#im just being incredible abnormal about this one folks idk what to tell you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mango-jpeg · 1 year

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The wedding is the second to last event of the solstice; the day afterwards is the grand open market hosted by the Queen, during which they’ll be expected to flaunt their happy union to the public. Kaeya amuses himself thinking of ways to embarrass Dainsleif during the market, as he kneels, shivering, in the room of reflection just past dawn.

He’s supposed to be meditating on his duty to the crown and to his future spouse, but the room is carved into the stone below the palace and it’s absolutely freezing, so mostly he’s fantasizing that the reflecting pool will be scalding hot. Dainsleif’s got the whole responsibility side locked down, anyways. And Kaeya’s going through with it, isn’t he? He’s not even complained about it, at least outside the privacy of his own mind, which he thinks is really magnanimous, all things considered.

He’s under no illusions that this is a matter he has a choice in, anyways. Kaeya’s so far down the line of succession that this is essentially his whole purpose; he was born to be married off, born to continue a lineage that would continue without him anyways.

With that chipper thought in mind, Kaeya rises and allows the attendants to dunk him in the pool. It’s unforgivingly ice-cold and he releases a dignified yelp before the breath is snatched from his lungs. He emerges from the pool gasping and convulsing with shivers.

“D-do newlyweds ever have t-trouble performing after th-that?” He asks one of the attendants as he fumbles with numb fingers to tie the dressing gown they’ve given him. He gestures illustratively between his own legs. “Y’know, with th-the shrinkage and all?”

The attendant, a man old enough he probably dunked Kaeya’s own father in this same routine, just stares at him.

“No? Because I f-feel like my balls are retreating so far that—” The second attendant, who’s not half as old, makes a choking sound as they fail to smother a laugh, looking utterly horrified.

“Very good, sir,” the first attendant says, repressively, two spots of furious red rising in his cheeks. Kaeya allows them to usher him back to his rooms and into a proper hot bath, grinning all the while.

The wedding ceremony itself is the usual restrained affair; a judge recites the marriage chant which Dainsleif and him repeat where appropriate, and they sign a series of papers. And then, standing before a crowd of relatives, diplomats, and rubber-neckers, they exchange the driest, most chaste kiss Kaeya’s ever had the displeasure to be a part of.

The celebrations, on the other hand, are far from restrained. Kaeya and Dainsleif seal their vows with a brush of the lips masquerading as a kiss at ten in the morning, and the celebrations, which begin immediately afterwards, last for nearly twelve hours.

Royal weddings are always a major event, but with the treaty looming on the horizon and the palace overstuffed with dignitaries and diplomats, well. Theirs is a celebration to match that of the Queen’s several decades ago.

After three meals, two rounds of dancing, and more toasts than Kaeya can keep track of, they’re deposited in their new quarters in the family wing of the palace by a small crowd of relatives and busybodies. They make all kinds of dirty jokes and sly comments, which seem fairly ridiculous given Dainsleif has all the warmth and personality of a suit of armour, before laughing their way out the door.

Alone, at last, in their unfamiliar quarters, Kaeya wastes no time stripping down. It takes a while to extricate himself from all his finery; layers of silk and muslin in crown silvers and blues, a half-cape pinned precisely, and firmly, to cascade down his shoulder, a circlet of delicately wrought silver studded with sapphires that he tosses onto the chaise, uncaring. He liked the one made of flowers better.

Once he’s down to his shirt he flops on the bed with a sigh. The room spins a little, less from drink, he suspects, than exhaustion; he was too busy accepting congratulations and thanking guests to get a proper buzz going. It wasn’t such a bad wedding, Kaeya reflects. If he hadn’t been the focus of it he might’ve even enjoyed himself.

Just as the tension in Kaeya’s spine is starting to dissolve, Dainsleif emerges from behind the changing screen in a dressing gown and a solemn expression.

“Oh, don’t make that face at me!” Kaeya snatches up one of the pillows and slings it at him, which Dainsleif catches and holds to his chest. He takes in Kaeya’s clothes scattered across the floor and frowns. “If you pick those up I will scream,” Kaeya threatens.

Dainsleif gives him a flat look to let him know just how ridiculous he’s being, but doesn’t tidy up. Instead, he approaches the bed and gently deposits the pillow by the headboard.

“We do not need to do anything that would make you uncomfortable,” Dainsleif begins, which is maybe the worst way to start this conversation but whatever. “However, to officially consu—”

“Shut up and get in bed,” Kaeya cuts him off. He’s long since become accustomed to Dainsleif’s restrained, prickly demeanour but it’s jarring under the circumstances. Dainsleif seems to relax a little at that and sits on the edge of the bed, drawing one leg up to turn towards Kaeya. The movement makes his hair falls into his eyes, and he brushes it aside. The shaggy, unfashionable length of his hair, too short to tie back, too long for military dress, is one of the things Kaeya likes best about him.

