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chickenparm · 2 years ago

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Reduction (Albedo/Reader)

header GRACIOUSLY and SEXILY made by @drawlypsy. the full version is a bit uhhhhh eyesemoji, so it'll be posted on their patreon here.

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Albedo/Reader (no pronouns or body parts mentioned, but kinda f-coded) 7,693 Words - NSFW (m!Masturbation, consensual voyeurism, semi-public sexual acts, cum swallowing, pining)

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Windblume has always been a bit of an odd time of year for you.

Sure, there’s a bit less of your typical workload. That is, your usual duties when it comes to the Knights of Favonius are put on hold since you’re more administrative than the sort of knight that goes out on patrols. That’s just your niche, that’s where you’ve fallen in.

However, there are certain other tasks you’ve silently taken on for yourself that have gone unsaid and unannounced, but are just implicitly known. Namely that for the past two years or so, you’ve served in an unofficial capacity as the liaison between most solicitors and the Chief Alchemist, Albedo.

It’s not like you sat down and decided all at once that it was going to happen this way. It’s just that over a gradual amount of time you wound up being the best person for the job. It certainly helped that you got along swimmingly with his assistant, Sucrose, and could discuss matters with her rather easily.

So, unofficial secretary or not, for better or worse you’re the one most people come to when they need to ensure that something will make it directly to Mister Albedo’s hands.

And that’s really just fine with you. Despite only ever seeing each other in passing and having never exchanged words beyond a few scribbled notes back and forth passed via Sucrose and occasionally Timaeus, maybe you’re a little fond of the man just based on what you’ve heard from Sucrose herself when she mentions him.

Albedo is kind. A genius, honorable, creative, and patient. Sucrose’s words paint a picture of a man that worms his way into your brain and has made a home for himself despite not even knowing what his voice sounds like.

It’s as you serve in this unofficial position that it becomes apparent that Windblume is an oddity. Because during most days of the year, Albedo has his admirers but they’re happy to do so from afar. Something about the festival of Love and Freedom truly brings out the boldness in those who hold a torch for the Chief Alchemist.

The point of the matter is that you wander into your office and your desk is piled high with gifts that aren’t meant for you. Each one holds a little note, explaining that this is their Windblume for the Chief Alchemist and they would so appreciate it if you made sure he received it. Jealousy curls in your gut, before it’s swept away immediately.

You have nothing to be jealous about. Albedo isn’t yours in any capacity - not as an employer, nor a friend, and certainly not a prospect for romance.

Sucrose arrives not long after, her eyes widening at the sight of the desk. This was a similar situation to last year, though it almost seems to have doubled in magnitude from the prior Windblume. Nervously, she laughs and says, “I don’t suppose these are for you?”

“No, you know exactly who.” Your voice is monotone and deadpan as you finish piling the gifts into a neater stack so you have a bit of space to work. Officially you’re not required to work today, but you just want to get a little more caught up before you enjoy the festivities. With a little sigh through your nose, you turn to look at her with your hip leaning on the desk. The pile wobbles from your movement. “You might need to hire out a cart to get these up the mountain to him. Let me know when your next trip is, and I’ll get that sorted for-”

“A-actually, um, Mister Albedo is in the city currently. Perhaps he could come get them himself?”

That’s a terrible idea. If only because you’d have to be here to let him in your office, meaning you’d have to likely share conversation. And if he’s as polite and kind as Sucrose touts him to be, there’s no way you’re coming out of that interaction with anything less than a big fat crush.

As you open your mouth to offer the weak excuse that you’ll leave your office key with her so you can tactfully avoid crossing paths with Albedo, Sucrose seems to remember something and reaches into her coat to pull out a neatly folded envelope. Hesitantly, she offers it, as if she can read your mind and understand the inner turmoil you’re currently wrestling.

“He also asked me to bring this to you. Before you read it, I’ll have you know that I… assisted him in writing this. I really think you shouldn’t turn it down, if only because he’ll be disappointed.”

That’s ominous, and you really don’t like it, but you accept the envelope anyway. Sucrose shifts a bit as you carefully unfold the envelope - it's on nicer paper, with care put into it instead of the usual hastily-folded scrap papers she passes off to you. This has effort.

Thank you for your help… Appreciate your hard work… get to know you better… dinner, my treat… look forward to your answer-

“Sucrose, what is this?”

