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“C’mon~,” Venti sang, “just one more glass?”
Diluc shot him a glare from across the bar table, busy drying off a glass. “No. I’m cutting you off.”
Venti whined, unbefitting a deity of his status, but very much like the bard he portrayed himself to be. He flopped over the table, body flat against the lacquered wood. “I’m not even drunk,” he promised.
Thousands of years spent drinking the nights away had given him a rather impressive tolerance, especially for someone of his stature. No, with his warm face against the cool surface of the bar table, Venti was pleasantly tipsy; a very distinct and non-comparable level of intoxication to being drunk.
“With your tab,” Diluc sighed, “I’ll go bankrupt before that happens.”
Venti giggled and lifted his head to observe Diluc, grateful for the single bartender in Mondstadt who wasn’t going to harvest his body parts to pay off his debts.
Diluc then sighed, when Venti told him as much.
The Angel’s Share was empty, save for the two of them; an unusual sight, had it not been for the fact that the bar had closed an hour ago. And yet, despite the passage of time, Venti had been allowed to remain in the bar. Diluc listened to him as he reminisced about old friends and days of yore, feeding him drinks as he spoke. If Venti hadn’t known any better, he would have thought it was as if Diluc didn’t mind his company while he cleared the tables and mopped the floors.
Venti himself certainly never minded the conversation’s one-sidedness, preoccupied with the flexion of Diluc’s muscles as he cleaned; sleeves rolled to his elbows, his scarred skin on display: a rare sight indeed, for the young Master Ragnvindr. As he spoke, Venti’s mind wondered - if his forearms were so muscular, what did the rest of his body look like?
Venti’s face blushed, a fairly understandable sight considering the empty glassware around him, but it was not for the alcohol in his body. Rather, as Venti’s mind wandered, he pictured what they would look like together . Venti had the body of an archer, built for speed and accuracy over strength; Diluc, on the other hand, had trained with the claymore since childhood, with a fighting style that relied on brute force. What would Venti look like under Diluc, their naked bodies entwined in sweat and semen, Diluc’s strong arms and broad shoulders consuming Venti entirely. Amusedly, he asked himself, if someone had caught them fucking, would they even see him there?
Diluc reached over the counter and plucked the final beer glass from Venti’s side. In the quick moment, Venti had caught the sight of sun-bleached red hair on his forearm. He laughed as he thought to himself that surely Diluc was one to keep his pubic hair trimmed and well-maintained, but not one to remove it entirely. Venti wanted to know, was it as vibrant as the hair on his head? Did it frame his cock well?
Diluc held the glass under the tap and flushed it with water and soap, before tough hands scrubbed away with a damp rag. After drying it, Diluc turned around, bent over, and opened the cabinet where he kept the other glasswares. Venti bit his lip at the sight; Diluc’s plump ass presented before him, accentuated by the tight-fitting trousers. Another rare appearance, as Diluc had appeared without his coat that Summer’s day.
“Oh bartender,” Venti spoke, whimsical in his tipsy state. “I haven’t a single mora to my name. Perhaps, I hold another treasure you may claim?”
“What?” Diluc asked. After a moment, he stood back up from the cabinet, but didn’t turn to face Venti like he expected. Instead, Diluc’s attention seemed captivated by the diverse selection of wines on his display shelf. “I already told you, don’t worry about the tab.”
He then reached for a worn bottle from the shelf, having to balance on the tips of his toes just to reach it, despite his height. Bottle in hand, Diluc finally turned back around and blew the dust off of the label to read it carefully. Said dust, of course, made Venti sneeze as it was blown into his face. The tavern shuddered with a sudden gale.
Diluc paid it no notice, however, as he uncorked the wine and took large sip, straight from the bottle. Venti frowned.
“Of course that joke would fly over your head,” he muttered before he lunged over the bar table, aiming for the bottle from Diluc’s hands. Diluc saw it coming, however, and held the wine over his head, far from Venti’s reach. “Gimme!”
“What joke? What do you mean?”
“Gah!”
Recognising his own futility, he quickly gave up and sat back on the stool.
