You’re mine—all mine, understand? And I intend for you to enjoy yourself.”
Diluc is so confused. As if he can enjoy being someone else’s plaything against his will.
The prince sighs, then adds quietly, “And…you won’t be staying here long. Within a month, I’ll release you. You’ll go back to your home, never to see me again. You’ll be free.”
Diluc scoffs at that.
“I promise,” the prince says. “Once the month is up, I’ll release you.”
“And you expect me to just believe that? To believe you?”
“I understand it’s a lot to ask. I don’t expect you to trust me. But I guess that doesn’t really matter.”
Diluc doesn’t have time to respond, because the prince stands a moment later and says, “I’ll leave you alone now.”
Diluc listens to his light footsteps retreat to the door, which opens and closes softly behind him. It opens again a few seconds later, and much heavier footsteps enter the room. Judging from the clinking of metal, these are the guards—and they sound heavily armed. Diluc stiffens, his breathing starting to become more rapid.
But the guards simply pull off the blindfold and untie his hands. They leave before Diluc’s eyes can even adjust fully to the brightness of the room.
Blinking and rubbing his wrists, Diluc sits up on the bed. It’s narrower than he expected, just wide enough to fit two people. The covers are dark blue and dotted with silver embroidery, like the night sky.
Glancing around, the rest of the room has a similar motif. The walls are a smooth stone, covered in tapestries and draperies, all various shades of midnight blue, indigo, black, and silver. All of the furniture is made out of dark mahogany, with blue cushions embroidered in silver. Even the few plants set around the room are silvery and dark, and Diluc notes that some are glowing. There’s a door directly across from the bed, the wood carved in an elaborate, starlike pattern. The only other doorway is an open archway to his left, leading presumably to a bath.
Diluc gets up and explores the room a bit more. There are many windows, made out of crystalline glass that distorts the view of the outside world. It’s dark now anyways; Diluc can’t see more than pinpricks of light, almost like the night sky. They’re all locked, so he doesn’t spend much time at them.
There’s a massive wooden wardrobe, full of luxurious clothes, in shades of—surprise, surprise—blue and silver. Diluc pulls one out and nearly chokes at how fine it is (and also at how outrageous it is—he could never wear anything so garish). Truly these are clothes for a prince.
The bathroom is, admittedly, impressive. It’s almost as big as the other room, carved out of the same smooth stone and decorated with midnight blue tiles. The actual bath is more like a small pool, taking up the majority of the space and filled with steamy, sudsy water. The water comes from an impressive stone waterfall in the corner, trickling peacefully over more blue tile. There are towels and soaps and other scented oils in glittering crystal bottles set out along the edge of the bath.
It looks inviting, especially since Diluc’s muscles ache from being tied up and from being on the run for so long. He can’t remember the last time he’s had a bath this extravagant. After all, small wooden bathtubs in roadside inns aren’t exactly fit for a prince. Diluc’s tastes are much more modest and simple anyways.
An ache shoots through his chest as he remembers his life before all of this. The Dawn Winery where he grew up is a mansion, so it’s luxurious in its own right, but it’s practically night and day compared to this castle. At the Winery, everything is a warm brown or a deep red, and the only decorations come from oil paintings in gilded frames on the wall or delicate carvings in the wood furniture. It’s warm and welcoming, unlike this cold and foreign room.
He decides not to take a bath. He changes clothes instead, picking the simplest garments possible.
Then he sits on the bed, not even remotely tired, and waits for the prince to return.
*
The prince only comes at night. Diluc knows when he’s coming, because the guards always march in and fasten the blindfold and tie his hands to the headboard again before marching back out. They never talk. Diluc doesn’t try to talk to them either. Small talk has never been his forte.
The prince then enters a few minutes later, and he always sits on the edge of the bed and talks to Diluc for a little. He asks Diluc about his home, what it’s like, what his childhood was like. Diluc never answers him. He doesn’t know what this prince is planning, but he’ll never give him the information to attack Mond.
Eventually, the prince will grow tired of talking. That’s when he’ll stop beating around the bush and do what both of them know he came for. Diluc still can’t relax during it. He flinches every time the prince touches him and hates himself whenever his body starts to react positively. Diluc has always thought that his will was strong, but apparently he’s too touch-starved to resist for long.
The prince doesn’t push him, though. For the past few nights, he’s only kissed Diluc and touched him. He finally put his mouth on him, and Diluc nearly blacked out from how good it was. Just another thing to hate—although Diluc doesn’t have much experience at all, he can tell that the prince is skilled. Diluc wonders how many lovers this prince has had, and if all of them were captives like Diluc. The thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
It’s easy to lose track like this, so Diluc starts keeping a tally of the days. The prince said that he’d let Diluc go in a month. Diluc intends to hold him to that promise, though he has no idea how. It’s not like he has any power in this place. There isn’t even anything to make an adequate weapon out of in this damned room.
One night, Diluc can’t help himself, and he snaps at the prince, “Do you often get bored of your playthings within a month? Does the novelty wear off that quickly?”
The prince is silent only for a few moments before saying, “I wouldn’t know. You’re the only one I have.”
Diluc scoffs at that. “Yeah, sure.”
“It’s true.” The prince’s voice is quiet. “There aren’t exactly people lining up for the opportunity to take me to bed.”
“You’re that hideous, huh?”
The prince is silent for much longer this time. “I guess,” he says finally.
“Makes sense why you make me wear this damned blindfold.”
“It’s the rules,” the prince snaps. “People aren’t allowed to see my face. But since I can’t make everyone wear a blindfold, I have to cover my face everywhere I go.”
“But you can make me wear a blindfold because I have no say in the matter, do I?” Diluc says. “I’m at the mercy of your whims. You can do whatever you want to me, and make me do whatever you want.”
There’s a beat of silence again. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
Oh no, Diluc thinks. He just pissed off the prince. Now this prince is going to make him regret it. That slow and gentle persona was just a front.
But the prince doesn’t say or do anything. He doesn’t even touch Diluc. He just sits on the edge of the bed. Diluc knows he’s not even looking at him, because he can’t feel that heavy and burning sensation of his gaze.
After what feels like an eternity of silence, the prince asks, “Have you had many lovers?”
“No,” Diluc says.
“I’m surprised.”