It’s obvious, at least to the green-haired woman, but she humors you in her patient way with a smile that feels far too mischievous to ever look at home on her face. You don’t like it. “Just between you and me, it took him three days to write this out. He went through nearly an entire sheaf of parchment paper.”

“That doesn’t answer my question…”

“I don’t mind answering anything asked of me, but don’t you think this one is a little obvious?” Sucrose’s smile morphs from mischievous to simply sweet, like the sort you’ve seen her wear when watching the kittens outside the Cat’s Tail. “Mister Albedo wants to take you on a date.”

A date. A date. A date.

It rattles around in your head, threatening to blow up like one of the Klee’s bombs that shake the panes of your office windows a little too frequently. You lean a bit more heavily against your desk, and the pile of gifts topple and lay forgotten on the floor. Sucrose immediately bends down to begin organizing them again, her voice soothing to the point of almost being missed in the rush of blood pounding in your ears.

“It’s not my place to reveal any of his feelings, but I think you should know that this isn't something out of the blue.” Sucrose decides to just pile the gifts on the floor next to your desk, rather than precariously on top. “He’s rather busy, and tends to get lost in his interests to the point of putting off other matters that aren’t directly in front of him.”

And as she looks up at you from over her glasses, there’s an excited, knowing glint in her eye as she explains, “I just might have… kept putting you in front of him. Mentioning you, making sure he reads your notes, even if they’re inconsequential or meant for me. Maybe it was a little underhanded, and I’m sorry if I overstepped. But if I didn’t do something, then the two of you would just orbit around each other without ever-”

Sucrose stops sharply, realizing she’s rambling. Clearing her throat, she stands straight and folds her hands behind her back in a show of common bashfulness from her. “A-anyway, I really think you should accept. You don’t have anything to lose, and if things work out, well… I think I’ve talked about him enough that you know what I hypothesize the outcome would be.”

Of course she’s planned this out like it’s some experiment. Yet, you know just as well that she’s also done this out of a genuine place of caring. Barbatos knows that she’s intuitive to pick up on the way you eagerly listen to her when she talks about him, and she’s known Albedo longer than she’s known you, so surely she would know his feelings on the matter as well, right?

And that begs the question of if there ARE feelings to speak of, or if this is offered out of some misplaced obligation.

Your eyes travel back down to the letter, trailing over the words he’s written about how he’d like to “get to know you better” and a part that you’d skimmed over in your panic that details how he’s been interested in you for a while.

Tomorrow. The date he’d like to take you on is offered tomorrow evening. That’s just enough time to overthink things and get yourself in a pretty ridiculous jam, and with only a second longer of hesitation you reach for your desk to find some paper to respond to him with. Sucrose smiles wider than you’ve ever seen her.

—

Sucrose never stays longer than she has to on Dragonspine. Really, if it weren’t for the letter she’s holding in her hands, Albedo is certain that he wouldn’t see Sucrose until their designated meetup time in Mondstadt proper tomorrow.

But there she stands, at the mouth of the cave his lab is situated in. Bundled up from head to toe, only her eyes peeking out between her scarf and her hat, and in her gloved hands is a letter on paper he shouldn’t be so familiar with.

Except he is, because it exists in abundance in the locked drawer of his desk here. Pages and pages of it, each one marked with handwriting that he has no right to be so fixated on. But he can’t help it - it’s akin to an addiction, one that he logically could and should detach from.

Hundreds of years have gone by and not a single one of them has been marred by distracting feelings quite like this. At first, he wanted to discard them, but then his interest was piqued in terms of learning its intricacies. It was when he started to ferret away your little notes - every single one - that he realized perhaps he’s made a misstep.

“They answered!” Sucrose says, tugging the scarf down with a smile that’s wide and brilliant. It’s almost as if she’s more excited about the whole situation than he is, but it only serves to nudge his own heart into a slightly quicker tempo. If Sucrose is excited, that must mean she knows the content. And if she’s happy about the contents, then that surely means…

“Thank you, Sucrose. You didn’t have to hurry back straight away. Tomorrow morning when we were meant to meet would have been fine.”

Sucrose opens her mouth to answer, but then shuts it with a flush on her cheeks. Albedo can see the wheels turning in her mind as she realizes he’s right, and a bit sheepishly she stammers, “I-I was just excited to let you know, is all.”

Albedo can’t fault her for that. Sucrose has done him a great service by hurrying back with this letter, and entirely out of the kindness of her heart and a vested interest in the situation that has unfolded thanks to her prodding.