“Y’know,” Venti said as he puffed out his chest and arched his back, hooking a delicate finger under the collar of his blouse to expose the soft skin there. “ Oh dear. Whatever else could poor, little me offer to pay off my tab? ”
Diluc hummed, deep in thought. “Starsilver? I’d take that.”
Diluc then took another swig of wine as he stared down at Venti, as if to tease him.
“No!” Venti cried. “ Rear! The answer is my rear! ”
He slapped his own ass, then, to emphasise his point, and Diluc gagged on his wine. “Serves you right,” Venti sulked. “You don't even like drinking.”
“I hate it,” Diluc corrected, and from the rasp in his throat, it was clear the alcohol had burnt his throat. And yet, despite his words, Diluc brought the bottle back to his lips and took another swig, as if it was water. Then, to Venti’s combined delight and concern, Diluc gagged again, and reflexively tore the bottle away from him. He glared at the wine, as if it was responsible for its own taste, as if it had forced Diluc to drink it.
Venti took his opportunity to snatch the bottle from his hands, shocked that he was even able to. Curiously, he observed the blush on Diluc’s cheeks, obvious against his pale skin.
Venti was no Shikanoin Heizou, but he was still smart; in only a few split seconds, Venti took in the sluggishness of Diluc’s movements, the redness in his face, and the surprisingly heavy weight of the bottle, and inferred a dumbfounding deduction:
“You’re a lightweight!?”
“Am not,” Diluc said, but the light slur to his words told Venti the opposite. “I just… never drink.”
That’s what makes people lightweights, Venti thought to himself. Still though, Diluc was a large man with quite a bit of muscle; even if he practised abstinence his entire life, a few sips of wine shouldn’t have affected him so much. Venti glanced at the faded label, and gasped at the words he saw.
- Vin rouge vieilli -
Château sur une colline
- Fontaine, 2556 AAW -
Aged red wine, imported from Fontaine: the strongest of the strong stuff, one bottle was guaranteed to fuck up even the most seasoned alcoholic.
Venti’s hands trembled as they held the dark glass. His body craved its fermented taste, desperate to feel the lightheadedness it would bring him, but he forced himself to show restraint. Venti was many things: an Archon, a bard, an alcoholic; but above all else, he was a good friend.
“Is everything… alright?” he asked, a little awkward. Although on good terms, Venti wouldn’t say he and Diluc were particularly close , so such a question felt rather unnatural between them.
Diluc laid his arms on the lacquered bar table and solemnly rested his weight on them. He held his gaze downwards, refusing to meet Venti’s eyes, apparently interested in the swirling imperfections of the wood he leaned on. After a moment, he asked, “Are we friends, Venti?”
The question took him by surprise, squeezing a thoughtless “I should hope so” from him.
Venti observed the situation before him: Diluc, drunk and vulnerable; the wine that only knew a single pair of lips. He softened up, and elaborated, “Of course we’re friends, Master Diluc. I don’t come here just for the free beer, afterall.”
Eyes, as bright as a flame that danced alone in the dark, glanced at him then. Diluc reached for the wine, and Venti let him take it. In his drunken state, Diluc’s hand accidentally brushed against Venti’s, and Venti blushed at the warm drag of those calloused fingers against his. Venti wanted to feel those hands on his body, holding him, feeling him, groping him, engulfing him–
“Y’know,” Diluc started, the slur in his voice heavier than before. “My father bought me this wine. Years ago. I was supposed to drink it with him once I turned of drinking age, to have my first taste of alcohol together.” He laughed, then, at a memory so distant. “Little did he know, Kaeya and I’d already snuck some of his beer when we were thirteen.”
He sighed, painfully, like the memories of his family weighed heavy on him. “I hated the taste and how it made me feel, and I swore off alcohol right then and there. But I would have finished this bottle, if he asked me to.”
Venti stared into those eyes, made of swirling fire and damp melancholy. He climbed over the bar table and sat beside Diluc, resting a gentle hand on his back. “I never got to meet Master Crepus,” Venti said. “But if he’s anything like the sons he raised, I know he must have been an admirable man.”
“Thanks,” Diluc said with a small smile on his face, and suddenly, it was no longer Master Diluc of the Ragnvindr line that stood next to him, but a tired young man, forced to grow up before he was ready. Diluc was a man who had experienced the loss of his loved ones, and has, in turn, taken loved ones from others. He was a man with blood on his hands and a hole in his heart, a man who has tasted more defeat than he has victory.
