Chapter Text
On the border between Fontaine and Sumeru, there was a beautiful estate dedicated to the production of perfume. It was lush with Sumeru roses and Fontaine lilies, the fragrance of which masked the dark dealings that took place there. This was the Fatui's foreign secret base, officially taken over about half a month ago by the Second of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers, Il Dottore.
The soldier had been stationed at the Rosebud Manor before the Doctor’s arrival. On the surface, he and his colleagues were responsible for harvesting flowers and developing perfumes, but behind the scenes, they were spies with roots in other countries, working with the Fontaine intelligence agency and sending intel back to Snezhnaya, with the ultimate goal of dividing and undermining the power of Fontaine and Sumeru. Living in the dark and walking an elaborate tightrope of lies, the soldier seemed to have long lost his heart—until one fateful afternoon, when the sunlight shone and the warm wind blew.
That day, the soldier mindlessly walked towards the garden behind the main building of the manor, a private place that belonged to Lord Dottore, and which rarely anyone set foot in. He followed the sound of water trickling in the depths, plucked away the layers of lush ferns and vines along the stone path, and a sun-drenched courtyard came into view.
The momentary shift between light and dark blinded the soldier for a second or two, until his eyes found focus on the white marble fountain in the center of the courtyard. The sparkling water was dotted with water lilies, and a young boy sat on the edge, one of his legs crossed up on the bank, the other stretched into the shallow pool, occasionally wiggling and kicking out the water. He wore a white bathrobe made of an expensive fabric, water droplets sliding down his night-dark hair, and his entire frame was enveloped in the golden scenery of the afternoon.
The soldier's heart skipped a beat. A hazy dream of his seemed to have come true, and he could not help but step out of the low tropical bushes. "Crack" —— the sound of his foot crushing a dead branch, deafening in the silent courtyard.
"Who goes here?" The boy looked alarmed at the sound, turning around with the poise of a painting come to life. Lightning-violet eyes swept the courtyard, and the soldier immediately tensed up into a formal military salute.
"Lord Balladeer, it's me, Anton, third squad of the Fontaine branch!"
"What are you doing here?" The Balladeer's features relaxed slightly.
"P-patrolling." He stuttered and lied.
"You're not needed here on patrol."
He motioned for him to leave with a dismissive hand gesture. The water's fine reflections leapt like kisses on the Balladeer's cheeks. The scorching sun would have burned anyone staying outside of the shade for too long, and yet he remained pale as snow, the too big bathrobe barely hanging around his small frame, as if he were going to dissipate into transparency the next moment.
Lord Balladeer seems troubled, the soldier thought. A few years back, when he had first entered the Fatui ranks, he had had the honor of seeing him for the first time. Next to his fellow Fatui Harbingers, all seemingly taller and stronger than him, the slender, foreign youth had stood straight and proud as a blade, with an aura of imperiousness that had left a lasting impression in his heart. Later, he had heard that the Lord Balladeer had gone to Sumeru on a mission—and then on a rainy night a few days ago, the soldier had bumped into the boy harbinger once again, brought back to the estate by Lord Dottore.
To be more precise, he had been wrapped in the Doctor's Fatui uniform coat and carried to the manor. The heavy coat had covered his face then, only the top of his soft hair and a small section of his bare calf exposed. The next day, news of the Sixth recovering at the estate circulated amongst servants and soldiers, and he could finally determine the identity of the sleeping boy under the coat. The soldier was not sure what had happened, but he knew for certain that if not unconscious, the prideful harbinger would have never allowed anyone to see him in such a vulnerable, defenseless position.
Since that day, the soldier had been secretly looking forward to seeing the Balladeer in the estate, deliberately creating this chance encounter. He originally had just been hoping to confirm from a distance that the boy had regained his health, but when he actually set his gaze upon him, he could not bear to look away.
There were rumors that the Balladeer was a sophisticated puppet, who had lived for much longer than he looked. After several years since he’d first seen him, he still maintained the appearance of an eternally beautiful youth, and so it seemed the rumors were true. However—perhaps because he had caught him leisurely sunbathing in nothing but his robes—the soldier found himself thinking that the harbinger’s sharpness seemed to have dulled. As he thought so, his eyes were transfixed by a still healing circle of harsh bruises on his jade-like wrist.
"My lord…"
The soldier knew it was rude to stare at the respected Lord Harbinger as a subordinate, but in spite of himself he quickly noticed other bruises on him, eyes flicking to a rather deep tooth mark at the junction of his shoulder and neck.
