#every day I bend and reach so far to entertain my delusions

[aboatmanadrift]

this sequence where taichi takes out the cards to place them and chihaya says that chihayafuru is a poem about deep red love, and then the shot cuts to arata touching the cards and finally returning to karuta: taichihayarata have always been SO connected & canon, in this essay I—

[xsparklingravenx]

crystalize

Title: crystalize

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Characters: Childe, Zhongli

Rating: T

Word Count: 4126

Summary: When Hydro met Cryo, Freeze occurred. For Tartaglia, who held a Hydro vision, who coated his heart in water’s protection, there was no such shelter from the Tsaritsa.

Or, Zhongli stumbles across Childe and is asked to dinner, all while Childe plans on stealing an unsuspecting Archon's gnosis.

AO3

Across the inky canvas of Teyvat’s evening sky, stars glittered like wishes, the night holding them captive for itself. From the balcony of one of Liyue Harbour’s many inns, a man held onto the railing with knuckles white, regarding them with a careless look that belied the truth held within.

The evening breeze teased past locks of wavy hair, toying with the end of a distressed scarf. It was cooler than during the day, but the city itself was no less bustling, moving about below him as if he wasn’t there. Couples linked themselves arm-in-arm to visit attractive restaurants while sailors made their way to taverns, all while merchants finally packed up their wares to return home for the day, perhaps to partners or children, or to empty rooms that were little more than a place to stay. The world went on, unaware it was being watched.

The man felt a little like one of the stars in that moment, though less powerful. Not in the common sense of the word—he was plenty strong—but more in the metaphysical sense. Unlike those stars, he held no kind of ability to grant a wish within him, but he was an observer from further up, something a little more, a Delusion slung around his head in the form of a mask and a night sky to return to when all was over.

Although Snezhnaya would not welcome him home until his mission was complete.

Not far from the inn, the man could see the Wangshen Funeral Parlour, and it was there that his thoughts drifted away from him, an idle smile playing upon his lips. His target resided there most days, going about his business, his work, making his contracts and assisting the people of Liyue throughout some of their hardest times. Zhongli, or, so he said his name was, but the man knew better.

Dark hair, twisting into that thin pony-tail of his. Amber eyes that only legends spoke of. Broad shoulders and always delectably dressed, with a voice so deep that the man on the balcony could only imagine that hearing it was what drowning felt like. He’d never been afraid of water; it was difficult to be, when it bent and broke at his command.

“Childe?”

The voice made the man jolt, hands falling away from the balcony railing, which was unusual for him because he was so rarely ever startled. So deep in his thoughts that he’d conjured a fantasy? Hardly. He was not that careless. No, instead, when he looked down, he found the object of his wayward musings standing beneath him, still dressed to the nines as he always was, those amber eyes he'd been imagining peering up at him curiously.

The name juddered harshly against his psyche, because for a moment, it was not the right one.

“That is you, isn’t it?” said Zhongli, impatient for an answer even though he must have known that he was correct. If there was enough lamplight for the man on the balcony to see him clearly, then there was enough for Zhongli to see him back. “What a surprise. I had no idea you were staying so close by.”

The man, whose name was not truly Childe, made it so it was. He grinned down at him. “That’s ‘cause I’m always full of surprises. What’s up? So eager to see me that you had to come say hi?”

The edges of Zhongli’s lips quirked up near imperceptibly, but it was a smile all the same. “I was just passing through on my way back to my abode, and thought I would give a quick greeting. Though, I will admit, I do feel guilty for drawing you from your thoughts. I don’t imagine you spend a great deal of time in your head, do you?”

Childe barked a laugh before staggering back from the railing with a look of mock offence, one hand covering his heart. “Ouch! Kind of rude, don’t you think? You wound me!”

Zhongli blinked languidly up at him. “Oh. Then I must apologise. I didn’t mean any offence.”

It was difficult to tell if he was joking. Framed in both the silver tones of the starlight and the warm tones of Liyue’s streetlamps, Childe raked his eyes over his form, black and gold and elegant. He was a god in human disguise, something far more than him, and yet someone he'd come to enjoy the presence of regardless. This was the man who he had to break and bend like the water he enjoyed, and yet, here he was, having fun while wearing the skin of the person he knew he could never be.