“I never had time for that.”
“But I bet you had many suitors regardless.”
Now it’s Diluc’s turn to be silent for a few moments before admitting, “I did. But they never caught my attention.”
After another few minutes of silence, the prince stands.
“Goodnight,” he says curtly before leaving without another word.
He didn’t even kiss Diluc that night. Diluc then realizes that this prince is easily provoked. And once he is provoked, he storms off in a mood, without ever touching Diluc. So if Diluc can keep provoking him, then he can keep this prince from going any further with him.
He decides to test this theory the next night, when the prince comes.
“If you can’t even get people to get into bed with you, despite being a prince, then how do you have so much experience?” Diluc asks. “Or is it all from practicing on yourself?”
“I never said I couldn’t get people into bed with me,” the prince scoffs. “I just said there wasn’t an endless supply of potential suitors.”
“Ah, so you have to kidnap and then rape people to get any sort of attention,” Diluc scoffs. “Truly princely behavior.”
“Says the one who started crying and begging the moment I so much as looked at his pants.”
Diluc turns red despite himself. “That’s different. I’m inexperienced because I choose to be.”
“Let me guess—you’re saving yourself for marriage? How sweet.”
“At least I can get someone to marry me willingly. How much will your parents have to pay for someone to marry you? Probably a fortune.”
“I’m never going to be married,” the prince says.
“Even worse,” Diluc says. “You’re not even worth marrying off. I have to say, I’ve never heard of a prince like that. You’re probably the first prince in the history of the world who had no value, political or otherwise.”
The prince’s breath catches, like Diluc struck him. Diluc can’t help smirking, knowing he’s found a weakness—and a big one at that. Perhaps he does have some power after all.
Then the prince reaches out and grabs ahold of Diluc’s chin. He digs in hard enough for it to hurt as he turns Diluc’s face towards him and says, his voice low and perfectly level, “You say no one wants me? No one even knows you’re here. You’re all alone, in a foreign country that no one can find. If you were to scream, no one would hear you. I bet that if anyone wasted their time looking for you, they gave up after a few days, because you weren’t worth the time or energy.”
The silence in the room is deafening. Diluc can’t even breathe. There’s a sudden weight on his chest, full of rage and pain and hatred, suffocating him.
“Remember your place,” the prince continues. “It’s out of my good graces that you’ll get out of here. Anger me again, and you’ll never see the outside world again. Understand?”
Diluc just clenches his jaw. He’s tempted to spit in the prince’s ugly face, but he refrains, mostly because he wouldn’t have the satisfaction of seeing the prince’s reaction.
“Answer me.”
“I understand.” Diluc practically spits out the words.
The prince doesn’t even respond. He releases Diluc and walks out of the room.
*
The prince doesn’t come for another three days. Diluc finds himself more restless than usual. With nothing to prepare for or look forward to, he whiles away his days pacing his room and staring at the wall.
The guards only enter to bring him his meals, which they place on the shining coffee table on one side of the room, in the center of a little seating area. Diluc finally gives in and tries to get them to talk. There’s one guard who is always there—a tall, blonde man with striking, catlike blue eyes. Interestingly enough, he wears a black pattern around his right eye, which only makes him more intimidating. Diluc asks him for his name, and he’s surprised when the guard actually answers.
“You may call me Dainsleif,” he says.
“Dainsleif,” Diluc repeats. “My name is Diluc.”
“I don’t care,” Dainsleif says, and that’s that.
Despite Dainsleif’s stiff personality, on the second day of the prince’s absence, Diluc asks Dainsleif about the prince anyways.
“Is he really so hideous that he has to cover his face?” Diluc asks.
“No,” Dainsleif says, curt and matter-of-fact. “Quite the opposite. No one is allowed to see his face, but it is said that he was born beautiful. Anyone who has seen the king and queen and crown prince understands that he must be beautiful.”
Diluc opens his mouth to ask what they look like, but then he realizes what Dainsleif said.
“Wait, crown prince?” he says. “So this prince isn’t even the heir to the throne?”
“No,” Dainsleif says. “His younger brother is the crown prince.”
“Why? Is the elder prince illegitimate?”
“Absolutely not,” Dainsleif says, as though offended that Diluc would ever think such a thing.
“Then why?”
“Enough questions. I have other things to do.” Then Dainsleif leaves the room, much to Diluc’s frustration.
To top it off, Dainsleif refuses to talk to him on the third day. When he comes in that night to tie the blindfold and restraints, Diluc figures out why.
The prince comes in when Diluc is properly tied up (with his hands tied to either side of him, to the bedposts instead of to the headboard). He wastes no time getting onto the bed and straddling Diluc, much to Diluc’s shock.
“No talking,” the prince says, grabbing Diluc’s jaw again. Then he kisses Diluc, much harder than in the past. And this time, his hand goes right to Diluc’s cock. He pulls it out and starts pumping it, making sure to smear the pre-cum all along the shaft.
He’s going much faster than usual, to the point where Diluc has a hard time keeping up. Diluc’s brain completely short-circuits, unable to process anything until it’s too late.
He hears the clink of glass—somewhat like the glass vials from the bath—and then the prince’s hand returns to Diluc’s cock, now covered in a cold, slippery liquid. The shock of it makes Diluc jump and hiss at the sensation a little, and he only realizes much too late what the prince is doing.
The prince exhales, his breath fanning out across Diluc’s face, and then everything happens at once. Diluc barely processes that the prince is shifting into a certain position or that the head of his cock is coming into contact with something before warmth envelops him, and he lets out a choked out cry, one that the prince mimics with a whimper of his own.
The pleasure is overwhelming. Diluc has never felt anything like this before—his hand doesn’t even come close. It’s warm—no, hot, searing hot—and tight and slick. His whole body is on fire, wanting to chase this feeling, and without even thinking, he bucks his hips upwards. When the prince moans from that motion, Diluc does it again. It buries his cock even deeper, and he just wants more, more, more—
Before he can try chasing his pleasure, the prince shoves him back with a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t move,” the prince orders.
Then he lifts himself almost completely off of Diluc’s cock, until only the head is still inside, before slowly easing himself back down.
