-angst, diluc's time away from mondstadt, light smut-
Tartaglia wasn’t meant to fall in love with the flame-haired terrorist that Arlecchino’d brought in on his second day as a Harbinger. But Diluc Ragnvindr was a hard man to resist. He knew that now.
The first time he laid eyes on Diluc, he really hadn’t looked like much; his hair was a deep, bloody crimson, the strands clinging limply to a pale and somewhat sickly face. He had bags beneath his shifty eyes like boulders, his flesh discolored from scars that clearly hadn’t healed correctly. His clothes were frayed at the edges and stained with dirt and his own blood in a way that screamed rugged, one-man army. Well, in Diluc’s defense, he had just faced the first and fourth of the Harbingers, alone. And that was what had first piqued Tartaglia’s interest.
By some random chance of fate, Tartaglia had been assigned the job of ‘caretaker’ to the defeated prisoner rotting in the cellar. He found he was pretty good at it, actually. He’d faithfully wheel over a tray of mystery meat that barely passed as food, and perfectly dodge the forks Diluc would chuck at him the second the utensils were in his hands. Well, not like he wasn’t one for a good fight; he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the little tiffs Diluc would drag him into. Sue him. The man was in a cell colder than the peak of Dragonspine and he still burned so brightly- Tartaglia couldn’t help but be intrigued. His crimson eyes glowed like angry, defiant flames, and Archons, he would love to fight him one day. His fingers itched to just unlock the key and let him out of the cell for a moment, just so that the other man could lunge at him like a feral animal.
Tartaglia was pretty sure it was over for him the first time they brushed skin. He hadn’t even realized he’d been imagining what that would feel like until Diluc had grabbed him by the neck when he stepped a little too close to his cell– they’d both just stared at each other for a moment, and Tartaglia had gotten so lost in the other’s eyes that he couldn’t even really feel his windpipe being crushed.
Something had shifted after that. Tartaglia had never really believed himself one to love– too busy falling into the hell beneath the overworld and getting his ass handed to him by whatever foe the Tsaritsa tossed him into to consider it. Someone, like an actual person, loving him. Buying him flowers, sparring with him, holding his hand. And he’d love them back, with everything he had left in his heart. Love was supposed to be this sweet, perfect, silky picture– the kind painted with pretty pastel watercolors– so, then, where was the place for it in a world of battle, war and death?
It wasn’t until Diluc kissed him on a whim one day that it actually registered to Tartaglia what exactly it was that he’d been feeling.
It was so very easy to fall for Diluc Ragnvindr, and even if Ajax subconsciously knew he was letting Diluc have far too much power over him, he was too addicted to let go.
“...I can’t just let you, y’know, out.”
Diluc raised an eyebrow at Childe when he spoke, crossing his arms as he leaned against the cell’s wall silently. Unimpressed. Unfazed. Childe merely groaned at the sight, his easy smile faltering slightly at the dissatisfaction of how little Diluc took him seriously. “C’mon, don’t look at me like that, Red. I’m no traitor.”
Diluc just huffed, narrowing his gaze with that calculating lilt that always left Childe curious of his next move; a beat of steady silence passed between them before the prisoner relented, and then a smile graced his lips as he straightened up, taking a step towards him. He placed his wrists together, offering them to Childe.
“Sure you can.” He hummed easily, jerking his hands forward and tilting his head to the side. He was acting suspiciously calm, even if the resolve still burned carefully in his crimson eyes like a flame that refused to be put out. “You have the key, you’ve dangled it in front of me before.”
Childe pouted at that, frustrating heat rising up the back of his neck again, as it always seemed to whenever he was near Diluc. Archons, he was speaking in this low, rugged voice that made him want to clench his fists in frustration. Infuriatingly calm and insufferably good-looking in this particular lighting. “Okay, I physically can,” Childe conceded, it being his turn now to cross his arms and give Diluc a playfully skeptical look. Trying to keep his amused, detached air– but even so, a hint of desperation leaked into his voice. “But you know I can’t.”
Diluc rolled his eyes, still staring Ajax down with those deep, simmering eyes of his. Ajax tried to ignore how his resolve seemed to instantly waver. “Diluc…”
“Tartaglia.”
Ajax bit his lip, before he closed his eyes in submission… because if he couldn’t see what he was doing, was he really doing it?
God, wasn’t this cellar supposed to be cold?