Leaning back over the railing, Childe said, “Yeah, I know you didn’t. Are you just going home, or do you want to do something fun before you get there?”

“Something fun?” Zhongli said it slowly, as if he was deliberating it. “And what is fun to you, Childe? You wish to break into a hilichurl’s camp for target practice? Or is a theatre play more your fare? I’ll be truthful, I’m not certain.”

Shooting at hilichurl’s did sound entertaining, especially when he thought of fighting at Zhongli’s side, covering his spear with his bow, learning the ins and outs of his style while searching for the weak points. Then again, he had a feeling that Zhongli would prefer something less violent. He enjoyed history, given his encyclopaedic knowledge of Liyue’s past, and he enjoyed talking about it, given his inability to not drop his explanations on anyone who so much as expressed an interest in it. Something quieter would be to his tastes, of that he was sure.

“So, that’s a yes?” Childe asked.

“To?”

“Doing something with me.”

“Ah.” Zhongli smiled again, so nearly invisible yet still there. “So you want to surprise me? Then yes. I’ve nowhere to be, not tonight, so why not spend it in the presence of a friend?”

Friend. Childe grinned, dipping back into his room for his coin purse before returning to the balcony once more. He’d spent more than enough time with Zhongli by now to know how lackadaisical he was when it came to Mora, so it was better to come prepared than be caught short. He was well-stocked, the Fatui’s coffers helping immensely with his (many) expenditures.

“Hey, Zhongli.” He tossed the small bag once into the air before letting it land in his waiting palm. “Catch me?”

Without waiting for an answer, he leapt over the balcony’s edge, delighting in how Zhongli started forward as if he really was going to humour Childe’s request. Still, the fall was not great—he’d traversed Liyue’s cliffsides and mountains enough by now to know when something was too much for him. He landed in a crouch before him, half bow, half flourish, and remained there a moment before straightening to his full height.

“Shame,” he said, planting his hands on his hips. “You nearly made it.”

Zhongli raised his brow. “Indeed, although I fear that if I had tried to catch you, you would have bowled us both over.”

“Would that really have been so bad?” Childe asked. “To fall with me, I mean.”

Zhongli considered this a moment, the way he always tended to do, giving Childe’s inane questions more thought than they deserved. The Tsaritsa was not so patient, but he pushed her out of her mind almost as quickly as she entered it.

“Perhaps not,” he answered finally. “So, might I ask, where do you intend for us to go?”

Childe hummed, and then set off ahead of him, linking his hands behind his back as he took large strides. “That’s for me to know, and you to find out.”

***

When Hydro met Cryo, Freeze occurred.

It was common knowledge throughout Teyvat, elemental compositions were taught to every child at the same time they were taught to read, and so all knew. To be caught in a rainstorm when a frozen slime dared approach was sure to spell death, and so travellers oft sought shelter when clouds covered the sky, not so foolish to afford such a fate.

For Tartaglia, who held a Hydro vision, who coated his heart in water’s protection, there was no such shelter from the Tsaritsa. Water was such a malleable element; it could be burned and turned to vapour. It could be caught up in Ameno’s gusts and wielded as a weapon. Electro used it for its own, turning it into a catalyst of death, and beneath Cryo’s touch, it was shaped into something unbreakable and immovable.

Maybe he had been weak once, a time long ago before the Tsaritsa put her hands on him and fashioned him into the frozen thing he was now. It was not worth remembering. He knelt before her and took her orders, and the ice that surrounded his heart helped him in carrying them out. To spy, to interrogate, to kill—that was the life he had chosen in standing at her side, and so, it was the life he had to live out.

“You wear your masks so easily, Tartaglia,” La Signora commented once, just before they left on their concurrent assignments. He was to leave for Liyue to track down the Geo Archon, while she was destined for Mondstadt and its deity of Ameno. “Why, I often find myself wondering if I’m ever looking at the truth.”