It’s absolute torture. Diluc cries out and can’t help throwing his head back, hitting the headboard. If it hurts, he doesn’t process it, because the prince’s slow movement is so good, so good, oh gods—
He half expects the prince to speed up now that he’s gotten a reaction out of Diluc, but the prince—full of total self control—keeps that same speed. He fucks himself slowly, enjoying every single inch of Diluc’s cock, the way he stretches to accommodate it.
And Diluc is losing his mind.
He wants to grab onto the prince and flip him and fuck him faster, deeper, to chase his own pleasure, but his hands are bound uselessly to either side of him. He strains against those restrains and tries to buck his hips, but the prince won’t let him move. Instead, the prince holds onto Diluc’s shoulders, holding him down as he rides Diluc’s cock like his life depends on it, gasping and moaning and probably arching his back and throwing his head back—
Not for the first time, Diluc wishes he didn’t have this damned blindfold, but only so he could see what the prince actually looks like, bouncing in his lap like this.
“Fuck, Diluc—” the prince gasps, and Diluc’s cock actually twitches at the sound of his name. “Fuck, you’re so good, ah—”
He grinds down even harder and deeper with a beautiful moan and Diluc nearly screams as his eyes roll back in the back of his head. The prince kisses his throat at the same time that his hands slide from his shoulders down to his chest. Then he rolls both of Diluc’s nipples in between his fingers and thumbs as he sucks a mark right on Diluc’s pulse point and takes Diluc deeper than ever before.
All at once, it’s too much. Diluc is fairly certain he cries out embarrassingly loudly as he comes right then and there, his mind going completely white and fuzzy while his body fills with sparks of such extreme pleasure.
It takes him awhile to come back to himself, and even when he does, he feels blissfully weightless, like his body isn’t his own. He’s vaguely aware of the prince kissing him softly, his hand running through Diluc’s hair, tangling in the strands in the back. Diluc finds himself kissing him back, but the prince pulls away shortly after.
“There,” he says softly, but his voice sounds strange. Almost…sad.
He cleans Diluc up just like he always does, his movements once again slow and gentle. He cups Diluc’s face and kisses him sweetly, almost like he doesn’t want to go.
But within seconds, he’s gone, and the air has turned cold around Diluc in his absence.
It takes Diluc a long time to figure out what feels off about that whole scenario. Not long after the guards have untied him and removed the blindfold, when he’s alone once again in the room, he figures it out.
The prince never climaxed.
*
They fall into a new routine. The prince still comes only at night, but he rarely talks to Diluc anymore. He just climbs into the bed and immediately goes for Diluc’s cock. Then he fucks himself until Diluc climaxes, cleans both of them up, and leaves. Diluc’s lucky if he gets a kiss goodbye.
Throughout it all, Diluc doesn’t even think the prince climaxes once. He’s stopped kissing Diluc as much, too, though when he does, it’s like he can’t help himself, and he immediately pulls away. Long gone are the lingering caresses on Diluc’s cheeks, too.
Diluc doesn’t understand any of it. If he’s here for the prince’s pleasure, then why isn’t the prince pleasuring himself? Why is he more focused on Diluc’s enjoyment than anything else? And why does he act like he can’t touch Diluc like he wants to?
Diluc doesn’t ask any of this, because for one, the prince won’t let him talk, and two, he’s not sure if the prince would even answer. He’s noticed that the prince seems to be…sadder than when Diluc first met him. Even without being able to see his face or read his body language, Diluc can hear it in the way he sighs, or when he sometimes chokes back a breath, like he’s trying not to breathe at all. Diluc doesn’t get it, but he also doesn’t care enough to ask. Their time is running out, anyways, and it’s not worth trying to establish any kind of truce.
Then, one night, the prince unties him.
He keeps the blindfold on, of course, but he unties Diluc’s hands from the bed. Diluc doesn’t move as he does this, and he doesn’t move except to rub his wrists once he’s free. He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It never does.
“You can do whatever you want to me,” the prince says. “Except—”
“—take the blindfold off,” Diluc finishes.
“Right,” the prince says quietly.
They sit there for several moments, both waiting for the other to move.
Then, slowly, Diluc reaches out towards the prince. His hand lands on his shoulder, which is thinner than Diluc thought it would be. The prince doesn’t move as Diluc’s hand travels upwards, up a long, slender neck, and finally to his face. Diluc lightly trails his fingertips over the prince’s face, trying to map it out, to get some sort of understanding of what it might look like.
All he knows is that his skin is ridiculously soft and that he has delicate cheekbones.
The prince is completely rigid, and Diluc has a feeling that he’s holding his breath. Diluc reaches out with his other hand and lets both trail down to the prince’s shoulders, then down his arms, which are also slender, but also toned. His wrists are delicate and small. His hands are soft, which is typical of a spoiled prince, but his fingers are long, longer than Diluc’s. Running his fingertips over the prince’s palms, Diluc finds calluses.
“What are these?” Diluc asks.
“From learning the sword,” the prince says.
“The sword? Are you any good?”
“My skills are more for ceremonial purposes.”
“So more for show than anything. Typical.”
The prince doesn’t respond.
Diluc’s hands travel back up the prince’s arms, then over his chest. He can’t help exhaling in surprise when he finds that the prince’s chest is much more toned than he thought it would be.
“Also from the sword?” Diluc muses.
The prince, strangely enough, says nothing. His heart rate is like that of a rabbit, the only indication of what he’s feeling. Diluc can confirm now that the prince is holding his breath, and that his entire body is trembling slightly. He lets his hands wander further, going down the prince’s chest, to his stomach and waist.
That waist has no business being that narrow. Diluc has to run his hands up to the prince’s shoulders and then back down to the waist again, confirming that he has broad shoulders and a tiny as hell waist. That shouldn’t be allowed.
His hands linger on the prince’s waist for a few moments before he’s bold enough to let one hand travel further, right over the bulge in the prince’s ridiculously fine pants. The prince jolts a bit.
Diluc can’t help smiling, because the prince did say he could do whatever he wanted, right?
Maybe Diluc will enjoy this…
So he unlaces the prince’s pants as quickly as he can while being blindfolded, reaches in, and grabs the other man’s cock. The prince flinches again, exhaling a sharp breath before holding it again.