Kaeya’s known for a long, long time that he’d be married off to strengthen the royal family, but that doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it. It rather makes him feel like a fatted calf, sent for slaughter. But it’s no use taking it out on Dainsleif, who so clearly just wants to see his duty through. He reaches out to take a cornsilk strand between his fingers and says, “I’m in if you are.”

Dainsleif leans his cheek into his hand. With his eyes closed his face softens, reminds Kaeya a little of the serious boy he used to be. Kaeya’s hand drops and Dainsleif’s eyes blink open, that look of vague constipation Kaeya’s become so familiar with back in place.

He gets to his feet, unfastens his dressing gown, and, after a momentary hesitation, lets it drop to the floor. Kaeya pushes upright to get a better look, staring with shameless curiosity.

Dainsleif is whip thin and corded with muscle, a finely tuned instrument riddled with scars. There’s a particularly nasty one on his left side, another arcing up the same arm in a jagged seam, a snarled mess on his right thigh that looks painful still, even long healed.

Some of Kaeya’s lovers have been peers, most of them gentlemen, so he’s previously seen only a handful of minor scars, from hunting accidents or childhood scrapes. Dainsleif has a warrior’s body, with a warrior’s scars, and that’s not even mentioning the rot spreading across his right side, the skin ashen and shiny in the candlelight.

Kaeya finds himself intrigued despite himself. What might it feel like to run his fingers across that raised scar tissue, the rash-like spread of rot?

Dainsleif stares at him in silence, as if waiting for judgment. Kaeya runs his eyes over his body once more, allowing his gaze to linger salaciously between his legs before slowly dragging back up to his face. The look of resignation behind Dainsleif’s faint flush makes him laugh.

That apparently is enough for Dainsleif; he gets back on the bed, kneeling between Kaeya’s legs. For a moment he looks like he’s about to say something, the tendons in his throat flexing, but then the moment passes.

He settles low over Kaeya, so that his face hovers around his navel and cups his bare thigh. Kaeya shivers, his fingers are blocks of ice, but when he ducks lower his breath blooms hot through the linen of Kaeya’s shirt.

“Let me know if anything displeases you, Highness,” he says, his voice low and thin.

“Oh gods, you really can’t use that title now,” Kaeya groans. Dainsleif looks up at him and something strange happens to his face. It’s almost like he’s trying to smile.

“I think under the right circumstances you might grow accustomed to it,” he says, then adds graciously, “Your Highness.”

That startles a laugh out of Kaeya, sharp and too loud. Dainsleif lowers his eyes and ducks to mouth over Kaeya’s cock, which is somehow beginning to twitch to life despite everything.

“Oh, alright,” Kaeya says, “Best get it over with.”

It’s more than a bit rude, even for him, but Dainsleif gives no indication he’s noticed. He flips Kaeya’s shirt out of the way, takes his cock in hand and puts it directly into his mouth, which is just the sort of practicality Kaeya has come to expect from him.

It’s fine. Dainsleif’s mouth is wet and warm, and he applies a nice amount of suction and tongue as he works him over. Idly, Kaeya wonders whose dick he’s sucked before. One of his peers in the army? It’s hard to imagine, but surely even someone as tightly laced as Dainsleif has visited a bathhouse or two in his time.

Kaeya sighs and closes his eyes, trying to focus on sensations rather than the fact that it’s Dainsleif producing them. His mind begins to wander, towards chapped hands, warm eyes, a charming pink blush. Kaeya hasn’t thought of Diluc in days, but now that he’s begun he can’t seem to stop. His mind loops memories of Diluc’s soft gasps, firm grip, how his face twisted when embarrassment gave way to pleasure. A groan escapes Kaeya and his eyes snap open, revealing the unfamiliar canopy above the bed. Desire has pooled hot and thick in his navel and an impatient heat crackles across his skin. His cock pulses as Dainsleif delicately pulls off.

“Shall I continue?” Dainsleif asks, his voice low and rough. Kaeya feels startlingly, bizarrely, close to the edge already. In the quiet of the room he can hear the catch of Dainsleif’s breath.

“No, let’s— we might as well be old fashioned about this,” he blindly pulls Dainsleif up and slots their mouths together. Dainsleif gasps, quietly, lips parting against his. It’s marginally better than their first kiss and Kaeya can make do with that. He reaches between them to touch Dainsleif, and with his eyes closed it isn’t so hard to imagine someone else in his place.

#what if i post this entire wip scene by scene.. haha jk #unless?#wip wednesday #i know it's tuesday #im just being incredible abnormal about this one folks idk what to tell you

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