Noticing the soldier's gaze, the Balladeer fiercely clutched the collar of his robes and sternly scolded, "What are you still doing here? Get out!"
"I…" Is that a mark left by Lord Dottore——the ridiculous thought popped into the soldier's head.
The Balladeer's eyes came alight with murderous intent. "Don't make me say it again." His cutting words were as sharp as a blade pointed at his throat, and the soldier knew if he kept trespassing, the harbinger would surely kill him. Stomach lurching with a great many emotions he had no time to unpack, he hurriedly lowered his head and fled in haste.
But curiosity is like the key to Pandora's Box. The soldier couldn't help but think back to the young boy at the water's edge, with his elevated, impatient expression; his damp, beautiful skin marked by the ravages of sex. The Balladeer was so fair, was it possible to leave these incendiary red marks with the slightest touch? Would it feel like attempting to pinch water? Would he be angry about it? Or was he also longing for a kiss, a touch, to be undressed and made love to——
In the depths of the manor, out of everyone's sight, the boy was pinned to a bed and kissed lightly, lust coloring his white skin with red, his thin waist held by a pair of large hands. A foreign object entered him and he arched his pale neck, eyes watery and mouth open letting out an impatient whimper. "Dottore…"
"Ah——" the soldier woke up from his dream with a wet, sticky coolness in his trousers. Had he just fantasized about the two Harbingers in an intimate moment? The soldier cursed and slapped himself hard.
In the following days, his unspeakable desire, which had no way to be relieved, grew in the form of self-loathing and frustration.
The stupid and incompetent soldier did not dare approach his favorite harbinger, but could not let go of his longing, so he could only hover at the edge of the garden, under the window of the main building, and gaze at the figure of the young man from afar. He didn't know that his behavior had been picked up by the eyes of the one he admired so.
The Balladeer drew the curtains of his room closed to keep out the prying eyes of humans. He was aware not only of the soldier's presence, but also of his many superfluous solicitations, such as the Inazuman snacks mixed into the meals that had been brought to him, or the Inazuman light novels found somewhere on his night table. But none of these were of any interest to him—no, he had one thing on his mind and one thing only.
He did not know how many times he had tried and failed to use his elemental powers, the latest delusion given to him by the Doctor only lighting up for a few seconds before the lightning at his fingertips had fluttered out and died. His body refused to listen to him, a corrupted void of hunger that instantly swallowed up any source of power around him.
"Why…"
He was reluctant to try again but did so regardless, focusing hard on the delusion. Pop—the power he used to be able to control so naturally burst in his hand, lasting even less than a mediocre firework. The Doctor had warned him that after his merging with Shouki no Kami, the sudden break in the connection was like cutting off a limb, and the circuits of his natural elemental flow were destroyed. It would take time to rebuild these pathways, but the Balladeer wasn’t known for his patience, and grew more exasperated every day.
"Lord Balladeer, dinner is served."
He looked down at his trembling hands, shaken by yet another of his failures. Harbinger… Could he even claim the title now? He was no Harbinger. He was Kunikuzushi again, a boy terrified of his own fate.
The maid at the door did not get a response and knocked again. "Balladeer…"
"Go away! Leave me alone!!!" He grabbed a random object at hand—a bottle of rose incense—and smashed it against the door panel. The glass bottle shattered, and the sweet, cloying smell of rose water exploded all over the room. He covered his nose and tried to wipe it off with the handkerchief he usually hung on his shelf, but he couldn't find it.
Damned maids, damned rose water, damned Dottore, and death to the eremites who’d hurt him—the Balladeer felt suddenly too agitated to stay in the cramped space of his room, senses prickling between the overwhelming smells and the too rapid current of his own thoughts. He jumped out of his window, landing gracefully in the garden, grabbed the sickle left by the gardener, and swung wildly at the rose field that had been nagging him for so long.
To hell with the traveler and the dendro archon, who had buried his path to godhood; to hell with Dottore, who had put him through all these experiments, and then discarded him like worthless dross when he’d inevitably failed; to hell with the Eremites, who had raped him over and over, and had pumped his blood so full of aphrodisiacs that it still tormented him with lust every day and night.
But what he hated most was his weak self, the one who subconsciously looked to others for help when he found himself in hell. Becoming a god? What a joke. Kunikuzushi had been going around for 500 years and had amounted to nothing.