Diluc can’t say much about his cock. It has a good weight, he supposes, and it feels long and slender like the rest of the prince. Admittedly, he doesn’t have much experience with other cocks, despite being interested in them, so he doesn’t have much to compare it to.
Diluc drops it and withdraws. The prince continues to hold his breath. Diluc wonders how long he can do that without passing out.
“Anything I want, huh?” Diluc says.
“Anything,” the prince says, though his voice is still quieter than usual.
Diluc thinks to himself. What does he want? He’s had fantasies, of course, and kinks, but he’s clearly never had the opportunity to try them out. Half of them he probably couldn’t enjoy trying now, anyways, because of the stupid blindfold. He won’t be able to see the prince’s reaction, if his face twists with pleasure, if his back arches off the bed—
Diluc sighs, frustrated, then finds himself saying, “What do you want to do?”
There’s a beat of stunned silence before the prince says, “I’ve already done everything I’ve wanted to do.”
“But you haven’t enjoyed it.”
“Yes, I have.”
Diluc shakes his head. “You haven’t come a single time.”
The prince is silent for another few moments. “You…noticed that?”
“It took me a bit. Something always felt off. And then I figured it out.”
“I guess I just…” The prince falters. “It’s difficult for me to…let go.”
“Why? I can’t see you.”
“I don’t know. I guess I feel like I don’t deserve it.”
Diluc is silent as he mulls that over. Then he reaches out again. He hears the prince draw a sharp intake of breath and hold it as Diluc’s hand presses against the prince’s chest. He places his hand over the prince’s heart, feeling it pound.
“Just do whatever you want,” the prince whispers. “It’s okay.”
“I want…” Diluc fiddles with the neckline of the prince’s shirt, feeling how fine the fabric is. An idea pops into his head, and he can feel himself hardening just at the thought of it. “To be rough.”
Then, in a flash, he rips the prince’s shirt down the front.
The prince, for his credit, tries not to flinch. He suppresses it, mostly.
Diluc places his hand flat against the toned panes of the prince’s stomach, now feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breathing. Keeping that hand there, Diluc uses the other one to swiftly pull down the prince’s pants, much further than the prince has ever done to Diluc.
“Do you always prepare yourself before you come here?” Diluc asks.
The prince exhales softly before saying, “Yes.”
“Hmm.” Diluc moves his thumb in a slow circle on the prince’s stomach for a moment, as if to get the prince to relax.
As fast as when he ripped his shirt, Diluc’s hand flies up to the prince’s throat. He grabs ahold of it before shoving the prince backwards, so he falls flat on his back. The prince is caught off-guard, so he falls easily. Diluc keeps his hand wrapped around the prince’s throat, pinning him there, as he unlaces his pants just enough to get his own cock out.
With his other hand, he lines himself up, then pushes in. It goes in much easier than expected, and the prince’s body twitches.
Diluc may not be able to see the prince’s reactions, but he can imagine them.
So, finally giving in, he decides to indulge himself.
*
Alright, he might have been a little too eager with his first time. From the moment he pushed into the prince, his body took over.
Finally, he was able to go as deep and as fast as he wanted to. Finally, he could touch the prince like he wanted to. Finally, he could manhandle the prince into whatever position he wanted, focused only on his own pleasure.
And the prince was completely pliant. He let Diluc do everything.
Diluc lost track of how many times he came. First, it was when the prince was on his back, and Diluc went a little too fast. He came inside the prince quickly, but he wasn’t even near satisfied yet. So then he flipped the prince over and, after making sure the prince was completely stripped of all clothing, fucked him on all fours, during which Diluc couldn’t keep himself from wrapping an arm around the prince’s chest and tightening his grip around the prince’s throat, forcing his head up.
Then, for the third round, Diluc’s energy was near spent, so he wiped himself off with the prince’s torn shirt before ordering the prince to get down in front of him. That’s when he fucked the prince’s mouth, something he’s always wanted to do whenever the prince used his mouth on him in the past. There was something so satisfying about using the prince like a toy, like a means to get off. Diluc never thought he had it in him, but it was like a different person took over.
All throughout this, he couldn’t stop himself from talking, especially since the prince couldn’t make him shut up. Usually Diluc isn’t very chatty, but the words just…slipped out. He called the prince a dirty slut, a whore. He told him that his only use was making him feel good, that he was no more than something to be fucked.
“If your people could see you now,” Diluc murmured at one point when he fucked the prince’s mouth. “On your knees, being used like a toy. A filthy slut of a prince.”
When they were done, the prince cleaned them up. Then, without a word like usual, he picked up his clothes and left. As soon as the door shut behind him, Diluc yanked off the blindfold, sick of it. The guards didn’t come in that night. Diluc took a bath, then crawled into bed.
As he drifted asleep though, he realized that the prince once again didn’t climax a single time that night. He then made a promise to himself that he would change that before the month was up.
*
The next night, when the prince comes in, he unties Diluc’s hands and again says, “You can do whatever you want.”
“You didn’t come at all last night, either,” Diluc says, sounding somewhat accusatory, which isn’t his intent. It’s not the prince’s fault that he didn’t come. If anything, it’s Diluc’s, because Diluc was too caught up in his own pleasure to care. That’s exactly the kind of lover Diluc doesn’t want to be.
“Don’t worry about me,” the prince says. “Just do whatever feels right to you.”
Diluc thinks for a moment, then asks, “Can I tie you up?”
“Yes.”
So that’s exactly what Diluc does. Though, first, he makes sure to strip the prince of all of his clothing, running his hands over the prince’s skin as he does so, memorizing it. He wishes that he could see what the prince’s bare body looks like, but the best he can do is map it out by touch alone. The prince shudders from Diluc’s touch, but Diluc can tell it’s a positive reaction.
Then he ties the prince’s hands behind his back, presses him face-first into the bed, and pushes into him.
There’s something so satisfying about being able to effortlessly manhandle the prince. After all, Diluc is strong after spending years training with a claymore, and while the prince has long limbs and is probably taller than Diluc, he’s also very thin. He practically weighs nothing at all.
Diluc once again gets ahead of himself and goes as rough and hard as he likes, this time even biting down on the prince’s shoulder when he comes. When the prince lets out a choked cry that doesn’t sound like a moan at all, Diluc realizes that he bit hard enough to draw blood.