And he knows she’s had a hand in it. Albedo may be unfamiliar with navigating relationships like friendship, and even more woefully inadequate at anything even suggesting romance, but he’s not blind enough to overlook the way she’d mention you often, or the way she’d suggest he personally write a note back to answer a question you pose rather than send Sucrose along with just his verbal answer.

For all the mysteries in the world, some of them just aren’t a complete shot in the dark. And Sucrose’s good-natured meddling reveals all the secrets he might want to know. She wouldn’t have bothered with any of this if she wasn’t entirely sure that you were harboring some sort of fondness for him.

It’s with this surprisingly comforting thought in mind that he accepts the letter, then pointedly pockets it to read when he’s alone. Investment or not, Albedo is well aware that perhaps his reactions to your letters should be embarrassing. That isn’t something he experiences often - he can’t remember the last time - but he’s extremely uninterested in testing if today would be the day he learns what that feels like.

Sucrose does her best to not seem put-out. But she knows that he knows what the contents of the letter are, and Albedo humors her by at least averting his eyes to the ground with a smile. She can interpret it as one of gratitude, or she can see it for the happiness it truly is. Neither answer would be wrong, he supposes.

After a short time, Sucrose returns to Mondstadt. Albedo is left blissfully alone, and for good measure he makes sure to wait a sufficient amount of time before striding with purpose across the cave to all but force the lock of his drawer open.

Inside are the stacks of paper he’s grown fond of. Some of them are worn, as if he picked them up and looked over them often. Setting the letter on the desk, he reaches for one of the most worn pages, where the creases have grown thin from being folded and unfolded, over and over.

Enclosed is the shipment of Cor Lapis you asked me to source from Liyue. I took the liberty of opening it to ensure all was accounted for. Everything seems to be in order.

And just after you’ve scribbled your signature, there’s an addendum that he favors with almost reverence.

Sucrose told me it’s your birthday tomorrow, though I should say today by the time you read this. So… Happy Birthday, Albedo! I hope you have a wonderful year, and that my well-wishes keep you fortunate until I can offer them again on your next birthday.

The addendum is longer than the original note. Perhaps it’s because you lost track of yourself as you wrote, or maybe you considered your wishes of happiness to him to be more important than the report on Cor Lapis that has since been used up. Albedo likes to use his thumb to cover the top of the note, and imagine that you simply sent this without a purpose beyond you thinking of him on the day of his birth.

For all the kindness and honor that people seem to tack on to him when describing his traits, he wonders how they’d react if they knew how incredibly greedy he was for a speck of your attention.

With a steadying breath, his exhale releasing in a chilly cloud, Albedo places the letter back in the drawer and reaches for the envelope. With a steady, practiced movement, Albedo unseals the hasty wax melted against the flap and is well aware of how ridiculous he must look with the way his breath comes in short little pants.

Albedo, the letter starts, and his throat is already dry. I was surprised to read your letter that Sucrose brought. I’ll admit that this is sudden, but I’m far from displeased or uncomfortable with the offer. In fact, I find myself smiling even as I write this. Is that silly?

No, it isn’t, but only because the corners of his own lips threaten to upturn into a smile as well.

I’ll admit that I’ve been curious about you. I’ve heard a lot from Sucrose as well as idle chatter that I’m sure you know all about, but I don’t think that paints an accurate picture. I’d like to learn these things for myself, and directly from you, if that’s not too forward.

Albedo pauses, a short huff of amusement leaving him as he closes his eyes. The tips of his fingers press against his forehead as the letter falls to the desk. Forward…? If only you were aware of the things he’s done before, the action he’s about to repeat yet again with this letter clutched in one hand while the other is occupied.

Shakily, he sits at the chair that’s been pushed into the desk, taking the letter up again in his right hand. Once more, he reads over your opening words, pausing at how you tell him you’re curious about him - how curious, he wonders? Curious enough that you’d overlook the way his hand curls against his thigh, his thumb brushing against the tip of his hardening cock through the fabric?

Or perhaps you were curious enough that you’d participate. The very notion makes his mind screech to an abrupt halt, his thoughts falling stagnant as his eyes drift down and he squints at the space between his parted knees.

For a moment, he can imagine your hands wrapped around his thighs, just above his boots. Albedo can picture how you’d slide your hands up, up, up to the clasp holding his pants together so you could take his cock in your hand. As his own fingers wrap around his length, he shamelessly imagines that they’re yours instead, and that the latent chill in the air is from you blowing your breath across the precum smeared along his tip.