There was a slight shuffle to Venti’s side as Diluc turned his body around. The movement was sluggish, like he forgot what he was doing halfway through the action, but it was followed through nonetheless. He then sighed as he rested his back against the counter, trusting it to hold the weight of his body, the weight of his past, the memories of his family, the death of his father, the renouncement of his brother. He stood close enough to Venti that some of that weight was passed onto him, as well.
Venti pulled out his lyre and played a single tune. It was neither happy nor sad; neither a tale of triumph nor woe. It was a song of euthymia; merely an outlet, an empty canvas, for Diluc’s unpleasant feelings. Venti did not want Diluc to forget his troubles, nor did he want to take them away from him; he wanted to acknowledge Diluc’s failures, his hardships, his self-loathing, and to ease the pressure they placed on him.
Diluc listened in silence, never once telling Venti to get down from the bar. He stared at the display of vintage wines: all Crepus’, passed down onto him. Wine tasting was a hobby of his father, one he did not share.
Venti’s song eventually came to an insouciant end as the final notes were delicately plucked from the lyre. Diluc raised the bottle in front of himself, and drunkenly cheersed to his father’s legacy.
“Happy birthday,” Diluc said before he took another sip.
“Happy birthday!” Venti cheered, satisfied by the droop in Diluc’s shoulders. “And we shall drink to thy memory!”
Venti moved swiftly to snatch the wine from Diluc, who, in a surprising show of reactive speed, held the bottle out of reach once again. “You… you freeloading bard,” he cursed, but was cut off by a series of hiccups he quickly suppressed. Venti smiled, thinking he looked rather cute, like an angry kitten. “I migh– I might actually go bankrupt, if I keep enabling you like this…”
“But you’re drinking it all!”
Diluc cradled the bottle close to his chest, like it was his treasured baby, and shut his eyes. The tavern had started to spin around him, an unpleasant sight that reminded Diluc why he never drunk. And yet, as much as he hated drinking, he had to admit; the warmth in his face, the weightlessness behind his eyes, all felt rather nice after such a stressful week.
Venti watched him as he stood, entranced by the delicate length of his eyelashes, the delicate curve of his jaw. Framed by fiery curls, Diluc had such a pretty face, even if it was flushed as red as his hair.
“What… what were you saying before? About alternative payments?” Diluc asked once he was sure he could form a sentence. He opened his eyes, slowly at first, not wanting to hurl before his Archon. Then, when he was certain the tavern had stopped spinning, he finally looked at Venti. “Gimme ten – no, fifteen – Starsilvers, and I’ll give you… a sip.”
Venti stared into eyes so red it felt like he’d be engulfed in flames any second now, and he laughed. Diluc was beyond just tipsy. “No Starsilver, Master Diluc,” he sighed. “Only my body, if you’ll take a look.”
“Mn,” Diluc grunted, unconvinced. “I doubt that is worth fifteen Starsilver.”
“Master Diluc!” Venti cried, although he felt more humour than offence. “How could you? I’ll have you know, the sight of my chest alone is worth at least fifty!”
“Prove it,” Diluc spat, endearingly serious.
Venti made a show of untying his corset, giving Diluc his best innocent doe eyes. He slipped the tight fabric off his body and let it fall to the bar floor, before moving onto his blouse. First, his sleeve cuffs, of which Venti made sure to tease his delicate and shapely wrists, and to his amusement, Diluc’s eyes lingered on the bare skin,
Venti ran a hand up his arm, drawing the sleeve further, revealing more of his smooth skin to Diluc. Venti could admit that he was rather unusual in the fact that he preferred a hairless appearance on himself; it was an old Mondstadt tradition that originated near the start of the Regency Era, and had fallen out of fashion alongside the Lawrence Clan’s favour. But there was something about the softness it gave his skin, the smoothness between his thighs, how delicate it made him look, that Venti found appealing.
