#you ever shirk all ur responsibilities to write 4k in one afternoon.. ha ha me neither

[mango-jpeg]

Look, in Kaeya’s defence he hadn’t thought it through.

Okay, that’s a terrible defence. In his defence, who could defend themselves from an attack from someone so irresistible? Hair golden-red like a sailor’s delight, large sweet eyes, a crooked smirk that betrayed wry humour. And it’s solstice for gods’ sake! The season of love, and heavy drinking, which to be fair had probably more than a little to do with his current circumstances.

The night had gone like this: Kaeya dragged his beleaguered personal guard out to the tavern, where he indulged in several games of cards and a barrel of wine, and a pretty girl selling flowers made him a circlet out of inteyvats. The tables were shoved aside to make an impromptu dance floor and a bard strummed a lute haphazardly as the patrons crashed across the floor. Kaeya laughed louder than he’d had cause to in months as he spun down the line and then came to a sudden halt in the arms of a stranger.

“Careful,” the man cautioned, trying to steady Kaeya on his feet. Kaeya squinted and saw the aforementioned hair, eyes, and mouth, and thought; No, I don’t think I will be.

And what a lovely night had followed. The man had been so recalcitrant to return his flirtations, but blushed so, so sweetly at every complimentary word from Kaeya’s mouth. It wasn’t long before Kaeya was stealing kisses and promising more, and then there was a clumsy rush out the door, and after a too brief carriage ride where, despite his protests, the man let Kaeya get away with an awful lot through their clothes, they were back at his quarters on the edges of the palace grounds.

Kaeya had thrown the man on his bed and wasted no time uncovering just how far his blush spread. He was very pleased with what he discovered; pale skin that bruised at the smallest provocation, a body that squirmed with sensitivity, a cock as ludicrously red as the man’s face. Kaeya brought him to climax with his hands and before he’d even caught his breath the man flipped Kaeya onto his back, staring down at him with predatory intent and said, “Now you.”

So, yes. A lovely night. But it’s morning now; unforgiving beams of sunlight stab through the window and straight into Kaeya’s eyes which almost vibrate with pain. He’s never been particularly fond of mornings. They have a tendency of shining an unflattering light on the realities of his life.

Case in point: “Your Highness,” a familiar, dry tone, that has Kaeya scrambling out from under the pillow he was attempting to burrow to safety under.

Dainsleif stands in the doorway, dressed in his usual greys and blues, arms folded primly across his chest. Kaeya stumbles out of bed and snatches his dressing gown off the changing screen. “For fuck’s sake, Dain,” he hisses as he rushes to the door, shrugging into the gown, “Haven’t you ever heard of having a lie-in?”

He glances over a shoulder at the man still asleep face-down in his bed, snarled in the sheet, little more than a mess of fiery hair and a sliver of pale skin. There’s an obvious bite mark peeking out from under the sheet, just in case Dainsleif wasn’t clear about the nature of their sleepover.

“I assume a lie-in is when you miss breakfast,” Dainsleif replies, allowing Kaeya to propel him out into the sitting room, “Which you have.”

Kaeya frowns, what is he forgetting? Dainsleif doesn’t nag him for small things like missed meals— otherwise he’d never stop nagging him, and he’s long since learned to pick his battles.

“The royal hunt,” Dainsleif says, after a long pause in which Kaeya’s throbbing head refuses to produce any useful information. Kaeya groans and collapses into an armchair by the unlit hearth.

“Have they already left?” He asks. He’s pretty sure if he got on a horse right now he’d vomit on the poor thing, but he’s fought worse hangovers for less.

Dainsleif glances out the window. “Probably. I already made your excuses.”

At least Dainsleif is generous enough to not use the truth as an excuse; a nauseating hangover, even during solstice, is hardly acceptable. Ugh, he really does feel like shit, it must be the lack of sleep. He propels himself unsteadily to his feet and turns to the desk. He’s sure he’s got a couple vials of that alchemical hangover draught stashed here.

“You could’ve gone,” Kaeya says, rummaging through the desk. Dainsleif doesn’t reply, so Kaeya glances at him over one shoulder and catches the look on his face. “Oh, fine. Thanks for covering.”

Dainsleif sighs in the way he does when he’s winding up for a lecture and Kaeya tears into the desk, desperate for some relief. At last, tucked into a nook with several broken quills and an abandoned sketch of the back of Dainsleif’s head, Kaeya finds two vials of the hangover cure. “Ah ha!” He turns, triumphant, to discover that the redhead has emerged and is standing in the doorway to his bedchambers.