With shaking, barely-focused eyes, Albedo continues to read that which he hasn’t gotten to, yet.

I’ll gladly meet with you tomorrow evening for dinner. It will be the highlight of my Windblume festival. Albedo’s eyes flutter for a moment at the reminder that you’re willingly spending time with him during a festival notorious for its connotations of both friendship and romance. Your next words cause him to tense, his hand curling tighter around himself as he strokes slowly.

I hope it’s not too forward, or that I’m reading too far into things, but I can’t help but think of this as a date, and I’d like to treat it that way if you’re open to it.

A date. A date. A date.

Albedo lets out a choked sound as he hunches in on himself, his shoulders rolling forward as if to protect his body from an incoming blow. Instead, the rise of sensations come from the inside, centered on the way his hand increases its pace and he desperately wishes that he knew what you sounded like so he could recreate these words in his head with your cadence and tone.

And that he could imagine what your moans might sound like as you take him into your mouth and onto your tongue.

Admittedly, I’m not the best at reading people and their intentions, so I hope that you will be honest with me about what you’d like from me, and I’ll be frank with you in turn. I think that’s fair, don’t you?

Albedo is rather skilled with multitasking. It takes all of that built skill for him to not crumple the paper in his hands as a sharp breath leaves his lungs like a punch. If only you knew what you were asking, if only you knew what he was doing right now. Albedo can’t imagine you’d want to be in the same city as him, much less sitting at the same table.

Whether you ask for honesty or not, Albedo wouldn’t dare tell you about the depravity that’s conjured in his mind. Not that he’s ashamed, far from it. At its basest level, this is just a normal bodily function that he managed to pick up despite not being quite entirely human. No, what he would be ashamed of, if he could manage that, are the exact thoughts going through his head.

Thoughts of you kneeling between his thighs, pleasuring him with your mouth until tears prick at your eyes and your breath is stifled in your throat. Images behind his clenched eyelids of you sprawled across some bed in some room where neither of you will be bothered, naked and willing and looking so alluring that it stirs feelings in his gut that he wasn’t sure he was ever created with the purpose of experiencing.

Perhaps the only shame in any of this is that it’s really all just superfluous and selfish. That there’s no purpose in this. It’s not like he can naturally reproduce, and being swayed by things such as feelings of affection or desires of the carnal sort are little more than a distraction to the purpose laid out for him by his master.

Anyway, I appreciate your invitation. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow - I can’t wait.

Albedo’s teeth grit as he bends enough to press his forehead to the desk harshly. With a sharp hiss between his teeth, the sound in his throat being strangled by his own refusal to let loose completely, his hips jerk into his hand one final time before his hand grows slick with his own release. It promptly cools on his hand as he falls back in the chair and focuses his gaze on the ceiling of the cave.

With a clearer head and the looming thought of tomorrow on the horizon, Albedo can’t help but realize for the first time that he would get this close - both to you, and his own form of insanity.

—

You really shouldn’t be as nervous as you are. He is the one that approached you, meaning he must already be interested. But writing that letter had felt like displaying your internal organs under a microscope, especially with the little bit of gall to tack the label of “date” onto the whole affair.

But Sucrose said - promised - that you weren’t misinterpreting anything at all. That Albedo wasn’t asking this of you as an acquaintance or a friend but a… romantic prospect.

The mere thought of it makes your skin warm and your hands shake just a little as you straighten out your clothes before lacing your hands together on the small table in front of you. This was the place he mentioned - a balcony just off Mondstadt’s main square, attached to Good Hunter. It’s a private place, with a cloth-covered table and little flowers laced around the balcony’s railing. A candle sits in the middle of said table, lighting the area enough that it would create a warm atmosphere if you weren’t alone right now.

Those nerves come and go, and for now they’re here in full force as you fight the urge to pick at your cuticles and bounce your leg to release the built-up energy. Certainly he wouldn’t stand you up. At the very least, he’d somehow get word to you if he couldn’t come, right?

But how do you know that? Because you certainly only know hearsay and conjecture based on the words of others and Sucrose. Maybe he secretly is the sort of man who would stand someone up, and his unfortunate “victims” never say a word because they’re just as embarrassed as you-

“I apologize, I hope you weren’t waiting long.” Albedo sounds almost breathless as he steps through the balcony’s door, shutting it with a quiet click behind him. When he turns to look at you, it’s with a small, apologetic smile. Guilt settles in your stomach for ever thinking ill of him.