Resentment, hatred, uncertainty, despair, all the oppressive emotions in him converged to a point, drowning the light around him.
"Raahh...!" He roared through his throat, swinging the sickle at a large bush of waist-high weeds. Like a movie freeze frame, mid-air grass stalks fell to the ground, and he stared with wide eyes at the scene he had just uncovered——
A man, a bare-assed man, was sitting in the grass behind the bush he’d just cut, holding his erection and staring back at him in shock. He had never expected to be discovered in this manner, mortified and yet still awash with arousal, his face alternating between red and white.
"B-Balladeer— Ah!"
In his surprise, the soldier could not contain himself and came with a gasp, hot strings of come splattering onto the Balladeer's legs.
"......"
"......"
He had gone down the window without shoes or socks, the man’s filthy spend sliding all the way down to his small, bare feet. The soldier's mind went blank and he fell limply to his knees, unable to utter a word, forgetting even to hide the handkerchief crumpled in the palm of his hand——the Balladeer's very own handkerchief that had gone missing. A handkerchief that he had stolen from his room, and used to please himself, no doubt thinking of him.
"You…"
The Balladeer's shocked and disgusted gaze felt worse than death to the soldier. He was too ashamed to look up again, his face pressed into the ground in a pleading gesture.
"L-Lord Balladeer, you must kill me…"
The silence that followed seemed to stretch for an eternity, enough for the soldier to think of a hundred different ways to meet his end. But as he was still kneeling down, a pair of pale feet entered his vision, and a cold voice rung from above him.
"Do you desire me?"
The soldier stayed silent, bewildered by the question and suspecting he was hallucinating. The boy lost his patience, and with the toe of his foot, which was stained with some dirt, he hooked the man's chin and lifted his head from the ground. "Answer me."
He was wearing loose summertime pajamas, and from this angle, the soldier could even follow his shapely legs and see the hidden roundness of his thighs behind the fabric. The image hit him with a fresh new wave of misplaced arousal. When the boy made a motion to draw back his foot, the soldier grabbed his ankle and pulled him in, tilting his head and reverently dropping a kiss on the back of his foot.
"My lord, I would die for you."
Perhaps he was already dead, everything in front of him just a dream turned real by the synapses of a sick brain about to give out.
Why else would the boy of his vile and lustful imagination actually appear before his eyes, surrounded by a field of roses, his dark hair intertwined with the tangled flowers and broken leaves, haloed by the moonlight like a divine spirit. The soldier dropped to his knees and caressed the Balladeer's waist, drinking him in. He kissed his feet and knees with the fervor of worship, brazenly working his way up to caress his thighs, and then hungrily mouthing at the increasing warmth between them.
The Balladeer was more sensitive than the soldier could have imagined, and just by stroking him through his cotton pants, he could already feel wetness seeping out of him like sap and darkening the fabric. The Balladeer's thin fingers dug into the soldier's hair, and he twisted his back unintentionally, pushing his crotch into the soldier’s face and throwing back his head. Low growls escaped his mouth, like he was somewhere between pleasure and pain. He was sick of being dominated by his lust, and he loathed being haunted by the nightmares of his past ordeals. But being touched like this, his body reacted despite himself, and he could feel the warmth pooling in his abdomen getting more intense with every passing second.
The eremites had already ruined him, he thought bitterly. His hands and feet trembled as the residual aphrodisiacs in his body kicked in again, adding fuel to the burning pleasure in his core. A sweet lust that was both sickening and frightening ate away at his sanity, and he went weak at the knees, his face a mixture of anguish and rapture. As the soldier quickened his pace, nibbling and licking at him fervently, the Balladeer opened his mouth and finally came with a cry.
He probably didn't expect to come so quickly, and in his brief post-orgasmic haze, his eyes widened and blinked, so endearing in his display of confusion and barely hidden shame that it made the soldier’s heart flutter. The man smoothly wrapped his arms around his limp body, and archons knew how much he wanted to rub into him hard, part his legs and take him right there between the broken branches and roses. He held him in his arms and kissed him eagerly instead, and the force of his hands grew out of control. The pressure of his fingers digging in the Balladeer’s skin instantly evoked memories of him being pinned down, restrained and then forced upon, and with a jolt, he raised his hand and slapped the soldier.
"Let go!"