She was as frozen as the Tsaritsa, wielding her frost like gloves as her fingers caressed his face, tipping his chin so he would look up into her eyes of ice. Body frozen beneath her touch, he made himself grin, though he was hardly entertained by her display of dominance.

“Says you, when you’ve always got your face half-covered,” he replied, reaching up to grasp her wrist, fingers tight against her pale skin. “What secrets are you hiding, La Signora? Care to spill?”

“Deflecting? How childish a move.” La Signora chuckled, her fingers still about his face, freezing impressions left behind as she used her fingertip to trace his skin. “Such dull eyes you have, Tartaglia. No light left in there at all. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were little more than a living corpse, something brought back from the dead.”

“Still alive, sorry to say,” Tartaglia said, finally pulling her hand from his face. When he let go, she sneered at him, a delightful expression on her haughty face. “You came to find me here for a reason, and somehow I don’t think it was to insult me, so why not say what you came to say?”

Haughty and cold, a favourite of the Tsaritsa, La Signora couldn’t resist her biting words and frozen tones. He already knew why she was before him. She was an extension of their Cryo Archon, a god's words often sitting on her poison tongue.

She reached out again, though this time she touched not his face, but the real, physical mask that sat on the side of his head. There was power in that mask, Electro sparks sealed within it, Electro sparks that would take control and use his Hydro vision for its own should he choose to wear it. Her smile was a bladed thing, and she said, “I trust you’re showing me your true face now, right, Tartaglia?”

He smiled. It was easy enough to put one on his face. “Naturally.”

“You understand how important this mission is, do you not?” La Signora said, still caressing the mask. “And you understand what it is you will face? The Geo Archon will not show himself so easily to someone as tricky and deceptive as yourself, Tartaglia, and there will be no help from the other Harbingers either. You are on your own, little boy, and your punishment will not be kind, should you fail.”

She pulled back from him and walked away, each footstep crashing hard against the stone floor of the Fatui’s base. Tartaglia watched her go, still feeling her ice in his soul. It had not been this way, once. He had not been Fatui, and he had not been a Harbinger. He had not been shackled to this destiny, and he had not enjoyed his fate.

But now? He had been shaped to someone else’s will, taken beneath someone’s wing, given a place to belong and a position that required only his best. He was Fatui. He was a Harbinger. He was shackled to his destiny, and yet he did enjoy it.

When Hydro met Cryo, Freeze occurred.

When Tartaglia encountered the Tsaritsa, he’d been made hers.

***

On their way through the streets, not long after he’d begun leading the way, Childe did what he was best at. He overstepped ordinary boundaries, slowing down to let Zhongli catch up with him, and then linking his arm with his.

Zhongli didn’t seem all that surprised at the action, but he did look over. “What are you doing?”

“Trying something out,” Childe replied with a grin, testing him by pulling a little. Zhongli let him, but didn’t allow him to go free entirely. “Yeah, this is fun. Now it really seems like a night out, huh?”

He was mostly teasing, even if there was a small, fragmented part of him where the Tsaritsa’s ice hadn’t touched that wanted Zhongli to agree. The stars still watched them overhead, still caught up in the night sky’s hold, yet he felt freer than usual beneath their gaze.

“I don’t usually see friends this close,” Zhongli observed. “I’m certain this is something that lovers do.”

“Is it, now?” Childe asked, deliberately playing ignorant. Zhongli must have realised that, given his tone, yet still he let it pass, and still, he didn’t move away. Perfect. This was how one got close to a mark—he had to make their relationship, whether that was friendship or something more, as legitimate as he could. It was swapping masks for masks, looking for quirks and delights, picking apart at the person he was to betray to find out what made them tick. It wasn’t real, and it never would be, but it had to feel that way, to both him, and the mark too.

“Something tells me,” Zhongli said, all smooth tones and raised brows, “that you’re intending for this to look that way.”

With a chuckle, Childe leaned into him, still leading the way to the destination in mind. “Is that a problem?”

Zhongli was quiet a moment, once again deliberating, taking Childe seriously when he really didn’t have to. “No. No problem at all.”