“Shit,” Diluc murmurs. “Sorry.”
“It’s—it’s fine.” And yet the prince’s voice sounds strangled. He’s shaking.
Without thinking, Diluc soothes the wound by licking it. The prince gasps at that, so Diluc licks him again, all the way up the side of the prince’s neck. And this time, the prince actually lets out a small moan.
“Oh?” Diluc smiles. “You like that?”
He reaches around from behind and takes the prince’s cock in his hand. The prince shivers in his hold.
“What if…” Diluc is already getting hard again. He pushes back into the prince, this time rocking slowly in and out. “I did this?”
He starts pumping the prince’s cock at the same time he fucks in and out of him. The prince lets out a shuddering gasp and actually pushes back up against Diluc’s torso.
It’s the first time he’s done that. Diluc keeps going, now kissing up the side of the prince’s neck. The prince throws his head back, resting against Diluc’s shoulder, giving Diluc perfect access to his throat. He alternates between biting—not hard enough to draw blood, just more like nips—and licking over the bites. While the prince is still fairly quiet, he gasps just a little more than the other times they’ve fucked, which to Diluc means that he’s enjoying himself too much to suppress it.
Diluc smiles into the prince’s skin, then murmurs in the prince’s ear, “Come for me.”
And without hesitating, the prince spills into Diluc’s hand with a strangled keen. Diluc follows shortly after but keeps moving, making sure to guide both of them through the little jolts of pleasure in the aftermath.
When they’re finished, Diluc uses his clean hand to tilt the prince’s head towards him. Then he kisses him as softly as the prince used to kiss him in the past.
The prince kisses him back eagerly, like this is the first and last time they’ll ever kiss. The way he moves against Diluc is like he wants to lift his own hand and cup Diluc’s face, but of course his arms are tied behind his back. Diluc considers untying him.
But then the prince breaks away with a small gasp, like he’s pained.
“What?” Diluc asks.
“It’s nothing.” The prince’s voice sounds strained. He clears his throat. “Um. Are you spent, or…”
Diluc thinks for a moment, but he feels satisfied, so he says, “I’m spent.”
The prince hums. “Good. Um. If you’ll untie me, I’ll…”
Diluc unties him, and the prince climbs off the bed, probably going into the bathroom. He comes back and starts cleaning Diluc off. Diluc is silent, letting him work.
When the prince is finished, he says, “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” Diluc says, wondering if the prince will kiss him.
He doesn’t.
*
Diluc hasn’t really considered it before, but it’s difficult to keep track of time here in Khaenri’ah. It’s perpetually dark, and there are no clocks in his room, so the only way he knows if it’s “day” or “night” is when the guards deliver his meals and when the prince comes. Diluc continues to keep his tally, and in checking it the following morning, he realizes that more than half the month has passed. Soon, he’ll be free.
That is, if the prince keeps his promise.
They continue their routine of Diluc getting to do everything he wants to the prince, though after about a week of trying everything he can think of with the blindfold on, he gets a little bored.
He’s sick of being cooped up. He wants out. He wants to go home.
He decides one night that he doesn’t have the energy to fuck the prince himself, so he just tells the prince to suck him off and then ride him if he wants. Dutifully, the prince does both, but Diluc still feels restless afterwards, a kind of restlessness that doesn’t go away with his climax.
When the prince gets up to get a wet cloth, Diluc stops him by grabbing his wrist.
“No need. I think I just want to take a bath,” Diluc says.
The prince pauses only for a moment before saying, “I could bathe you.”
That’s too good an offer to pass up, so Diluc lets him lead him to the bathroom. He can’t help sighing as he sinks into the hot, sudsy water, his muscles instantly relaxing. He leans against the side of the pool and listens as the prince moves around the bathroom, getting what he needs.
Absent-mindedly, Diluc thinks that this would be an easy place to kill someone. All the prince would need to do is slit Diluc’s throat from behind. Or shove his head underwater and hold him there. And, if Diluc fought back, well, the floor is slippery enough even without it getting wet. Someone could easily fall and bash their head open.
The prince interrupts Diluc’s thoughts by descending the tile stairs and entering the water. Diluc can’t help tensing slightly as the prince approaches him. Not for the first time and certainly not for the last, he wishes he could see. He has a feeling that the prince would look extremely alluring, slipping into the pool like that, with his long limbs and smooth skin.
“I couldn’t bribe you to take the blindfold off, could I?” Diluc asks. “After all, how do you expect to wash my face with it getting in the way?”
The prince hesitates from answering, which hints that he might be considering it for once. Diluc’s heart lifts hopefully.
But the prince says, “No.”
“Damn.”
The prince exhales just sharply enough through his nose that it sounds like a laugh. But it’s so quiet that Diluc can’t tell for sure.
The prince starts washing him, then, pouring fragrant soaps into the palms of his hands before running those hands over Diluc’s muscles. He’s somehow efficient in his movements but gentle at the same time, not quite slow enough for it to be sexual. It feels good, though, and Diluc can’t help grunting a little when the prince’s skilled fingers work out a particularly tight bit of muscle.
Though, with every movement, the prince draws nearer, until they’re almost touching. Diluc can feel the heat of him through the water. He’s so close, yet just barely out of reach.
Suddenly he’s a little too aware of the prince’s body, how his hands run over nearly every inch of Diluc’s own body. He thinks of what the prince’s skin feels like, or how broad his shoulders are, and how tiny his waist is. And suddenly he has a new idea of what he wants to try.
Diluc’s hands go to the prince’s waist, and the prince stops.
“No, don’t stop,” Diluc whispers.
“You’ll get dirty again,” the prince says, his voice somewhat amused.
“And then you’ll just clean me up again like you always do.” Diluc smirks as he leans forward.
In reality, he has no idea where the prince’s lips are, but the prince seems to humor him and meet him halfway. While they kiss, Diluc pulls the prince towards him, so their bodies are pressed flush together. Their lips rarely separate as the prince continues to lather up Diluc’s skin with the soap, his motions now slowing down and becoming much more sensual. Diluc’s hands slip from the prince’s waist to his ass, marveling at how toned it is, before his hands trail up and down the prince’s sides at a languid pace.