Internally, you grab yourself with both hands and give your brain a good shake to manifest some sort of response to him. “No, I haven’t been here very long at all.”

Albedo’s eyes shift to the candle sitting on the table, and you follow his gaze. It’s the staff’s usual protocol to place a new candle for each patron that sits down, and this one is burnt a quarter of the way through already - nearly an hour since you’ve arrived, it seems. But you’re not about to let him feel bad about it, and gesture with a hand for him to take the seat across from you.

“Seeing you now makes it feel like I was never even waiting in the first place.” Internally, you absolutely cringe at the cheesiness of it, but Albedo’s expression goes slack for a moment, before he averts his eyes with the faintest blush.

Gingerly taking his seat, he answers, “I’ll endeavor to make any future waits a little more bearable, nonetheless.”

Future waits. As in, more occasions to meet with him in the future. Meaning he might want to continue this. Your heart skips uncomfortably, and you mask it by hiding a smile behind your fingertips. Despite the attempt, Albedo’s eyes are trained on you with a single-minded focus, as if he were committing the sight of this to memory.

From anyone else, you’d feel uncomfortable with such rapt attention being given to you. Albedo is an exception, it seems. Rather than anxiety prickling over your skin at what your viewer might see, it’s almost immediately apparent that with Albedo, he’s entranced down to the very way his gently-curved smile seems distracted.

Sara brings up your meal not long after, saving you from having to think too hard about small talk. It’s the daily special, though you’re far more interested in the man across from you than any sauteed matsutake or bolognese. As the two of you tuck in, you take a moment between bites to venture, “Can I ask you something, Albedo?”

“Of course. I’m an open book - read at your leisure.” Albedo’s answer is nonchalant, showing no signs of the nerves you feel. Perhaps because he’s naturally calmer, or this sort of thing doesn’t bother him. Confidence must come rather easily to him, you think.

Taking a moment to arrange the words in an order that makes the most sense of your rattling thoughts, you pose your question. “Why did you choose now for us to meet like this, rather than sooner? I suppose I’d just like to know what the turning point was. We’re strangers, but we’re at least tangentially known to one another.”

Albedo hesitates, his fork mid-spin around the noodles on his plate. His face falls vacant for a brief second, as if he were deeply considering what to say. It’s a little concerning; this shouldn’t be something to think so hard about. But far be it from your place to dictate which things he puts importance on.

He doesn’t keep you waiting much longer.

“Sucrose speaks of you often, and if I had to make a claim, it would be that the same is true in that she’s brought me up to you many times.” Albedo places the fork down against the edge of his plate, carefully avoiding any sauce getting on the handle. Even off-handed and distracted, he has a deliberate sort of grace to what he does.

At first, you think he’s going to reach for his glass or water, or to lace his hands together on the table. But instead, he slowly, slowly reaches to where your hand rests on the surface. It’s as if he’s giving you time to deny it, to deny him, and you hold your breath and go still in fear that any single twitch will give him the wrong impression.

Through his gloves, he’s warm. Albedo seems to inspect your hand for a moment before cradling it oh so gently in his palm, his fingers curled around securely. All of this is done with a stiffness that speaks of lack of practice, as if he’s trying something so simple for the very first time. Thankfully, his words are a little more smooth and even.

“Relationships aren’t easy for me to navigate. I find it troublesome that they have the potential to deteriorate so quickly without regular upkeep in the form of spending time or effort on one another.” Albedo’s eyes are trained on your hand, on the way his thumb presses into the back of it and makes a slight indent on the skin. “My few friendships are made through necessity or close enough quarters that it’s no extra burden to attempt to cultivate closeness.”

Teal eyes snap up to yours with a sharpness that nearly makes you flinch. A breath leaves you, fingers curling around his hand, and he thankfully doesn’t misinterpret this as you wanting to part. Instead, he finally makes it to the point he was trying to make, and the answer to your original question. “I think of you often, and I realized that perhaps the version of you in my head is inaccurate to who you might truly be. In short, I simply thought it time to attempt to get to know you as a person, and not an abstract concept in my head that I’ve grown fond of.”

A few things stand out to you.

First, that ultimately the turning point was… nothing? Just a whim, it seems. That’s just fine, considering he’s a busy man with a lot on his plate. Really, your only gripe is that he could’ve said something sooner but… so could you.