Childe ignored how his heart skipped over a beat, glancing up at the curve of Zhongli’s jaw, at the glittering amber of his eyes. A thought came to him then, one he really shouldn’t have been entertaining, and he said, as a way of leading onto the topic he desired, “You know, I’ve always thought that your eyes look pretty…well. Bright.”

“Please, save me your comparisons to Cor Lapis, or what have you. I can assure you, I’ve heard it all before.”

“So modest!” Childe snickered, shaking his head. “Wasn’t intending on it. They sure are something though. What about me? What would you compare mine too?”

“If I’d known you’d asked me to go out just so you could fish for compliments, I would have driven a harder bargain initially,” Zhongli said. “You can pay for the food tonight, if that’s acceptable.”

“I was gonna pay for it anyway. You think I’d trust you to bring your own bag of Mora?” Childe shook his head in disbelief. “Anyway, I’m waiting.”

La Signora’s words resided in his ears, echoed sounds that he was ashamed to say had cut a little too deeply. Such dull eyes you have, Tartaglia. How part of him wished to rip hers from her sockets for saying such a thing.

Zhongli thought on it long enough that Childe thought he wasn’t to get an answer, but eventually, he spoke. “There are pools in the mountains here, Childe, where fish swim beneath the surface, that shimmer delightfully in the sunlight. When the sun shines here in Liyue, your eyes look remarkably the same, although there are no fish, I’m pleased to say. That would be quite odd.”

It was a thoughtful answer. Painfully so. Struck silent, Childe could do nothing but ruminate on it, on how it contrasted with La Signora’s frozen insult, how it clashed with the ice about his heart.

“Thanks,” he whispered after a moment, a little touched, perhaps, enough to quieten his inner-voice that always pushed him to make light of a situation. Shining lights ahead alerted him that they were nearing their destination, a restaurant that served Snezhnayan cuisine. “Hey, we’re here. Check out this place, you’re going to try something new!”

“New?” Zhongli snorted. “Childe, if you think this is new, then you’re quite mistaken. I once shared meals with a friend from Snezhnaya quite a few many years ago—”

“And I’m sure that was great and all, but I bet it’s changed since then.” Childe was well aware of what he was speaking of, even if Zhongli didn’t realise that. “Now this is my treat, so I’m ordering.”

Zhongli hummed, one hand at his chin in thought. “Do you really think we’ll get a table without a reservation?”

Childe dragged him forward. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Now, let’s go!”

***

In reality, it was all a ruse.

Encountering Zhongli tonight was a happy accident, but the invitation to the restaurant was nothing more than an attempt to get him to let his guard down. When dinner was done, Childe planned to get him alone in some quiet area of town, reach his hand beneath skin, and rip out the thing that made him more than mortal.

For Zhongli was Rex Lapis, the Geo Archon, and Childe was the eleventh Harbinger of the Fatui, and he’d been sent to retrieve his gnosis.

The table had been easy, once Childe had replaced his mask with that of Tartaglia and spoken to the owner in his Snezhnayan tongue. As fortune would have it, the owner was Snezhnaya born and bred, and he had much love for his motherland. Perhaps more than Childe did.

“Your grasp of language is impressive, Childe,” Zhongli said once they were seated and champagne was poured before them. He picked up his glass and swirled the liquid within, gazing into it. “You never fail to surprise me. It’s perhaps my favourite thing about you.”

Unbeknownst to him, his words, though coated in honey, were like a dagger to the ribs. I’ll be surprising you even more, once this is through, thought Tartaglia, but it was Childe who said, “Oh? That’s a loaded statement. Okay, so tell me, what else do you like?”

“And you say I��m immodest!” Zhongli sipped at his drink and laughed around it. “I enjoy your company, though, if I must say something. And your bag of Mora. It's always at hand to assist me in a pinch.”

“That’s a joke, right? It’d better be a joke.” Childe reached forward, though he didn’t grab for his own glass of champagne. Instead, he went for the water beside it. Alcohol would distort his mind and muddy his aim when he went for the gnosis. “C’mon, you can’t just like me for my Mora, right?”