The soldier was puzzled by it, but when he looked up he could plainly see that, unlike the shaking that had taken him as he had orgasmed, he was now trembling like a leaf, eyelashes fluttering uneasily and eyes filled with a darkness he couldn’t quite read. The soldier hurriedly released his hold and mouthed soothing words, repeating "alright, no more, no more," and instead took him by the waist, containing himself with great willpower to continue his gentle, intimate kisses and strokes.
The Balladeer forgot his initial burst of anger soon enough, breathing out kitten-like moans and swaying slowly where he was standing. His white skin blossomed into a passionate red, the intoxicating scent of his skin mixed with the fragrance of roses and youth, and making the man's crotch ache. He could not resist propping himself up and attempting to kiss him, but the Balladeer turned his head to the side, not wanting hug nor kiss—like a spoiled child, only knowing how to take and never how to return. The soldier was at his wits' end, having held back for an agonizing amount of time, and brazenly ripped open his pants, his hardness popping out freely and hitting the boy’s pale thighs as it did.
He looks like he's about to burst from holding it——the Balladeer thought to himself, suddenly struck with a sense of teasing amusement.
He lifted his soft foot and stepped maliciously on the man's sex.
"You want it that badly?" He said in a mocking tone.
"Mmm!" The Balladeer's foot was not completely dry from the man's first emission, the arch of his foot taut and rubbing against him, pearl-like toes curling and brushing the tip one by one. The man drew a sharp breath, and the glorious sight in front of him added to the rough stimulation and made his blood run wild, almost enough to have him come on his feet again.
"Lord Balladeer, please don't… I…" I have to hold back——the soldier shouted wildly in his mind, his sanity on the verge of collapse. He gave a hoarse low growl, forcefully parted the Balladeer's legs and pressed himself between them, his sex pushing helplessly against him. The Balladeer cried out like he’d been burned and struck him again.
"Not inside!"
The soldier's ego was bruised. He’d been so eager for the boy’s flesh, imagining countless times how it would feel to nibble on his snow-white neck, poke and prod into the pink hole of his pussy, fuck into him endlessly and viciously, listen to him break down crying and gasping and cursing from the pleasure, and come again and again against his inner walls until he filled his little belly with his spend.
But the loyal soldier eventually nodded obediently, dropping a compassionate kiss on his brow.
"I won’t go inside", he promised. He took the Balladeer's ankles and slowly brought his slender legs together, careful not to startle him. The boy watched with a curious gaze as he caressed the pale skin of his legs with one hand, and slowly stroked himself with the other. The soldier offered an encouraging smile and then fit himself in between the fleshiest part of the Balladeer’s thighs, moaning softly as he did. A slow rhythm of thrusting into his legs had him panting before long, quickening his pace as his arousal intensified, hugging his knees so he would fit snugly.
The Balladeer swayed back and forth with the movement, biting into his lower lip to stop himself from letting out the lewd moans that crept up his throat. Lust always seemed to bring him guilt, like it made him lose himself, as if letting it take him meant turning back into the captive at the mercy of his aggressors. He was afraid, resisted with all his might the pull of these carnal desires, until it became so strong he had no other choice but to submit to it. Pleasure exploded all the way from his tailbone, and he began to babble helplessly.
"So good… I’m gonna… Ah–"
The soldier's cock rubbed The Balladeer's tender legs red, his other hand reaching into the opening of his nightshirt and grabbing at his flushed chest. The Balladeer shook even harder with pleasure, head buzzing with how sensitive his entire body was getting.
"S–Slow down–" His ankles were in the soldier's hands, his lower body almost lifted up by how tight he was holding on to him. He began to gasp and curse at him, calling him deaf and unable to understand human speech. But the soldier couldn’t help himself, apologizing all the while he kept fucking his legs. They were so supple and slender, the curves of the joints and flesh just the right shape for him. Pleasure numbed him, and he thought even the promise of death wouldn't stop him.
The soldier kept thrusting in and out, hand wandering from the Balladeer’s chest down to his waist, and then behind him, grabbing at his ass. He brazenly pressed his hand down, fingers poking around his entrance through the thin layer of fabric that still covered him.
"Ahh—not there!" The Balladeer jerked forward, and the soldier sheepishly said he would just touch it, not go inside. With a quick motion, he tugged at the boy’s waistband and pulled his pants all the way down to his ankles. His hand reached back up and began to tease and prod his hole restlessly, while his mouth found its way to his cunt again, this time pressing flush against him without the barrier of clothing and finally tasting him fully. The Balladeer pleaded and moaned helplessly, overstimulated from both ends. Half of him thirsted for more, wished to sink himself on the soldier’s hips and ride him there, while the other half flushed with disgust and shame at his own state of undress. He sobbed and writhed and struggled against the man’s touch, electrified out of his mind, a hundred times more lewd in his display than the soldier had ever imagined in his dreams.