“Thank you,” came a low murmur from in front of him. Somehow the lack of sight only made Ajax more reactive to the other man’s voice; the way the words reverberated from the walls and shoved themselves down his throat, settling in his heated gut. Like they belonged there. Ajax had to fight to suppress a shiver when he felt Diluc’s hand on his bicep, a touch so gentle and unexpected Ajax opened his eyes to blink at him in slight shock. Diluc, of course, didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. “...Didn’t you say it was a brisk walk to your quarters, now? I’d like to see if they’re as grand as you made them out to be.”
And while they’d shared that kiss before– the kiss that had completely changed Ajax’s world– this was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. This wasn’t fleeting. This wasn’t a quick impulse, an instinct, hot breath against his lips. This was far too intimate, now. And of course, there was no way he could dare to deny this request, not when it was something he had suddenly realized he needed.
Diluc had pushed him up against the door of his room once they entered, his hand resting upon the harbinger’s hip as he stared into his eyes, his other hand moving to cup Ajax’s cheek. “Your eyes really are beautiful.”
Ajax had never really had his eyes be described as beautiful. Lifeless, on the other hand? Absolutely– the same words his father had used when he’d returned from that hellish trip down to the abyss. But beautiful, no. Never beautiful… and coming from the most beautiful man Ajax had ever seen, it meant a lot. Archons, he was a goner.
“So- so are yours,” is all Ajax could say back, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment at the slight breathlessness of his voice already. Diluc chuckled softly as Ajax stumbled over his words, before he leant in slightly, breaths mingling, Diluc’s lips inches from his own. “You’re funny, Tartaglia.” And then Diluc slot their lips together softly, his hand falling from Childe’s cheek to claim purchase on his shoulder; meanwhile, Childe’s hands gripped desperately at the front of Diluc’s shirt, unsure on what else to do with them. All he knew was that he needed to grab something. He needed so many things, so many things only Diluc could give him.
Ajax was fifteen when he had joined the Fatui. Before that he’d been stuck in the abyss, and after that he was too busy killing people and fulfilling his purpose of being a scratched up blade for the Fatui to stare at some pastel, watercolor-y painting of love and think, damn, I really need that. To say the least, human connection wasn’t exactly something he was used to– and from the slight tremble in Diluc’s hands he could tell they were in the same boat. Something selfish inside of him found satisfaction in that.
But even so, Celestia above, being like this with Diluc- hell, being like this with anyone would be overwhelming for Ajax, but for Diluc especially… It made something in his chest ache with suffocating longing.
“Wait- wait…” A slight falter, a tinge of hesitation. Ajax looked away from Diluc’s questioning stare as he pushed at that broad chest gently, swallowing as he really considered what he was about to say.
“Tartaglia?” Fuck it. It wasn’t like he had anything more to lose.
“Ajax… It’s Ajax.” He breathed, looking right at Diluc once more. His lips quirked up faintly at the corners at the confusion in the other’s eyes with fondness and something bitter. “...My real name. Tartaglia- it’s ah… it’s kinda like a nickname… Fatui thing.”
Diluc looked stunned for a moment, clearly shocked that Ajax had revealed who he actually was– and for a millisecond, something flickered behind the impulsive desire in Diluc’s eyes, a flash of something entirely wrong and out of place. Diluc spoke before Ajax could let himself think about it any more.
“Ajax, then. It suits you.”
Ajax couldn’t help but smile at that, moving his arms to wrap around Diluc’s neck and pulling them together once more. “Thanks… It’s, uh, been a while since anyone called me that.” Gods, he could get used to this. This addictive warmth, the gentle words and the sheer intimacy. Hearing his name, so pretty from the other man’s mouth. He hadn’t liked it much until he heard Diluc say it softly.
Every kiss Diluc placed upon his lips was like a trail of fire. At first it was tentative, a little unsure like the man was holding himself back, but then it became hungry. Less careful. It was clumsy and a clashing of teeth and it was clear neither of them were all that good at kissing, but the shocks of pleasure that Ajax felt pulsing desperately through his body more than made up for it. It was almost alarming how quickly he became a breathless, pitiful mess, but fuck, he didn’t care. Diluc’s hands on him like this felt just as exhilarating as they would be if they were sparring.
The more Ajax thought about it, what they were doing wasn’t really far off sparring; the way Diluc had pushed him up against his wall, the desperate grabbing at clothes and limbs, even how he was now being pinned to his bed as Diluc forced his way between his legs– though if this were a real battle, Ajax thought to himself dimly, he knew that sitting on the legs would be a far more suitable position to pin an opponent in.
“Ajax?” He snapped out of his clouded thoughts, looking up at Diluc with an unfocused, half lidded gaze. Ajax had never looked up at a person like this before and felt… oddly safe. “Are you still with me? You went a little limp.”