“It was a joke,” Zhongli clarified, taking another sip, and Childe couldn’t help but feel a little proud that he was enjoying one of his home’s beverages. He’d have to order vodka next time—

No. Not next time, because it wouldn’t come to be.

“Regardless, if you’re that desperate for another compliment…” Zhongli carried on as if Childe’s mind wasn’t running away with itself. “The colour of your hair is rather delicate, even if I can’t tell precisely which colour it is. In some lights, I daresay it’s more the colour of Cor Lapis than even my eyes. In other, it resembles more earthen stone.”

Despite having not taken a sip of alcohol, Childe felt warm, his cheeks heated. “Wow, you really lay it on thick, don’t you? Stone, though? Got to say, don’t think I’ve ever really been compared with Geo structures before.”

“Understandably. It seems we are often drawn to the colours and concepts that our Visions invite.” Zhongli glanced up. “Might I ask what food we are to sample tonight?”

“You can wait and see on that too,” Childe said, leaning back in his seat, and before long they were greeted by a waiter holding red soups in large bowls. Zhongli tilted his head as his was placed before him, and Childe rose to answer his question before he even asked it. “It’s called Borscht. This looks pretty good, actually. Thick and stodgy.”

Zhongli, eager to sample it, took his spoon and went for it. He remained quiet for a moment while he experienced the flavour, and then said, “Hm. Rather sour.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of what to expect. It’s good though!” Childe took his own mouthful, and then another sip of water. “Oh, yeah, this is how it should be. Real sour. But good. What do you think?”

Zhongli went in for another spoonful, which was promising. “Unusual, but something I could get used to. A little bit like you, I suppose.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, promise,” Childe laughed, making himself slow down as he ate, not wanting this moment to be over too quickly. The end of the evening would bring the end to this thing he’d been building here in Liyue, and there was no need to rush it. Zhongli would be merry by the end of it, and Childe would finish it there, before escaping into the night, never to be seen by him again. Quick. Easy. A soulless end to a not-so-soulless mission. He’d return to the Tsaritsa and let her put her hands on him again, refreeze his heart and mould himself back to her will.

And so the meal carried on, their chatter a murmur against the warm buzz of the restaurant, another pair amidst many.

***

The stars still glittered when Childe led Zhongli from the establishment, his head clear despite how his heart beat hard in his chest. The moon hung between them, a silver curve nestled amongst a thousand lights, the only witness of what was to pass.

“I should return home,” Zhongli said, not muzzy in the slightest despite how much he’d drank. He’d made work of the entire bottle, Childe’s share and his own, and then he’d gone on for another, apparently not caring for the dent it made in Childe’s bag of Mora. “As pleasant as the night has been, I do have work in the morning. The funeral parlour will not excuse lateness, not even from me.”

“Hold on,” Childe said, linking their arms anew, pulling him around the side of the building. “You’re gonna leave, just like that? C’mon, don’t I warrant a couple more minutes?”

It was dark, behind the restaurant, cool and shadowed, the moonlight not quite reaching. Childe shuddered, uncharacteristically cold, and Zhongli frowned. “Everything alright there, Childe?”

“Just fine,” Childe replied, pulling away and turning to face him. Zhongli peered at him with a bemused expression. “Stop looking at me like that. Hey, listen, close your eyes for me, just a sec.”

Zhongli considered his request as he did everything else, slowly and thoughtfully, but he complied. Easier than expected, Tartaglia thought, but Childe’s heart smashed into his ribs with renewed anger. There was no coming back from this. This was the end of his mission.

He pressed his hand to Zhongli’s chest, pushing aside his jacket, and Zhongli tensed beneath his touch. He could feel him breathing, chest moving, and how odd it was, for something so godly to draw breath. It was human. Just like him. Just like anyone.

He curled his fingers, ready to dive beneath-and Childe, inexplicably, hesitated.

“Do it,” whispered Zhongli, cracking one eye open, a glint of amber in the dark “if you can.”