The Balladeer's scalp was tingling with pleasure, and his cheeks were flushed red as he angled upward, and his beautiful body opened up. He cried out in earnest, tensing his legs as he reached his peak once more, nails sinking into the skin of the soldier's arms and leaving crescent shapes there. The soldier's prick was still fit tightly between his taut legs, and while the boy was still dazed, he peppered kisses on his neck as he growled and came right unto his thighs.
It was completely dark and silent then, their ears filled only with the calming gasps of each other's orgasms. The Balladeer's expression turned cold again as soon as he came out of it, and he pushed the motionless man away from him. He pulled his pants back up, readjusted his shirt, and spoke coldly from above.
"You won’t tell a soul of this."
As he threatened, he could see the thick strings of come stretching obscenely between his legs, and the soldier's face burned as he said "Let me wipe it for you."
"No need."
The Balladeer narrowed his eyes and gazed over the man's shoulders, landing on the darkened figure standing by the estate's lit-up window.
"I'm going back to my chambers. Leave."
The soldier stood at attention, watching the boy go. He did not walk fast, but his spine was straight, and his demeanor only revealed stubbornness and pride.
Returning from the flower field, the Balladeer's bare soles were dark with dirt, and so he went straight to the washroom of his apartment. Arms braced on the edges of the sink, he gazed at the boy in the mirror. His lips were red, eyes still hazy, desire permeating his features. Even after everything he could still feel the insatiable thirst emanating from his core. He barely recognized himself anymore, from divine puppet made for war and ruling, to debased doll who could never fully be satisfied with its animalistic urges. Oh how far and how hard he had fallen. The boy shook his head and lifted cold water to his face. When he opened his eyes again, a man was standing against the door frame, watching him in silence.
"I told you not to just come into my room, didn't I, Dottore."
The Doctor didn't say a word as he leaned in closer, his leather-gloved fingers crushing the Balladeer's lips as he scrutinized his still dripping face: his beautifully sculpted eyes were filled with lust, his cheeks slightly flushed, and the Doctor thought he'd never looked this alluring.
Uneasiness crept its way up the Balladeer’s spine, as it usually did when he was in the presence of the Doctor. His stare creeped him out, made him feel like he was seeing past his clothes and armor, and he slapped his hand away. The Doctor snapped his wrist back and calmly commented "You're filthy, let’s get you bathed."
The Doctor rolled up his sleeves, turned on the shower, threw the Balladeer in the tub and instantly drenched him with cold water.
"What the hell?!" The powerful stream of water was everywhere in his face, filling his nostrils, making it impossible to open his eyes or breathe. The Doctor then made quick work of undressing him, ripping his shirt off in one swift motion and pulling his pants down before throwing his sullied clothes to the other side of the room. The boy’s struggle and sounds of protest did very little to encumber him. He’d always been weaker than him, and the power gap between them was all the greater now.
The Doctor aimed the showerhead at the boy’s lower body, washing the sticky white mess between his legs and finally letting him breathe in between two strangled coughs.
"Get out! I can do it myself!"
The Balladeer screamed and flinched as the Doctor held him by the neck and pushed him all the way against the wall, pinning him there. Cold water rushed from his chest to his lower abdomen and between his legs, his body already overstimulated from before and unable to withstand more. His muscles began to twitch uncontrollably as he struggled against the hold at his throat, thrashing and shouting angry words, his mouth only filling with more water and threatening to drown him.
He knew that the Doctor watched his every move, whatever the time of day, but he didn’t expect him to retaliate and humiliate him like this. By the time the Doctor was satisfied and turned off the shower, he was on his back, coughing violently and cowering as he tried to roll out of the tub. The Doctor slowly readjusted the cuffs of his sleeves, and when the Balladeer was about to step out of the tub, he grabbed him by the throat and slammed his entire body against the wall.
Black dots danced in his vision for a second, threatening to take his consciousness.
The Doctor stepped into the tub with one foot, and bent down to rub the teeth marks on the Balladeer's neck. He smiled, and greeted in a gentle voice——
"Did you have a good time today, little girl?"