The more he touches the prince like this, the more he’s aware of how the prince is growing just as aroused as Diluc is, and how he moves against Diluc in a way that betrays his own desire. Diluc moves back against him, almost every one of his senses heightened. Even the slightest slide of the prince’s skin against his sets his nerves alight.
The prince pulls back only for a moment to whisper, “Hair.”
Diluc nods, bracing himself as the prince pours warm water over his head. Then he starts rubbing scented shampoo into Diluc’s hair, his fingernails just lightly scraping Diluc’s scalp, and Diluc groans. Since he can’t kiss the prince while he does this, Diluc instead drops his head onto the prince’s shoulder. His arms come up to wrap around the prince’s back in an embrace that hints that they’re much closer than they seem.
The prince stops. “If you keep leaning forward like that, I’m going to get soap in your eyes unintentionally.”
“Oh no, and then you’ll have to take the blindfold off,” Diluc says.
The prince huffs, but he sounds amused and…fond? “Ah, so that’s been your plan all along.”
“You caught me,” Diluc says, then stops as he realizes the irony of what he’s just said.
The playful mood vanishes as both he and the prince fall silent. Neither of them move, and Diluc grimaces.
Eventually, the prince starts scrubbing Diluc’s hair again, but his movements are stiff. His whole body is stiff, and Diluc finally lifts his head from the prince’s shoulder to make it easier for him. Diluc’s arms slip from the prince’s shoulders, back to his waist.
The prince holds a hand over Diluc’s eyes as he rinses Diluc’s hair, making sure that no soap slips down his face. Yet afterwards, he still smoothes Diluc’s wet hair back and away from his face, his touch lingering in a way that is almost full of longing.
When all of the soap is rinsed off, and Diluc is clean, the prince steps back. The water where he once stood is now cold.
“Would you like to soak for a few moments, or do you want to get out?” the prince asks quietly.
Diluc can’t answer right away because of a sudden ache in his chest. He doesn’t know what he wants.
“I’ll let you soak,” the prince decides.
Diluc listens to him wade through the water and climb the steps of the pool, probably dripping water all over the tiles as he steps out of the water. Gods, what Diluc wouldn’t give to see water running down the prince’s bare, toned body in rivulets.
He shakes his head at himself and reaches up to rub at his eyes, momentarily forgetting that the blindfold is there. Once he remembers, though, he covers his whole face with his hands instead.
His hair is still pushed back and away from his face, and he can still feel the prince’s phantom touch. He realizes with a pang that he wants that touch back. Nothing sexual about it, he just enjoyed the feeling.
How long has it been since someone touched him that gently, anyways? Probably not since he was a kid, when either his father or Adelinde brushed his wild hair away from his face.
Diluc’s throat closes up. The steam from the bath makes it difficult to breathe. He just wants to go to sleep, now, and forget about everything.
As he lifts himself out of the bath, though, the prince comes back into the bathroom. And Diluc knows that he comes back, because he hears him make a strangled noise that sounds suspiciously like a moan.
Then the prince seems to realize what Diluc is doing, and he rushes forward to help him up.
“Wait, be careful!” the prince says, taking Diluc’s arm. “Don’t walk on wet tile while you’re blindfolded!”
“Oops,” Diluc says.
The prince sighs, muttering, “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”
And then Diluc realizes what he probably looked like, lifting himself out of the water, his muscles flexing from the effort, and he can’t help smirking a little bit.
The prince guides Diluc away from the edge of the pool. There, he towels him off with a warm and fluffy towel, then helps dress him in comfortable clothing for sleep.
“Shouldn’t this be the other way around?” Diluc asks.
“Probably,” the prince says.
“I am of noble birth, you know.” The words are out of Diluc’s mouth before he realizes it.
“So then you shouldn’t be surprised that someone is bathing and dressing you.”
Diluc blushes a little. “It’s different when it’s a prince.” He remembers what Dainsleif told him several nights ago, and he can’t help adding, “Though…you’re not the crown prince?”
The prince stops, and Diluc regrets saying anything, especially when several moments of silence follow.
Then the prince says, “No, I’m not. Come.”
He leads Diluc back to the bed.
“Goodnight,” the prince says.
“Goodnight,” Diluc says, his heart sinking a bit.
He stays awake long after the prince has left, blindfold off, staring up at the ceiling.
*
On the last day of the month, the prince comes to Diluc’s room as usual.
Diluc is sitting on the bed, blindfolded but otherwise free to move around as he pleases. He hears the door open and the prince step inside. But then he lingers by the doorway, and Diluc turns his head in that direction.
Neither of them speak, which Diluc thinks is strange. They went through a period where they rarely spoke to each other, but Diluc thought that they were past that.
So when the prince doesn’t move or speak, Diluc says softly, “Hello.”
That seems to snap the prince out of whatever trance he’s in. “Hello,” he says, his voice even softer than Diluc’s.
Diluc just waits, long past the fear and panic that used to come whenever the prince entered the room. The prince doesn’t scare him anymore. He hasn’t for a long time.
The prince finally walks over to the bed, but again he hesitates. After several moments, he sits down next to Diluc, keeping space in between the two of them.
More silence. Diluc’s fingers twitch from where they rest on the tops of his thighs.
When the prince finally moves, he reaches for the blindfold. His fingers trace the hemline of it, making Diluc’s breath catch. Is he teasing him? Diluc isn’t sure if he could keep his anger and frustrations in check if that were the case. But, at the same time, he’s not sure what he would do if the blindfold came off.
Well, clearly, you’d look at the prince.
Diluc takes a deep breath to calm himself, and that’s when the prince pulls the blindfold off completely.
It’s no trick. Diluc blinks several times to let his eyes adjust, still shocked. Once they do, he doesn’t look at the prince. He’s hyperaware of his presence, noticing every movement and breath, but he can’t look at him.
What if, after all of this, the prince truly is ugly?
Diluc almost can’t believe himself. That’s the first thing he thinks when this mysterious prince finally reveals himself?
The prince isn’t looking at him. Out of the corner of his eye, all Diluc can see is blue and silver and brown. He’s probably holding his breath again.
Taking a deep breath of his own, Diluc finally looks at him.
The prince’s head is bowed. His hair—long and deep blue with a lighter blue streak through it—hides his face from Diluc’s view. He’s fiddling with the blindfold in his lap. Fiddling with those long, slender fingers…fingers that are a lovely brown, still smooth to the touch.
