Chapter Text
“Morax…” groaned the dragon, his voice sent shivered down the other’s spine, causing his hairs to stand on their strand as he had him pinned against the wall, sheltered from prying eyes. If the adeptus were to see him like this, would his dignity be tarnished forever?
Behind him, stood firm against his back, broad shoulders, towering and vicious was someone he knew oh-so-long. An acquaintance of his that soon developed into something more. Primal urges pushed them to this point, lusting over the other.
They could not just lay upon their carnal desire to their followers, then it would be unjust. Akin to a king instructing the slaves, the Prime Adeptus could not just willy-nilly asked his subordinates to satisfy his thirst for passion, nor he could form a deeper bond with them.
And when Azdhaha, the lord vishap came to him with a solution, he had introduced him to fellow kin of his. Though this kin is unlike Azdhaha, they shared the same ancestors – the dragons of the past bygones – not to mention their strength and stamina.
And that is when Morax learnt that ultimate passion of a dragon, not only did it withstand his but also exceed his expectation.
“Morax…” this time, his tone weighed with disappointment, thrusting further into Morax, causing the Prime Adeptus to whimper. How can someone as esteemed and revered as him rendered a mess? A cocksleeve for the dragon behind him, a mere item.
Leaning against the crook of the other’s neck, the dragon grunted. How dare Morax had his attention not on him? Had he found their love making boring? How dare Morax made the dragon second guessing himself, making him feel all such things. He sunk his fangs against the flesh of Morax’s vessel, golden fluid seeped out of it, even taste like gold.
“ṋ̴̢̧̲̗̂͗̏̀̈́̓͛̑̀͘͘͠͠ ̸̢̣̻̜̻͈͔̜͖̤̯̈́́̈́̓̈́̽̎̇̈̎͘̚͝ȩ̵̬͔̲̻̮̯̭̱̼̃̚ ̸̼̙̤͓̲̯͊̀̄͘ȕ̴̠̺͕̖̞̺̖͈̗̮͙̻̼̙̤͆͑̄̔͐̍͌̋̈́̋́͠ ̵̛͍͙͖̞̖̯͈̫̐̈́͑v̶̼̪̣̳͛̃͒̓̊ ̶̝̣̟̞̍̈̐̊̈͝i̷̘̜̟͊ ̸̡̢̳̟̘̜͍̮̱̣̜̱̙̭̔ͅļ̶̠̻̣͉̟̙̬̦̟͍̝̒̋̽̽̓͐̒̏̀͠ͅ ̶̢̛̟̳̥̘͇̣̓̿̀̉̄̎͐͂̔́ļ̶̝̦̣̥̫̲̳̄̍̈́̉̋͐͆́̅̋̿̄̅̕͘ ̶̜̥̩̺͑ẹ̶͙̘͍̘͉̳̥͑́͌́̾̈́̉̂̆̑̕ͅ ̴̨̢̫̣̙͇̮͓̻̦̦̈́̓͂͋̔̒͗̉̑̂͊́͝ͅt̵̺̰͎̭͚́̔̐̌̂͛̃̆͑̋̀͝͝ͅ ̵̟̦̳̫̲͓̗̝̞͗͂̓̅̆͜t̶̢̰̤̼̦͚̯̟̮̙̋͆̐̓͘͘͜͝͠ͅ ̸̢̼̮͉̹̮̣̖̺̗̜͎͓͍̂̍̿͋̔̉̎̑͘ͅȩ̸̨̢͚̹͔̼͚̫̘̉̓ …” Morax turned to the other, only noticing how the other’s eyes were watery. Despite being such an ancient creature, the other has no experience with this emotion. Be it love; fondness; lust. He might had ruled the world in time bygones, but he is but juvenile in matter pertaining the heart as for the dragons, in a world of constant chaos and war, those with even an ounce of heart shall perished and replace.
He groaned again; this time needy. His fangs buried deeply into Morax’s shoulder, like how his dual shafts fitted deeply within the other’s entrance. Morax couldn’t help but to melt in those eyes; though his action showed possessiveness, his eyes showed loneliness. A smile plastered on the Prime Adeptus’ face, leaning into the male as he pressed a kiss on the other’s face. Encouraging him, telling him that he’s not alone.