The other is that he thinks of you often. Often. Perhaps it’s overstepping, or pushing a boundary, but your curiosity is too strong for you to hold back the question of, “How much is often?”

A question like that comes with the expectation of some form of embarrassment. For both you and Albedo, except between the two of you, you seem to be the only one that’s flustered in any capacity at this line of interrogation, as light as it might be. Albedo is under no obligation to answer nor even tell the truth, but he draws his lower lip between his teeth to stall for just a moment until he decides that the best answer must be the truthful one.

“All current dating systems use a three-hundred sixty-five day calendar spread across twelve months, with approximately thirty days in each of those months. With twenty-four hours in a day, and while I don’t require much sleep, it should still be accounted for… I’d give a rough approximate guess of sixteen instances in a given day?”

Your mouth falls open in undisguised surprise, but Albedo is simply staring at the table with his free hand on his chin, as if he truly were puzzling out the answer to this. As your mind tries to comprehend the audacity of such honesty, Albedo drives the point home.

“I suppose it depends on a given day. I’m reminded of you plenty and it’s not as if I’ve made any attempt to not think of you. Though on a slower day I’d say the frequency is increased, perhaps it could be counted as a single instance stretched over a long period of time rather than smaller segments.”

“Albedo…”

“Even things that hold no connection to you somehow spark thoughts when I’m not engrossed in something else, but when I’m not focused on my research it’s almost as if it’s become my default thought, especially when I’m alone-”

Albedo stops, you stop, the world holds its breath as the very poignant implication is laid out on the table. Weakly, he attempts to remove his hand from yours, but your fingers squeeze his palm enough that he can’t pull away with an attempt so meager. He doesn’t try again.

Breath leaves your lungs in a little exhale, one that sounds almost like amusement but more close to disbelief, you ask in a quiet voice. “What sorts of things do you think of me?”

“How you smell.” Albedo answers without hesitation, possibly without even a second thought. “What you’re doing at any point in time. How your day has gone. Whether you’re taking care of yourself, or working too hard. The exact color of your hair, what your eyes would look like if you smiled.”

“And… when you’re alone?”

Once more, his breath catches in his chest mid-inhale, and he looks at you without embarrassment or fear. It’s almost suspicion. Like he couldn’t understand why you would pose that question, or why that would even interest you.

Or… he doesn’t believe that you’d be amenable to what comes next. But, he did say he was an open book, and that implies he’d answer any question. After finishing his breath, he uses that very air to answer, “That’s not something that should be discussed so openly. That’s a sufficient enough answer that you should understand exactly what it is that crosses my mind at those times.”

Oh, you certainly do. Your throat goes dry, your fingertips go numb with how hard you’ve been gripping his hand without realizing it, and you struggle to put your rambling thoughts in an order that makes sense to even yourself. Night has fallen, the only light coming from the half-burned candle on the table, and the breeze makes your skin prickle with goosebumps.

Amidst everything jumbled in your head, you’re only able to procure one solid image, and that’s a conjured-up scene of this man sitting in a snowed-in cave on Dragonspine, surrounded by alchemical tools and sparse furniture, sitting in a chair just like this one with his head thrown back and his hand around his cock.

Would he be silent? Or would he carelessly make sounds while knowing that no one is close enough on that mountain to know what he’s doing? And then, a second thought wheedles its way out next to that picture of a ruined Albedo, a silent whisper wondering what he imagines you doing to put himself in this state.

As if on autopilot, your mouth moves before you have any chance to stop it and think about what it is that you’re asking. Dread creeps in as you say, “Show me.”

“...Show you?”

Too late to back down now. It’s all or nothing, though you find yourself not quite as bashful as you might’ve been, considering he technically approached this topic first. Your subconscious mind just took it where you both seemed to want it to go. Albedo’s eyes dart to the right, then to the left, almost as if he’s making sure no one is on the balcony with you.

Of course, there isn’t, and you realize that he’s not simply doing that. Albedo is checking vantage points, looking for prying eyes, making absolutely sure that there’s not one single soul that could catch a glimpse of the two of you. Then, those pretty eyes lock back on yours, suddenly serious in a way you haven’t seen from him yet.

“Say it outright, or I won’t believe you.” Albedo grips your hand just as tightly as you do to him. And when you take a little too long to make your voice cooperate, he leans in closer. “Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”

Any number of things cross your mind. Admittedly, you’re not entirely innocent in that you’ve never had thoughts about Albedo in more compromising positions. You’ve definitely thought about him before, in a number of different ways, in a variety of situations.