Diluc’s eyes travel up those thin wrists, up the toned arms, past the long, slender neck, the brown skin mottled with old bruises, all the way to the prince’s face…which is finally turned in Diluc’s direction.
Diluc’s eyes lock with those of the prince, and he swears he feels time stop.
He can only see one of the prince’s eyes. The other is hidden behind his long, blue side bangs. But the eye that Diluc can see is catlike and lovely, its iris a beautiful, striking blue with a starlike pupil. Diluc has never seen a pupil like that, so he can’t help but stare. And once he starts staring, he can’t stop.
This prince is the most beautiful person Diluc has ever seen, even with half his face obscured by his hair. Diluc reaches out without thinking, wanting to see his face completely. In the back of his mind, he wonders if this side of the prince’s face is horribly scarred, or otherwise malformed, so as to hide it from view.
But as Diluc brushes the hair aside, he thinks that perhaps the prince is just used to hiding, so he can’t help but do it now as well.
The other side of his face is just as beautiful. Perfectly symmetrical, except for one thing.
This eye is a startling gold, with the same starlike pupil.
Diluc gasps a little, his hand still brushing the prince’s bangs aside. The prince leans into Diluc’s touch, and Diluc panics and yanks his hand back like the prince burned him.
The prince winces, his bangs falling in his face once again. He keeps his gaze lowered, back to hiding.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” the prince asks quietly without looking at Diluc.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why take the blindfold off?” Diluc asks. “Why now?”
“I wanted you to see me as I really am,” the prince says, glancing up at him. He lifts his head, forcing himself to meet Diluc’s gaze and hold it. “Well? What do you think?”
He’s holding his head high, yet Diluc can see the slight tremor going through his body.
“I thought you said you were hideous,” Diluc says.
“You said that,” the prince says.
“But you agreed with me.”
“Do you still think that?”
Diluc looks at him for a few moments, and the prince looks back.
“No,” Diluc says. “You’re more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.”
The prince exhales at that, clearly shocked. Then he says, “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, too.” His hand twitches in his lap, like he wants to reach out to Diluc, but he holds himself back.
For several moments, the two of them just stare at each other, waiting for the other to move. Diluc takes the time to take in the prince’s appearance completely, marveling at how perfect his facial structure is, or how warm his skin tone is, or how elegant and lithe his figure is. He didn’t notice until now that the prince wears a single, dangly earring from his left ear—a blue stone the color of his eye, surrounded by gold. It suits the prince perfectly, being the only jewelry on him, and Diluc wonders if he wore it just for him.
It makes him wish the prince had taken this stupid blindfold off earlier, just so he could enjoy seeing the prince during their acts.
Well, he still has tonight, he supposes.
Deciding he’s done waiting, Diluc leans forward, but before he can kiss him, the prince gasps, “Kaeya.”
Diluc stops, a hairsbreadth away from the prince, whose eyes are squeezed shut.
“What?” Diluc asks.
“Kaeya,” the prince repeats, opening his eyes and looking at him. “My name…is Kaeya.”
“Kaeya.” Diluc tries the name out. He reaches out and cups the side of the prince’s—Kaeya’s—face, and once again Kaeya leans into his touch. This time, Diluc doesn’t pull away. “It suits you.”
He kisses him then, softly at first, before gradually deepening it. Kaeya opens up to him easily, his breath shuddering.
Just as Diluc places his other hand on Kaeya’s thigh, Kaeya jerks backwards, breaking the kiss.
“Can we—” he cuts off as Diluc looks at him. Swallowing, he tries again. “Can we…can you just—”
“Can we what?” Diluc asks gently.
Kaeya takes a deep breath. “Can you just…hold me?”
Diluc blinks at him. Kaeya stares back, his eyes looking a little desperate. He’s shrunk into himself slightly. He doesn’t look like a prince at all. He looks small, and vulnerable, and terrified.
“Of course,” Diluc says. Kaeya visibly exhales.
Diluc leans back, propping himself up against the pillows. He holds out one arm to Kaeya.
After a moment, Kaeya crawls over to him. He tucks himself into Diluc’s side, laying his head over Diluc’s heart. As soon as he gets comfortable, Diluc wraps his arm around Kaeya’s back, holding him close.
They’re both silent for awhile, both trying to get used to the other. Diluc relaxes after a few minutes, but Kaeya is still completely rigid. Diluc can’t see his face from this angle, but Kaeya’s hand fists in Diluc’s shirt, like he doesn’t want to let go.
Then, Kaeya whispers, “Can you talk?”
“About what?” Diluc asks.
“About…about your home. Please.”
Diluc hesitates, his heart aching. Kaeya has asked about his home before, and Diluc refused to tell him. He still doesn’t want to tell him, because he doesn’t know what Kaeya will do with that information. Diluc is determined to protect Mond at all costs.
“You don’t have to tell me where you’re from, specifically,” Kaeya says when Diluc is silent for too long. “Just…what you love about it.”
“What I love about it…” Diluc says quietly to himself. He finds himself speaking without meaning to, the image of the Winery coming to his mind. “There’s a lot to love about it. It’s peaceful. The view is gorgeous. It’s tucked into its own little valley, right by a lake. At night, you can see every star in the sky. In the morning, the air always smells so fresh and sweet, and everything is covered in fresh dew. I’ve seen some of the best sunsets there, with the sun dipping in between a break in the surrounding cliffs. It’s just…beautiful.”
Kaeya is silent. Diluc decides to keep talking anyways.
“I grew up there,” he says. “I used to love exploring the woods and going swimming in the lake. Sometimes I’d play hide and seek within the vines and try to catch the crystalflies that always hung around. But I was never very good at catching them because I would always scare them off. I think I might have caught about…five, in my whole life.”
Kaeya snorts at that, and Diluc can’t help smiling softly.
“My father was always better at catching them,” Diluc says. “He would always give them to me. I had a whole collection in my room. Still do.”
His smile fades at the memory of his father. The ache that was in his chest earlier has now turned into a sharp, stabbing pain.
His father will never catch crystalflies for him ever again.