Ajax ignored the heat in his cheeks as he glanced away from Diluc, clearing his throat quickly. “Sorry.”
Diluc shook his head, brushing away his hair as he’d done before. A wry smile on his swollen lips as he looked down at him. He was so tender, so gentle and yet defiant in the way he loved, he thinks. If only Ajax weren’t so lust-addled in his thoughts to notice the hint of self-loathing lingering carefully beneath that crimson gaze, fueling his desperate movements. “You’re funny.”
Ajax scoffed at those words, glancing back at Diluc as the other man narrowed his eyes into heated slits. “Is it that you don't want to continue?”
“Continue? Like…” Ajax’s eyes trailed down and took immediate notice of the tent in Diluc’s pants. His mouth went drier than the Sumeru Desert. “R-Right.”
It wasn’t often that Diluc blushed, but he certainly was now as he shifted a little in an attempt to draw Ajax’s attention away from his crotch. “Don’t feel pressured,” he murmured, averting his gaze, “It’s just a reaction to… you.”
Ajax shook his head quickly, swallowing the sand in his throat as he propped himself up, hyper aware of their faces being suddenly inches apart again. “N-No,” he found the words slipping from his parched mouth before he could truly process them, “I want to… I don’t- I don’t know…how. But I want it.” The ‘you’ was implied, and he really, really hoped Diluc picked up on it.
Diluc smiled softly, nodding as he leant forward to capture Ajax’s lips once more, and a fire blazed furiously in Ajax’s gut, searing him from the inside out.
Down in the abyss, before the real Ajax had died, leaving only a husk of the boy he once was, his master had told him to never let his guard down. No matter the situation, the people Ajax was with or the power he may have, he must never, ever let his guard down.
Ajax found it hard to follow Skirk’s advice when Diluc Ragnvindr was making horrendously sinful noises into his ear and touching him with such heated hands.
His field of vision narrowed completely to the man above him, the way his crimson eyes were crinkled in pleasure as sweat dripped down from his forehead… It didn’t help that Ajax’s brain seemed to be smothered in a blanket of his own pleasure, a knot tying in his stomach, tighter and hotter, with every pass of Diluc’s hand over his cock.
Diluc had grabbed the both of them at some point, jerking them in tandem as he stared into Ajax’s eyes– Archons, why was it the eye contact above all else that did it for him?-- as he watched, in a heated daze, the way Diluc seemed to be searching his soul for something, gazing into his dead eye as if there were more.
Ajax hadn’t felt this alive in a very long time. He hadn’t felt this normal in even longer.
Something dangerous began to snap in Ajax’s stomach, his arm moving to hook around Diluc’s neck and pulling him down so he could bury his face into his shoulder, a hushed gasp leaving his lips. He bit his lip as he felt his eyes roll back slightly– deep down, Ajax knew there was no way anyone would hear them, the palace far too big and none of the other harbingers ever coming near his room at this time of night– but that didn’t stop him trying to muffle himself.
“Ajax…” Diluc breathed, his voice like pure honey in his ear, panting against his pale skin. It was easy for Ajax to pretend he wasn’t inexperienced when he’d talk with his subordinates, easy for him to lie about all the women he’d blown away while he was still a skirmisher… But there wasn’t anywhere to hide now, nowhere for him to act like Tartaglia should. Nothing between either of them, not with the way their bodies were pressed together, legs entwined, hips pushing in tandem, so horribly, painfully intimate.
He came embarrassingly quickly following Diluc’s cry of his name, his mind going blissfully blank as he fell back into his pillow. The way Diluc collapsed on top of him soon after told Ajax he had met the same fate. Ajax didn’t hesitate, couldn’t hesitate, when he wrapped his arms around Diluc’s shoulders and pressed his face into his crimson hair.
Ignoring the unpleasant… substance between them, Ajax had never felt more satiated, more alive and breathing. No battle had ever lived up to how it felt being wrapped up with Diluc, he decided. No, none even came close.
Diluc lifted his head, a tired smile on his lips as he pecked Ajax’s lips gently, standing up from the bed and grabbing a nearby towel Ajax had left behind from a previous shower. “You know, you should probably put me back in my cell.” Diluc hummed, glancing over his shoulder at Ajax.
Ajax gave a slightly shaky laugh at that, still breathless and trembling from pleasure. “Archons, do I have to?” He slurred, a content smile falling onto his face as he closed his eyes, sinking into his sheets. “I think I could fall asleep right now…”
“Open your eyes.” And of course, Ajax obeyed, staring into the fiery crimson he’d grown to love. Love.