It was a dare. Or was it a challenge? Childe’s voice broke in his throat as he closed in, as he felt Geo crash against him, warm and inviting. This was his mission, he told himself. This was what the Tsaritsa wanted. This was his role as a Harbinger.

Yet he did not reach beneath skin. Instead, he reached up, and pressed his lips to Zhongli’s in a kiss.

Another night, Tartaglia told himself.

When Geo met Hydro, Crystalize occurred. A crystal that provided a safeguard, a defensive property, something to keep a person safe.

When Childe’s touch met with Zhongli’s, the ice about his heart melted away, replaced with a shield for the future.

[asras-damn-smirk]

[This is for @loafdog!! The beautiful Evelyn belongs to her!! This is long overdue but thank you for waiting patiently! I hope you enjoy!!]

Much like how he thinks himself invulnerable to death, Lucio is under the foolish impression that he is above emotions such as envy or jealousy. As far as he knows, there isn't anyone in Vesuvia who wouldn't want what he possessed or didn't fear what he had the capability to take from them. Who could blame them for being worried? He did have dashing looks, the physical stature he can imagine even gods desired. He had riches and quite the exotic collections to show for it. And of course, he had Vesuvia. To him, there isn't anything in his possession that could be thwarted.

“Like what you see, Lucio?” she asks, lips curling into a sly smile.

Evelyn stands in front of a tall mirror, trying on one of the many clothes he had bought her. Lucio's eyes roam over her figure, drinking in every dip and curve. She's always been unabashed about showing her body to him, so him being her private audience isn't anything new. He reclines on the frame of her bedroom door, arms crossed and his jaw taut with tension. Quiet moments like these, his mind wanders and he doesn't like the path it's taken him on. He should be thinking about how the golden gleam of his prosthesis perfectly complements the earthen tones of her skin. The shape of her lips when she says his name. However, his thoughts betray him and puts another man in his place in those imaginings.

Diomedes.

The fingers of his flesh hand curl into a fist. Diomedes was a former rival from his mercenary days, now under his employ. Lucio delighted in those turn of events and often rubbed Diomedes's face in the current circumstances he found himself in. Recently, that very name, even unspoken, brings a bitter taste to his mouth. That, in of itself, bothers him.  Why? Why is he concerned with someone that might as well been a speck of dirt under the heel of his boot?

As much as he didn't want to acknowledge it, the answer is right in front of him. 

“Nothing to say? I'm surprised.” Evelyn looks over her shoulder, smirking. “Perhaps I should get a second opinion then.”

Lucio should know better. Really, he should. Evelyn is surely just extending a playful challenge to him, like she always does. Yet that doesn't reach his realm of understanding at the moment. He's a prideful man and his pride is so inflated, he doesn't even want to consider the possibility that he's mistaken. In his mind, he's being taunted. He's been attentive enough to know what she likes. Who would she run to for a second opinion, anyway?

He pushes away from the door, sauntering up behind her. A firm grip on her hip allows him to press her against his chest. He looks at her reflection, how her fingers fret nervously over the sheer material of the dress she wears. It's red and barely brushes the top of her kneecaps. A smirk lifts his lips right as he rests his hand on the hem of the dress.

“And whose opinion matters more than my own, Evelyn?” he asks, his voice a rough purr along the curve of her neck.

“Well, since you don't seem too keen on sharing yours, maybe one of your courtiers or guards will.”

Evelyn has little to no clue as to what has him in this mood, but she intends to milk this situation for what it's worth. It appears that Lucio didn't care for masking how much her flippancy rankled him. Instead, he visibly gritted his teeth and yanked up the material of her dress until it was over her stomach. She smirks at the sight of his eyes darkening with lust. She has no undergarments on. Knowing Lucio, he'd accuse her of—

“Expecting someone today?”

She shrugs, one of the dress straps falling off. “You seem to know more than I do, so why don't you tell me who—”

“You know who.” Lucio almost hisses, mouth right at her ear. “Diomedes.”