None of them have ever been quite like this, and of all the requests you greedily want to make of him, you simply wet your lips with your tongue, just a subtle movement that catches his eyes, and you request the most prevalent thought in your mind. “Show me how you touch yourself when you think about me, Albedo.”

The breath squeezes from his lungs in a quiet laugh that is tinged with partial amusement, partial awe. Like he hadn’t expected you to hold on to your nerve to ask this of him. But he’d mentioned it, he brought it up, he was the one that planted this thought in your head. So really, it’s up to him to rectify the problem.

Albedo’s hand slips from yours, moving to his lap to work at the fastenings while his left hand rises to his face. Using his teeth on the middle finger, he tugs the fabric off to reveal his hand - smooth, just as pale as the rest of him. With his index and ring finger, he pinches at his tongue for a moment before reaching over to snuff out the candle, sending the two of you into relative darkness.

The legs of his chair groan against the wood floor of the balcony as he shifts himself to the right, just enough that you have a view of exactly what he’s doing with that ungloved hand of his. His index finger and thumb wrap around the base of his cock loosely, the remaining fingers cupping the rest of him. A single bead of precum wells at his tip, barely visible in the light of the moon, and it takes everything you’ve got not to bunch the fabric of the tablecloth in your hands on reflex.

At first, you think his lengthy pause is for some sort of anticipation, or delayed gratification. That perhaps he’s teasing you with this, now that he’s got you where he wants you. But then he looks at you through eyes that have suddenly gone dark and half-lidded, with just the faintest hint of desperation wavering just out of initial sight.

Albedo is waiting for you to say something, to confirm that you’re still comfortable, or to tell him to put himself away and never bother you again. It’s some convoluted way of verifying your want for him, though perhaps done a little too late. Regardless, you most definitely do want him, and your voice feels as if it’s not your own.

“Show me what I’ve been doing to you.”

It’s nothing like a thread snapping, but more of a gradual unravel as his fingers curl around his length and his upstroke is done with agonizing slowness. His thumb sweeps across the tip, sweeping away that bead of arousal and spreading it with a lazy, practiced movement. Albedo has done this before; you’re certain that it must be numerous with how easily he relaxes into the chair.

He’s not embarrassed in the slightest. Not about himself, not what he’s doing. If there’s any shame to be had, it had solely been concerned about your feelings on the matter, and your request had all but dissolved those reservations into thin air. Now he’s looking at you unabashedly, first at your eyes, then down your shoulder, across your chest where he lingers for a little too long to be anything but lascivious.

There’s very little you can do to force yourself to look him in the eye. Not when the movement of his hand is so fluid, and the first little sound leaves the back of his throat before he can strangle it.

That one slip-up on his part has you so distracted that you nearly miss how he murmurs beneath his breath, shoulders pressing against the back of the chair. “This is it. Here’s what you reduce me to.” Albedo’s voice is barely above a whisper, intimacy lacing his words with the darkness surrounding you.

He’s barely started, and he already is flushed from the stimulation, his chair creaks as his hips jerk up toward his fist. “You’re all I can think about, this is the first-... the first time I’ve been so enamoured.” A huff of air, that turns into a low, throaty sound. Then, “Do you understand now?”

Mutely, you nod. Your tongue feels as if it’s stuck to the roof of your mouth, your hands stiff from how hard you’ve clenched them into fists to keep from reaching out to touch him. All that’s in your mind is an endless deluge of desire and hunger and greed toward what’s being displayed so wantonly before you.

At the sight of your acceptance, of your stunned and hungry silence, Albedo is spurred on to squeeze harder, to go faster. Even as his head rolls back, just like that image your mind conjured not so long ago, his eyes remain on yours as if that’s what’s doing this to him more than any action he could picture in his mind.

You want to do something. Passively observing is far from satisfying for either of you. Maybe it’s a little too bold, or too fast, but Albedo doesn’t make a single move to stop you when you slide from the chair to your knees, then across the smooth wood floor until you’re right between his parted knees.

The dryness in your mouth is gone, replaced with pooled saliva at the thought of how easy it was to come over here and take what you want. Albedo is offering it so freely, willing enough to do what you want that he’d openly touch himself in front of you like this.

Low, nearly inaudible, you ask, “Have you imagined me like this?”