Was that what this was? Love?
Ajax’s Tsaritsa spoke of love when he’d first joined the Fatui. After he was scouted by Pulcinella, she told him about her love for her nation, for each one of her subjects, for peace.
She’d told Ajax that he had so much love in him, she was almost jealous. He hadn’t believed her at the time, but if this is how love felt, then he understood. It felt like his heart was going to explode right in his chest as he looked into Diluc.
Perhaps that pretty painting wasn’t some unattainable dream after all.
Something shifted in Diluc’s eyes though, that strange, out of place coldness Ajax had caught a glimpse of before– his eyes burned, but with more than lust and defiance and that courage Ajax was so terribly fond of. Something akin to a self-eating hatred that could only bloom from shame and regret. Wrong. Did Diluc feel guilt for loving Ajax so thoroughly? His eyebrows had drawn together the same way they had when they’d shared their first kiss.
Ajax reached up to cup Diluc’s cheek much like the other man had done to him earlier, mirroring the wry smile he’d worn before. “Why so glum, Red?” He asked in a teasing lilt, despite his eyes holding nothing but a gentle kindness, like the endlessness of the ocean’s shore.
Diluc was silent for a beat. Swallowed. He stood up, rolling his shoulders back, and that trace of fire wasn’t put out from his eyes but carefully masked with something not entirely there. “Your eyes,” He murmured, and even when he acted strange, Ajax felt terribly endeared, “They looked… bright.”
The Doctor would say it was medically impossible, but Ajax was near certain his heart downright stopped as Diluc spoke. His eyes looked bright, he says. He leapt out of bed, barely taking a moment to grab the underwear he’d discarded before. “Diluc-”
He grabbed Diluc’s hand, squeezing it as hard as he could, pouring every ounce of emotion he’d ever felt for him into the motion. Ajax missed the way Diluc’s entire body tensed, the way his face had shifted, and instead rushed to the small mirror he kept on his dresser. Tonia had given it to him before he left, their names engraved in the ivory frame.
It was small enough to only capture his eyes when he brought it close. “Tsaritsa- You’re right!” A glimmer of something flashed in his deep, endless eyes, something new. All because of him-
“Ajax.” That was his name, wasn’t it? Archons, he couldn’t get over how pretty it sounded in Diluc’s voice. Ajax made a noise of acknowledgement, spinning around with the mirror still glued to his face.
“I don’t know what you did, but-”
Ajax barely had the chance to pull the mirror away from his face before he saw Diluc swing the candlestick by the bed across his skull, turning the world black in an instant.
The news of the terrorist from Mondstadt’s escape was jarring when the Queen first heard it. How on Teyvat had the Ragnvindr boy managed to get out? When she’d allowed Childe to monitor the boy, she was sure he’d use it as an opportunity to prove his loyalty.
“My Tsaritsa.” Her Captain lay in front of her, bowing his head; it was amusing in a way. They’d worked side by side for centuries now, and he still insisted on submitting like this. Always pragmatic and respectful, his voice carefully emotionless and guarded– like any good soldier. “We have found the one responsible behind the prisoner’s escape.”
Now, her Knave entered, Childe in her grasp, dragged along by the collar of his uniform. A shame, really. She’d truly loved Tartaglia.
“My- My Tsaritsa- He tricked me!” Childe all but screeched, those eyes of his as dull and painfully lifeless as ever, betraying the anger he tried to express. “He seduced me! T-Tricked me into thinking he…”
Childe trailed off, his head falling as, with a hard shove, he collapsed to his knees next to her Captain– who stood up in a second, falling back to stand beside her Knave. Childe’s hands clasped together in a prayer, his forehead pressing to the cold floor of the throne room. His voice trembled rather pitifully, despite him puffing up his feathers in a tragic attempt to look the part. “Please, I had no intention of letting him free! I… I was…” It was futile, he knew. So, he fell silent once more.
The Tsaritsa didn’t tear her gaze from him for a second. “Capitano, Arlecchino. Leave us.” She hummed, her voice as melodic as the wind that passed through the frozen icicles of her land. They obeyed, of course, leaving her alone with Childe.
She floated from her throne, standing in front of the boy she’d grown to love as dearly as the rest of her harbingers, moving close enough to lay a weightless, icy hand on the back of his head.
Heartbreak was a painfully familiar emotion to her, as much as she’d learnt to suppress it; her bleeding heart would never truly be healed. Maybe that was where her fondness of Tartaglia came from? The sharp, throbbing pain of her youngest’s heart cracking in two was something she recognised in herself. The boy wasn’t a rat. Not intentionally, at least.