“ṋ̴̢̧̲̗̂͗̏̀̈́̓͛̑̀͘͘͠͠ ̸̢̣̻̜̻͈͔̜͖̤̯̈́́̈́̓̈́̽̎̇̈̎͘̚͝ȩ̵̬͔̲̻̮̯̭̱̼̃̚ ̸̼̙̤͓̲̯͊̀̄͘ȕ̴̠̺͕̖̞̺̖͈̗̮͙̻̼̙̤͆͑̄̔͐̍͌̋̈́̋́͠ ̵̛͍͙͖̞̖̯͈̫̐̈́͑v̶̼̪̣̳͛̃͒̓̊ ̶̝̣̟̞̍̈̐̊̈͝i̷̘̜̟͊ ̸̡̢̳̟̘̜͍̮̱̣̜̱̙̭̔ͅļ̶̠̻̣͉̟̙̬̦̟͍̝̒̋̽̽̓͐̒̏̀͠ͅ ̶̢̛̟̳̥̘͇̣̓̿̀̉̄̎͐͂̔́ļ̶̝̦̣̥̫̲̳̄̍̈́̉̋͐͆́̅̋̿̄̅̕͘ ̶̜̥̩̺͑ẹ̶͙̘͍̘͉̳̥͑́͌́̾̈́̉̂̆̑̕ͅ ̴̨̢̫̣̙͇̮͓̻̦̦̈́̓͂͋̔̒͗̉̑̂͊́͝ͅt̵̺̰͎̭͚́̔̐̌̂͛̃̆͑̋̀͝͝ͅ ̵̟̦̳̫̲͓̗̝̞͗͂̓̅̆͜t̶̢̰̤̼̦͚̯̟̮̙̋͆̐̓͘͘͜͝͠ͅ ̸̢̼̮͉̹̮̣̖̺̗̜͎͓͍̂̍̿͋̔̉̎̑͘ͅȩ̸̨̢͚̹͔̼͚̫̘̉̓…” His voice sung golden to the other’s ears, honeyed it was. Brought about the desire within, and with it, the dragon pressed deeper.
“Morax!!!”
“ṋ̴̢̧̲̗̂͗̏̀̈́̓͛̑̀͘͘͠͠ ̸̢̣̻̜̻͈͔̜͖̤̯̈́́̈́̓̈́̽̎̇̈̎͘̚͝ȩ̵̬͔̲̻̮̯̭̱̼̃̚ ̸̼̙̤͓̲̯͊̀̄͘ȕ̴̠̺͕̖̞̺̖͈̗̮͙̻̼̙̤͆͑̄̔͐̍͌̋̈́̋́͠ ̵̛͍͙͖̞̖̯͈̫̐̈́͑v̶̼̪̣̳͛̃͒̓̊ ̶̝̣̟̞̍̈̐̊̈͝i̷̘̜̟͊ ̸̡̢̳̟̘̜͍̮̱̣̜̱̙̭̔ͅļ̶̠̻̣͉̟̙̬̦̟͍̝̒̋̽̽̓͐̒̏̀͠ͅ ̶̢̛̟̳̥̘͇̣̓̿̀̉̄̎͐͂̔́ļ̶̝̦̣̥̫̲̳̄̍̈́̉̋͐͆́̅̋̿̄̅̕͘ ̶̜̥̩̺͑ẹ̶͙̘͍̘͉̳̥͑́͌́̾̈́̉̂̆̑̕ͅ ̴̨̢̫̣̙͇̮͓̻̦̦̈́̓͂͋̔̒͗̉̑̂͊́͝ͅt̵̺̰͎̭͚́̔̐̌̂͛̃̆͑̋̀͝͝ͅ ̵̟̦̳̫̲͓̗̝̞͗͂̓̅̆͜t̶̢̰̤̼̦͚̯̟̮̙̋͆̐̓͘͘͜͝͠ͅ ̸̢̼̮͉̹̮̣̖̺̗̜͎͓͍̂̍̿͋̔̉̎̑͘ͅȩ̸̨̢͚̹͔̼͚̫̘̉̓!!!”
And soon throbbing, the other’s shafts throbbing within Morax’s inside, shooting out white webs of fluids within. Morax could feel it, the warmth of the dragon slowly rising to his body; his chests; his shoulders; his face. He could feel himself succumbing to the pleasure. And soon, the two sat on the ground, dirty it may be.
“Morax…” The dragon casted protective arms around Morax’s waist, his face buried into the other’s shoulders. His voice had melancholia, sadness within. Morax couldn’t understand why? Had he done anything? Had he caused the other discomfort?
Morax hummed, curious what would be the other’s reason to be so dejected.