Venti hooked his hands under the hem of his cotton blouse, and in an exaggerated movement, drew the fabric over his head. It, too, was discarded on the ground. With his chest bared, Venti arched his back and trailed a thin hand down his slim body. His fingers hovered over a pert nipple, and he indulged himself a little, allowing for a teasing drag down the sensitive flesh. “What do you think now, Master Diluc?” he asked, voice pointedly breathy.
Diluc said nothing as he stared at Venti’s body, the heat from his fiery gaze enough to burn his flesh. As a test, Venti squeezed the nipple he previously toyed with, and moaned out his delight. The silence from Diluc was almost scary, like a black hole in the fabric of the universe, but the widening of his pupils told Venti all that he needed to know.
He refused to break eye contact with Diluc, entranced by flames that flickered bright. With the hand that teased his nipple, Venti blindly reached over to the crotch of Diluc’s pants; slowly, to give him time to process what was going on, to push him away if he didn’t feel the same. Venti almost expected Diluc to suddenly come to his senses, to yell at him and push him off the bar table, to permanently ban him from the Angel’s Share and submit a complaint to the Knights of Favonius, but none of that happened. Hesitantly, Venti’s hand made contact with Diluc’s crotch, and he felt the telltale hardness of an interested cock.
There was a thick heat that radiated from it, despite his trousers in the way, and Venti swallowed, feeling the sheer thickness of it. He squeezed it, and Diluc’s eyes closed briefly, his hips tilting into Venti’s hold.
Was this happening? Was this real?
“Do you want this?” Venti asked. Do you want me?
Diluc didn’t answer, and instead pushed himself from the counter’s edge, dislodging Venti’s hand, and Venti wanted to cry.
Of course not.
Vibrant red invaded his vision as Diluc stood in front of him. At some point, his hair had fallen loose, and Venti didn’t know how he could have missed it. With his hair down, Diluc looked ethereal, making Venti question whether he had Muratan blood, for only a God could have passed down such beauty.
He bookmarked the thought, intending to ask Diluc about it later, as Diluc’s hands suddenly touched his body and made his brain go haywire. They meticulously explored his chest, trailing over the glowing marks in his skin, feeling the pure power of Anemo beneath his fingers. Venti shivered at the sensation, the texture of Diluc’s calluses too much, hardened from his hard work as a Cavalry Captain, as a claymore wielder. His hands settled on Venti’s hips, so large and strong, as he dragged Venti towards the edge of the bar table. Subconsciously, Venti felt his legs fall open, fitting Diluc’s thin waist between them perfectly.
“Mn, almost,” Diluc mumbled, his attention focused on the body beneath him. “But not enough.” Rough thumbs hooked onto the hem of his shorts, and all of a sudden, Venti forgot how to breathe.
“Are you sure about this?” Venti asked. What they were about to do… They could never come back from.
Diluc leaned closer to Venti, and placed a gentle kiss behind his ear. “Yes,” he said, his breath so hot it made Venti shiver. Then, like lightning, Diluc’s lips were suddenly on his, and the world seemed to dissolve around them.
The kiss started off tentative, soft on Venti’s lips, until Venti kissed him back. He pushed forward, encouraging Diluc to put force behind the kiss, and Diluc obliged.
Then, there was tongue. Small at first, much like the kiss itself. That was, of course, until Venti got greedy; he needed to know how Diluc’s saliva tasted, craved the velvety rub of their tongue together, and commit the feeling to memory, lest he never come to feel it again. Interestingly, Diluc kissed the way he fought: with precise movements and controlled strength. It was an odd kiss, but regardless, it still left Venti feeling lightheaded once they parted.
Diluc broke off first, giving a single gasp of air, until he was back on Venti’s lips. Venti moaned against him, breath hot and heavy, and sucked Diluc’s bottom lip between his teeth. It, like the rest of him, was nicely plump and extremely biteable.
Diluc groaned as Venti sunk his teeth in, yet he continued, undeterred. With a sudden display of strength – one that drained whatever blood may have remained in Venti’s head – Diluc lifted Venti from the bar and swiftly stripped him of his remaining shorts. He then dumped Venti back onto the bench, the lacquered wood cool against his bare ass and balls, and Diluc pinned him there with arms on either side of him.