Behind the heartbreak, she could sense utter disgust in Childe. Her eleventh was completely disgusted with himself, the taint of an outsider lingering on his skin… That, she was less sympathetic towards, but boys shall be boys, she supposed.
“My Tsaritsa… I will not rest until Diluc Ragnvindr has payed for the harm he caused your nation.” Childe’s voice cracked at the words, the poor boy straining to sound as noble and unaffected as he normally would. But alas, even a blade like him wasn’t immune to scratches.
She’d let Tartaglia live, she decided. Love wasn’t a crime, not alone– after all, in her younger, foolish days she’d let her own emotions cloud her judgement before– and Tartaglia was still a child, in the great scheme of things.
This was a learning experience for Childe. She was certain her youngest wouldn’t let something as trivial as a teenage romance act as a distraction towards his true goals again. Not after that fiery prisoner had so mercilessly stamped all over his heart.
The Tsaritsa then turned her back to him, returning to her throne once more and allowing the pain she’d felt from Childe wash off her back and ease into the cracks of the icy tile beneath her. She could only hope the rest of her harbingers could catch that Ragnvindr boy before he was away from the confines of her kingdom. She’d hate to let her Eleventh out of his cage before he was ready.
Thousands of miles away in Mondstadt, Diluc Ragnvindr stood outside of Dawn Winery for the first time in almost three years.
The journey had been hard, harder than the departure had been. He was supposed to have grown through all of this, to seek a vengeance for the tragedy that was his father’s death.
He blamed Tartaglia for blinding him for so long.
He hadn’t meant to fall so deep into him, to let himself become victim to those deadened eyes— because as much as he’d tried to kid himself, he really had found Tartaglia beautiful.
The eyes had been haunting him ever since he saw the flash of light in them that night. They’d been hovering over Diluc in every single dream he’d dreamt since leaving Zapolyarny Palace, etching themselves a place in his mind, carving themselves into his skin with a scalpel, right next to the suppressed guilt he refused to acknowledge. Taunting him. Eating at him like a damn parasite. So endlessly blue and giving, no matter what the world took from them.
Diluc hadn’t meant to be captured by The Knave and The Captain, and he certainly hadn’t meant to fall so deeply for him. He refused to call him Ajax. It’d been an act that night, after all. The whispers, the tender hands, the carelessness, all of it. Nothing more than a means to escape, a distraction to ensure his victory.
It had to have been an act.
That was what he’d been telling himself the moment he noticed Tartaglia had fallen for him. He’d only seen it as an opportunity to escape, and these trivial feelings of regret shouldn’t be plaguing him like this.
Diluc had been bursting with rage for a long, long time. His hatred was what had fueled him in the past, but now he was just tired. The hatred in his blood was stale, a candle that had burnt down to the wick. It had once filled his every bone with molten lava, swirling around like a bad drink. His father’s limp, cold body. His dead face, bloodied and disgustingly violated by blades of cold steel and the fire of Fatui delusions. But he finds now that it’s become self loathing, consuming his own flesh and wielding him like a vessel that simply served to kill and take advantage of anything at hand.
What had any of it been for if he was just doomed to fail? He’d almost killed his brother, he’d abandoned his nation, his friends, his vision, only for him to regret abandoning a harbinger.
Hatred for the Fatui was Diluc’s main motivator before, but what energy would he gain from only hating himself?
Adelinde had rushed him inside the Dawn Winery the moment he knocked on the door, pulling himself out of the haze of his mind for just long enough to get himself settled in front of the fire he’d spent his childhood sitting in front of.
He didn’t notice it when his heavy coat was pried off his body, when a steaming cup of tea was placed in front of him. He didn’t look up when his brother finally showed himself, an icy blue vision strapped to his belt mockingly. Diluc didn’t hear a word he said.
Instead, he found himself reaching subconsciously into his pocket once Kaeya had left, his fingers trembling.
The clump of ginger hair in his hand was something he’d allowed himself to take on a whim. His mind was still racing from Tartaglia’s confession, the pain that must’ve surely shot through him as Diluc had swung the candlestick at his head.
He’d failed as a son. As a brother, and as a leader. He’d abandoned everything his father had left for him. And still, his foolish heart had the gall to mourn someone part of the very organization that brought him his grief and his father’s grave.
Diluc swore to himself, then and there, that he would never fail again. He locked down the agony that shot through his chest when he threw the bundle of hair into the fireplace, finding it entirely misplaced and itching like a bug beneath his rotted skin.
The next time he saw the Eleventh, Diluc would finish the job he’d forsaken his life for.