“Countless times.” Albedo’s voice is sharp as it grinds through his clenched teeth. “And in… as many other ways as you can think of.”

“Do you want me to-”

“No.” He says sharply, his free hand finding a place at the top of your head, as if he expected you to go against that demand and do whatever you pleased with him. Surely he wouldn’t mind too much, but his next words hammer home his intentions. “Next time. You asked me to show you. So, just observe.”

Inches away from him, you can see the little details of every stroke, the prominent vein growing more stark as he gets closer, the little ways he shifts his fingers to catch on the edge of his tip where he likes it the most. More than anything, you want to cross the small gap and drag your tongue along him, if only to verify that the way he tastes correlates to how pretty he is when his mouth opens again to ask, “Open your mouth for me?”

Not even a first thought crosses your mind, much less a second as you open your lips and push your tongue past your teeth, just in time for the first rope of his release to land squarely on your tastebuds. As much as you want to close your eyes and relish it, you stubbornly look him in the eye and memorize the way his subtlety is preserved down to the very way he simply bites his lip and furrows his brow as he comes undone with such little effort.

Albedo’s hand trails from the top of your head, down your cheek, then to your chin to encourage you to keep your mouth open for a moment longer. As if he were imprinting this moment to his memories, he openly marvels before he lets your chin go in a silent command for you to do as you wish with what he’s given you.

A simple swallow clears things up easily, and if it wasn’t what he wanted, he doesn’t quite show it with how his exhausted expression turns pleased and stays that way.

Sweeping your thumb across your lower lip, you remove any excess before shuffling back and away from him. Silence lingers for a moment, almost awkward with how heavy it feels, before Albedo haphazardly puts himself away and kneels in front of you. Without warning, he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

It strikes you that you’ve done things a little out of order, but that doesn’t stop you from nodding just enough that he can see it in the darkness of the balcony. His gloved hand curls around the back of your head before he pulls you into him, a bit clumsy in the dark but he finds a rhythm that works for both of you soon enough.

You don’t particularly have many prior experiences to go off of, but if what he says is true, he’s as unpracticed as you. But it’s almost intrinsic the way he shifts a little to the left, lets you take a moment to breathe, matches your pace when you go faster or back off. If you were a little more sentimental, you’d nearly think the two of you were made for one another - but it’s too soon to be making any claims like that.

For now, you just accept this push and pull for a moment before he finally lets you gently push him back and away from your embrace. Short of breath, your voice is thin as you murmur his name in a question. That one word could hold any number of subtexts about what exactly you’re unsure about, and it’s serendipitous that he somehow picks the exact one you meant.

“I want to explore more of this.” And almost as if he realizes he’s getting a little ahead of himself, he adds, “If you’ll have me.”

If you’ll have him. Such a ridiculous thought, considering you’re kneeling on the floor of some balcony in Mondstadt with the taste of him on your lips in more ways than one and his hand still cupping the back of your neck like you’re something fragile and worthy of being coveted.

It’s not dark enough that he doesn’t see the way you nod in response. Something akin to relief passes over him, palpable enough that even you feel its effects. “That’s… that’s great to hear. To be honest, I hadn’t thought of the outcome if you’d said no.”

“You… didn’t think any of this through?” Bemusement laces through your words, and for the first time you actually see some semblance of real embarrassment in his expression.

“No, but I admit that this wasn’t exactly how I expected this to go.” His hand on the back of your neck squeezes, almost as if he’s trying to reassure you rather than himself. “Should we get you home? It’s getting late.”

Without the candle, you’re not sure how much time has passed. But the bustle of the city below has dulled, and the moon sits a little higher than you remember it being the last time you looked. At first, you want to say that you’ll be fine getting home on your own, that you don’t want him to be wandering the streets so late himself, but then the most secretive part of you whispers again of the possibilities.

It’s late, it’s dark, it’s getting a little cold out. Surely Albedo wouldn’t be averse to walking you home and coming inside for a while? And if you lose track of time and he needs to stay for the rest of the night, well… Will he really complain, when this is so obviously playing right into his hands?

When you nod, accepting his help to your feet, there’s a knowing look in his eye stating quite clearly that perhaps you share the same motives concerning his offer.

#genshin impact #albedo #genshin albedo #albedo genshin #albedo gi #albedo x reader #mind the a/n for the content tags #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #please god don't ask for a part 2 #if it happens it happens #don't put that evil on me though

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