There’s a soft rustle as Kaeya looks up at him. Diluc doesn’t even notice that Kaeya is looking at him, he’s too lost in his own memories. He doesn’t even realize that a tear has slipped down his cheek until Kaeya brushes it away with his thumb.
Startled, Diluc looks at Kaeya, who has sat up. They’re now nose-to-nose, and Diluc’s arm is still around Kaeya, while Kaeya’s hand rests on Diluc’s chest.
Kaeya glances down when they lock gazes for too long.
“You must have loved your father very much,” he says.
Diluc swallows the lump in his throat.
“And,” Kaeya continues, his voice growing softer, “he must have loved you just as much.”
“More than anything in the world,” Diluc says.
Kaeya doesn’t look at him as he settles back down, his head against Diluc’s chest again. He doesn’t talk again for a long time.
“What are you going to do once you leave here?”
“Go back home,” Diluc says.
“And then?”
Diluc shrugs. “Keep running the family business. I…I want to uphold my father’s legacy. It will be nice to be home again and see the people I once left behind. I don’t intend on leaving them behind ever again.”
Kaeya is silent. Diluc wonders how much information he accidentally gave away in that exchange, but it’s impossible to tell. He firmly believes that what he said about Mond was vague enough to be anywhere.
“Are you really letting me go tomorrow?” Diluc asks.
“Yes,” Kaeya says.
“Good.”
They fall silent after that, neither of them knowing what else to say.
Diluc shifts his weight a bit, trying to get more comfortable. He’s thinking of what else to say when Kaeya says suddenly, “I wish I could go with you.”
Diluc blinks, surprised. But then he becomes suspicious. “Why?”
“It just…it sounds nice. Better than Khaenri’ah.”
“You wouldn’t be a prince, then.”
“Good.”
“Do you hate being a prince that much?”
“I’ve never really felt like a prince,” Kaeya murmurs. “I think…it would be nice to go somewhere where no one knows me, where I can completely start over. Where I could reinvent myself.”
Diluc doesn’t know how to reply to that.
“But it doesn’t matter,” Kaeya says. “I’ll never get that chance.”
“Why not?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
An awkward, strained silence follows. Diluc stares up at the ceiling, wondering what to do.
“Do you really just want to lie here?” he asks.
“Yes,” Kaeya says. “I…I’d rather not spend tonight alone. So…just let me pretend. For a little while.”
Diluc nods. Without even thinking, he starts running his hand lightly up and down Kaeya’s arm.
When Kaeya turns his face into Diluc’s chest, Diluc pretends that he doesn’t notice the slight shake in his shoulders, or the way the front of Diluc’s shirt feels a little damp.
After all, in a few hours, he’ll be free. He can put up with this prince for a little while longer.
Though he can’t for the life of him explain why he feels a little sad about that.
*
They fall asleep without meaning to. When Diluc wakes, it’s to the doors opening and the guards marching in. He tenses instinctively, his arms curling around Kaeya’s sleeping figure as he eyes them. But they’re not even looking at him.
“Your Highness,” Dainsleif says, and Kaeya jolts awake. “It’s time.”
All of the blood rushes out of Kaeya’s face. But he swallows and nods.
The guards don’t leave, so Kaeya has no choice but to sit up. He smooths down his hair, already letting the bangs fall into place and hide half of his face from view. His hands shake more than usual.
When he’s more composed, he finally looks at Diluc, who has been watching him this whole time, as if he’s trying to commit Kaeya to memory after so long of only imagining what he looks like.
“Tell me you hate me,” Kaeya says.
Diluc blinks at him. If it were any other day, he’d be able to speak those words without hesitation. But now, the words get caught in his throat.
So, instead, he says, “I can’t.”
Kaeya’s eyes flash with surprise and some other emotion. He looks like he wants to say something, but then Dainsleif says, “Your Highness.”
Kaeya flinches, swallowing hard. He looks terrified, and Diluc wants to ask him to just stay for a little while. He’s a prince, isn’t he? He can order these guards to wait.
But then Kaeya stands. He draws himself up to his full height, like he’s trying to appear more confident than he truly feels.
Once that confidence is in place, he looks at Diluc one last time and says like the prince he truly is, “Goodbye, Diluc.”
Diluc doesn’t respond as Kaeya walks out of the room with the guards, who don’t even spare Diluc a single glance. They shut the door behind them, and Diluc is alone once more.
*
Diluc can’t help but feel restless for the rest of the day. He keeps waiting for Kaeya to go back on his word, for the guards to never come, for him to stay here, rotting away in this lavish room for the rest of his life.
But halfway through the day, the guards come. And this time, they don’t come empty-handed.
“Change,” Dainsleif says as he places Diluc’s old clothes—washed and folded neatly—on the chest at the end of the bed. “You leave in fifteen minutes. I will escort you to the portal, and then you will leave Khaenri’ah.”
He then places a bag full of provisions and Diluc’s claymore next to his clothes.
Diluc blinks at the sight, almost thinking it’s too good to be true.
He changes quickly in the bathroom, breathing a sigh of relief once he sheds the ridiculous Khaenri’an clothes and dons his familiar black coat and red gloves. He instantly feels like himself again, and he rises to his full height.
Dainsleif doesn’t even bat an eye as Diluc returns for his claymore, which he straps to his back. It disappears a moment later into a flurry of gold particles, the magic reactivated.
Diluc then looks to Dainsleif, as if to challenge him to go back on his word.
“One more thing,” Dainsleif says before holding something out.
Diluc looks down at his hand. He holds out a small note and a familiar dangly earring.
“The prince left these for you,” Dainsleif says.
Diluc stares at the items for a few moments before forcing himself to take them. He looks down at the note, at the elegant, flowery penmanship on creamy parchment paper.
It only has three words.
Please remember me.
Diluc stares at those words longer than he intends to, a lump forming in his throat. He lightly runs his gloved fingers over the words, as if he can still feel Kaeya writing them.
He looks up at Dainsleif as he tucks the note and the earring into an inner pocket of his coat.
“I’m surprised he didn’t come to see me off himself,” Diluc says.
“He didn’t tell you?” Dainsleif arches an eyebrow.
“Tell me what?” Diluc suddenly has a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“The prince can’t come to see you off,” Dainsleif says, “because today is the day of his sacrifice to the Sustainer of Heavenly Principles. By now, he’s already dead.”