He’s already dressed, and properly too, his shirt only a little crumpled, his hair pulled back into a tidy tail. His face is as smooth as stone, his jaw set. It’s such a stark difference from the memory hovering behind Kaeya’s hangover, of him naked and rapturous in pleasure, that Kaeya nearly does a double take.

“Good morning!” Kaeya says brightly, then tosses one of the vials across the room. The man catches it one-handed, looks down at it warily. “Takes the edge off a hangover like nothing else,” Kaeya says, by way of explanation, and cracks the seal on his own.

“I don’t drink,” the man says. Kaeya nearly chokes on the draught. He’s been sober this whole time? The man sets the vial down on a nearby side table and folds his arms. Kaeya knows a defensive posture when he sees it; he supposes for most people finding a stranger in the room after a night like theirs would be embarrassing.

“Since His Highness won’t do the introductions, allow me to begin,” Dainsleif says, dryly, “My name is Dainsleif.”

The man twitches at Dainleif’s use of Kaeya’s proper title and it occurs to Kaeya that he’s found maybe the only tavern patron in the entire city who doesn’t recognize him on sight.

“Diluc Ragnvindr,” the man says, then adds, barely managing to sound like he means it at all, “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

A cold, clean feeling lances down Kaeya’s neck; the draught rapidly clearing his hangover. Diluc! Of course, he’d known it was also something that started with a D.

“Ragnvindr? That’s a Mondstadt name, isn’t it?” Dainsleif asks.

“Yes,” Diluc says, tersely. Mondstadt? Did Kaeya learn that last night? Everything before the pleasure of Diluc’s body unwound beneath his is hazy at best. The stare Dainsleif has turned on Diluc is probing, oh gods he’s going to ask if he’s a gentleman.

“What brought you to Khaenri’ah?” Kaeya asks, in a clumsy attempt to cut Dainsleif off. Diluc turns his frown onto him but then Dainsleif interrupts with all the subtlety of a boar crashing through the woods;

“You understand that His Highness and I are betrothed.” Wow that’s way worse than asking Kaeya’s latest lay if they’re a gentleman. From the look on Diluc’s face he absolutely did not understand this.

Diluc turns stiffly to face Kaeya. Slowly, he grinds out the words, “You’re betrothed?”

Kaeya balks at the force in his stare. This is a man who has strangled someone with his bare hands, at the very least that glare promises he’s willing to try. “What? It’s political!”

“I hope you understand the need for discretion in this matter,” Dainsleif continues, mercilessly. Diluc cuts him a glare, then strides to the door. Kaeya lets his eyes linger, he cut such a fine figure in those trousers.

“Don’t worry, I’d very much prefer to forget this ever happened,” he snaps, then throws open the door to reveal a blank-faced soldier in the hall.

“Glad we understand each other,” Dainsleif says, “Halfdan will see you to the gates.”

As the door closes, Kaeya throws himself back into the armchair by the hearth with a sigh. It’s been years since Dainsleif last interfered with Kaeya’s romances, mostly because Kaeya’s managed to hide most of them from him, and never quite so rudely. He digs his thumb into his temple, where the last of his splitting headache is only just starting to fade.

Dainsleif drops to a knee, putting their faces more or less level. He looks solemn, his gaze just slightly unfocused, like half his mind is on something else. Basically, his default state. “Your Highness—“

“Dain, come on, you know I get indigestion when you call me that,” Kaeya groans, slouching further.

Dainsleif ignores this, as usual. “It’s not just my clan who benefits from this match. The crown needs this alliance.”

“Who said anything about calling the deal off?” Kaeya snaps. Dainsleif gives him a measured look.

“Any word of this, so close to the wedding…” he allows the words to trail off. Kaeya gasps and places a hand over his heart.

“Dainsleif! Are you threatening to blackmail me?”

Dainsleif’s face goes pinched in a way Kaeya’s all too familiar with. “Your Highness…” Kaeya affects a dry heave and Dainsleif closes his eyes. Kaeya wonders who he calls upon for strength in these moments, since it sure as hell isn’t the Seven. “Kaeya.”

“There you go! Is that so hard?”

Dainsleif’s eyes snap open into a narrow glare.

“Fine, I’m sorry, okay?” Kaeya sighs, “I got drunk and took someone home and I promise next time to invite you,” That does nothing to lessen Dainsleif’s glare. “I’m not actually trying to sabotage this alliance, alright? I know it’s important.”

Dainsleif looks at him for a long moment, then, apparently satisfied, stands and hands Kaeya a small handkerchief-wrapped packet. Kaeya takes it, and finds that the cloth is faintly warm. “What’s this?”

Dainsleif is already at the door and barely pauses to answer, “Breakfast.”