Diluc broke the kiss again, tearing his lip from Venti’s hold. He took a moment to observe the body below him, the small cock that stood between pale thigh-highs, the lust-drunk look on Venti’s face as he lightly rubbed himself. Diluc’s eyes were dark with carnal desire, looking like he would consume Venti right then and there.
“Good,” Diluc breathed. He then commanded, “Turn around. Let me see.”
Venti did as he was asked. He lifted his knees onto the bench and arched his back, displaying himself for Diluc. As a cherry on top, he reached around himself with a single hand and pulled open his own ass cheek, baring his hole for Diluc. It quivered against the open air, shy, but hungry, desperate to be filled.
Gods, this was overdue. Venti couldn’t remember the last time he’d been truly fucked.
Diluc’s hot breath brushed against Venti’s asscheek as he placed a gentle kiss there. “That’s plenty,” he whispered. “You’ve earned a sip.”
Venti made to turn around, eager to claim his prize, but a rough hand on the back of his neck halted him. Suddenly, Venti found himself pinned to the table, prostrated before Diluc. A warm hand grasped one of Venti’s asscheeks, then, and spread it wide to reveal his hole. He gasped as Diluc thumbed his entrance, the course fabric of his glove providing exquisite friction against the sensitive tissue. Diluc pressed his thumb down experimentally, testing the pliancy of the body beneath him, and Venti thought to himself, Holy shit it’s actually happening.
“ Fuck ,” Venti swore, delightfully breathless as Diluc’s thumb finally slipped inside him. It was a teasing exploration of Venti’s body, Diluc shallowly fucking him as he observed from above, entranced by the sight of his thumb as it disappeared inside that tight hole.
“Open wide,” Diluc said as he drew his thumb out and held it at Venti’s rim, as if to spread it open. Before Venti could reply, something cold and solid pressed against his asshole, before something wet trickled inside him.
Venti cried out in surprise, reflexively clenching at the foreign feeling, but Diluc’s thumb kept him open enough that only a small amount of liquid escaped. Venti felt it trickle down his taint and his balls, making a mess of the bar table below him.
Was that… the wine?
“Gods,” he gasped at the sudden feeling of intoxication that flooded his body. It was a sensation he hadn’t felt in years, since the last time he and Morax drank together. The wine inside him felt weird – it heated his guts, a pleasant flush, and burnt his insides, a painful rush. But it was not unpleasant: instead, it set his nerves alight, like they were on fire, as he was simultaneously full and empty. He clenched around Diluc’s thumb, wanting to be filled by his cock instead. “More,” he gasped out.
Diluc grunted, a deep sound from above him. A simple, “Don’t clench,” was all he received as warning before that strange object breached him. Belatedly, Venti realised it must have been the wine bottle.
In hindsight, perhaps Venti should have been more specific.
Venti forced himself to relax around the bottle, scared that a poorly-timed clench would spell the end for his poor asshole. The alcohol helped as well, forcing his muscles to unwind and making it easier to trust Diluc. And perhaps it was the very same alcohol in his system that sent a thrilling rush down his spine, excited by the very threat of something bad.
The leakage down his taint turned steady as Venti was filled with more wine than he could hold, the excess flowing down his body as Diluc fucked him with the bottle. Diluc, himself, was captivated by the way Venti’s hole stretched to accommodate the bottleneck. He wanted to shove the whole thing inside Venti, wanted to see the way his Archon’s pretty ass gaped around the bottle’s base, but had enough of his senses left intact to restrain himself.
Diluc observed the holy body below him, tainted with expensive wine and penetrated by a fucking bottle. Didn’t this entire evening just scream recklessness?
“Ah!” Venti cried at a particularly hard and well-aimed thrust that rubbed the tip of the bottle against his prostate. It was a sweet sound that reverberated throughout Diluc’s body.
Diluc removed the bottle, and Venti whined at the sudden feeling of emptiness. Almost guilty, Diluc replaced the bottle with his mouth, drinking the wine from Venti’s rim thirstily, Venti’s inherent sweetness being the only saving grace for the foul-tasting wine. He chased the overflowing alcohol down Venti’s taint, sweeping the sensitive skin with a flat tongue, pursuing his addictive taste.
“Stop!” Venti cried suddenly, his face flushed red and his voice slightly slurred. Amazedly, he realised, Diluc had pushed him beyond just tipsy. “Enough! Just fuck me already!”