He says the name like a curse, his face souring in the mirror. Evelyn feels the realization crash into her like a horse-drawn carriage. So that's who got him riled up? Diomedes is a nice man, yes, but she isn't interested in him. Or that's what she tells herself to avoid addressing the cool dread in her gut.  She doesn't get the chance to further evaluate her feelings, thanks to the distraction of Lucio's lips suckling on the curve of her neck and shoulders. His eyes never linger from her too long. She wants to look away, to escape the condemnation in his gaze but his hand holds her jaw in a firm grip.

The Count takes her silence as confirmation. His regular hand glides under the material of her dress and gropes Evelyn's breast. He tugs and twists her nipple, watching it harden under his attentions. She shivers in response, wriggling once he moves on to her other breast. His mouth latches on to her jaw now, intent on leaving behind his claim. His tongue traces along the fresh passion marks before he starts pressing hard, persistent kisses at the sensitive spot behind her ear. The apex of her thighs begins to throb dully.

His hand delves between her legs, pumping his fingers inside at a rough and rapid pace. They gleam with the slick of her arousal. Her face is twisted in an obscene grimace of pleasure, the flushing of her cheeks stroking his ego. Her hair is gathered in his vice grip and yanked back to expose the curve of her throat. He bites down on it as he toys with her clit, coaxing a moan out of Evelyn's lips. Her legs wobble, trembling due to the harsh bend and curl of his fingers. His terrible smirk appears even smarmier in his reflection.

“I wonder if I should invite him here? Just to show him how outclassed he is again when it comes to me.” Lucio muses, fingers practically bruising her hip. The digits of his flesh hand scissor inside her. Evelyn lets out a shuddering sigh. “Would you like that? Him watching me reduce you to a moaning mess?”

Her mind betrays her and entertains the delusion. She pictures Diomedes in the mirror. Him being witness to the passionate devastation Lucio plans to bring down upon her. Would he wear a look of frustration? Or perhaps...would he want her? The very thought of him, regarding her with a lascivious leer sends pang of pleasure straight to her aching core. Oh no. Maybe Lucio did have something to worry about. No, not really. She's...she's getting too into this jealousy thing, that's all. What she felt just then wasn't real. She's just enjoying the moment. That's all there is to it.

“Is that...ah! The best you can do?” she challenges, chest heaving. “You're supposed to better than him, right?”

Lucio settles for staring at Evelyn in reply. Her heart skips a beat. Silence. Did she go too far with that? She supposes that he's come to the conclusion that actions speak louder than his boastful words. Excitement thrums throughout her very being once he releases her hair and orders her to bend over. She hears the rustling of fabric, feels his telltale hardness. He takes his foot and nudges her legs so they're spread wide apart. Slowly, he runs the rigid girth of his cock along the outside of her folds. He drags it back and forth, before entering her fully and wasting no time ramming himself into her.

Evelyn braces herself on the mirror now. Her face burns as she watches herself getting fucked senseless. However, her overwhelming desire far, far outweighs her embarrassment. The almost delirious, lustful expression she's making adds to the mounting arousal she experiences. Each grunt and moan that's pulled out of Lucio while he rocks violently against her piles on to the exhilaration she feels. Every muscle quivers and aches from exertion as Lucio pounds into her, the angle he holds her hips making it impossible for him to miss her sweet spots. She's wound tighter and tighter around his length until the pressure bursts. She comes with a shout of his name, pitching forward right when Lucio pulls out to spill over the insides of her thighs.

“Remember how that felt whenever you dare think of him,” Lucio commands, breath short from exertion. 

When he pulls out of her, she turns around to kiss him lazily. Her lips are soft and sweet along his jaw, her voice smooth and thick with affection. “You do know that I don't want anyone else, right? I just wanted—”

“To goad me on like you normally do.” He scoffs. “I know that. You'd better not do more than that, though.”

She sighs, nestling into his side. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

Even after Evelyn's reassurance, Lucio feels the need to take precautions. He sends Diomedes away on a task that'll take weeks to complete. No matter how unlikely it may be, he wants to stamp out any flame that might be kindled between them. Call him paranoid or unreasonable, he doesn't care. The history he had with other ex-mercenary is not to be ignored and he doesn't want it to be repeated.

He will not be rivaled again.