And who was Diluc to refuse a direct order from the Anemo Archon himself?
Large hands grasped his hips as Diluc dragged Venti to the edge of the bar. His legs hung prone over the edge, not even long enough to touch the ground, as the wooden edge dug into his hips. Venti gasped at the feeling of another object against his hole – this one fleshy, organic and hot. Diluc took a moment to rub himself against Venti’s hole, as if, in his drunken and desperate haze, he struggled to find his goal.
Eventually, Diluc’s cock rubbed against Venti’s rim, and with a single thrust, Diluc sheathed himself fully.
“Ah!” Venti cried. He hadn’t been prepared nearly enough for the sheer girth of Diluc, with the wine still inside him being the only thing to make it bearable. Venti didn’t care, however; he liked the pain of being used for another man’s pleasure, as if his body was merely a tool to be used. Really, Venti found comfort in the brutal rub of a cock inside him, of being filled by a man’s hard heat. “Faster!”
Diluc obliged his God, fucking him hard and fast. Venti thought that Diluc fucked the way he kissed, the way he fought; but in that moment, as Diluc fervently pumped him full of cock, Venti realised pleasure overrode precision. Or perhaps, this would not have been the case had there been no alcohol in Diluc’s system. He’d have to test this hypothesis.
Regardless, there was no care taken in Diluc’s movements; he worked to get himself off, completely ignorant of Venti below him. It was rabid, bruising, as Diluc fucked into him without inhibition.
With his back turned, Venti couldn’t see Diluc. He was unable to visualise his size in comparison, or whether his hypothesis on his pubic hair was correct. All Venti knew was what he felt: the strength in his hips as he fucked him, the strength in his hands as he held him down. He couldn’t see Diluc’s body, but he could feel his heat all around him, engulfing him as Diluc pressed his body against Venti. He pinned him harder against the table, trapping him beneath him, and bit down on Venti’s neck.
It was a bite of passion, one Diluc immediately apologised for by licking it, before his lips moved on around his neck. It was a cycle of biting, apologising, sucking, and licking. “ Barbatos ,” Diluc gasped, breath so hot against his neck he felt he might melt. His thrusts began to stutter, and his voice was strained. “ Barbatos, I–.”
“Yes,” Venti said, an encouragement to keep going, an acknowledgement of Diluc’s prayers. “ Oh Gods, Yes! ”
“ Barbatos! ”
There was a gasp, a moan and then a curse, as Diluc’s hands grasped him hard enough to break bone. Cum mixed with wine.
“ Fuck ,” Venti moaned as Diluc’s hips slowed, the cum and wine an intoxicating combination. He clenched around empty air as Diluc pulled out of him, not wanting to waste any of the fluids inside him, and shivered at the sensation as it dripped out of him regardless. Venti imagined what he looked like; bent over the table, asshole agape, dripping with cum and wine from both his ass and cock. It was a rather sorry position for a God to be in.
With strength that made him feel lightheaded, Diluc flipped Venti around so his back was against the table, and wasted no time in worshipping his neglected cock.
Venti cried as Diluc took him fully, deep throating his God with practised ease, and Venti wanted to know, who else had Diluc done this with? He’d certainly know if a male suitor boasted about a tryst with the Ragnvindr heir, for it’d be the talk of the town. And yet, Diluc was known for his regrettable abstinence from both men and women. Secretly, he supposed, it must have had something to do with the four years he went missing in Snezhnaya.
It wasn’t long before Venti was cumming down Diluc’s throat, and it happened so fast he wasn’t even able to warn him. Diluc swallowed him like a professional.
“Fuck, Diluc,” Venti gasped once Diluc pulled off of him, and their lips met in another kiss. Venti tasted his own cum mixed with wine on Diluc’s tongue; an awful combination, but one Venti couldn’t get enough of.
When they finally separated, Diluc stared down at Venti. His body, bare and defiled, thoroughly fucked on the tavern bar. Suddenly, the gravity of his actions hit him. He had just fucked the Anemo Archon on a bench in his father’s tavern. With a bottle of his father’s wine.
Oh, the Seven.
“Don’t smite me,” he pleaded.
Venti only laughed.