The dragon sighed. He kissed Morax’s shoulder, then his cheek, and then the crook of his neck, before settling back burying himself into the other’s shoulder, “I love you…”
Morax was taken aback, indeed. Thus far, the dragon never once uttered such meaningful words at him. Their exchange, for all he cared, was purely carnal. To satisfy one’s lust. To satisfy their lust. But for the time they had together, it was hard for the Prime Adeptus to just shrugged it off as nothing. In fact, he was glad for the confession. Glad that this wasn’t entirely physical, but also something deeper.
“I love you too…”
≿━━━━༺❀A PAST BYGONE❀༻━━━━≾
The dragon sovereigns, the long-lost rulers of Teyvat. A product of the time immemorial. None that grace this earth remembered the era of chaos and flames, not as much had the privilege to even see the descendants of the dragons. Yet there are few and far between that remained, some had forgotten their origin, some remained vindictive of the Heavenly Principle, and to the extent, the Seven. But one, in all of the remaining some, had worked together with one of the Seven.
His origin is unknown to many, even to himself. He says that he only remembered that he was born in this form – his human form – and not much of the past between then and now. He could not even recall what happened after his birth, let alone what happened prior. But he persevered, continuing his search for his lost past in hope it shall shed some light about his purpose to the human world.
Though, in between searching, he finds himself enjoying leisure – luxuries that many would only hope to have.
“Take a break, Neuvillette!” Furina once told him, though she no longer sat on that throne, Neuvillette remains indebted to the once-false-archon with such reverence that it even makes Furina uncomfortable.
So, he did. Not that he needed reminding, but he was curious.
Last time he was at the nation of commerce, he had felt something. Deep within him, an aching. And he smelled something, a scent familiar. But he couldn’t understand then why. He had tried to find the source, but his time was limited. Already on his way home, he needed to abandon whatever whims conjured by this and returned.
Yet now, he had the leisure. So, he went back. From Yilong Wharf he landed; he then took a walk to the bustling southern port city of Liyue. Not like he does not want to make it easier for himself – of course he could just go to Bayda Harbor, to Port Ormos and to Liyue – but he had sensed something. A familiar smell. Following the smell, it brought him to places that unknown to him.
From ruins, to the open plains, to the riverside. It brought him to seemingly random places that seemingly of no significance to him. Or at least he initially thought until he came across another ruin at Guili plains. Studying the remaining standing walls, he followed the scent until he stopped at one.
Clawed.
The wall had claw marks. It’s too small for a beast to make, too deep for a human too, but if it were a humanoid creature with inhumane capabilities, perhaps. His fingers traced along the crevices; some were fitting his. His claws fit perfectly in. Then the others, wasn’t. It’s smaller. What might had happened here for such marks to show?
As he leans closer, he felt a presence. No… He had felt it the first time he came to Liyue, even back at Yilong Wharf, or at the places he felt familiar with. This person hadn’t made his presence known, and since they hadn’t made any move, Neuvillette find no reason to provoke them.
But things changed; they’re closing in. Their presence becoming apparent with time and Neuvillette does not have time to speculate. Readying his cane, he braced for the worst. His power surging at the tip of his cane, ready to rush out when necessary. Looking frantically around, he tries to see any movement.
“Good evening, friend.” Turning around, Neuvillette is met with a suited man, standing not far from him. A distance, an offer of non-hostility, his face adorns a charming smile as he has his hands behind his back. Dark suit paired with a golden accent; the man exudes such imposing aura yet not an impending one.
Neuvillette lowers his cane, putting it back as he turns to greet this man. It’s rude for him to just let the man’s greeting goes unanswered, even more rude to show suspicion. After all, if needed, he can just defeat the man with one strike. Offering a smile back, Neuvillette bows at the man.
“Evening, how I owe the pleasure?” Neuvillette tilts his head.
Studying the man, Neuvillette senses an air of familiarity. His scent even begets an itch within him, urging him to find the meaning. But Neuvillette does not know where to, as he has no knowledge of why he even has this feeling in the first place.
“Sorry for the intrusion, I was walking and saw you studying intensely at this wall,” the man turns to the wall – and Neuvillette swears that for a moment, the smile on the man’s face falters momentarily – and walks towards the wall, tracing his dainty fingers against it, “Historical site such like these are not for mere sight seeing, it also tells tales of old, all rendered naught to the generations that come after.”
Neuvillette nods, his eyes too tracing along the other’s fingers – wait, it fits him, for some reason – and soon, he removes his attention away, back to the male before him that is now standing inches away, “I was just intrigued; for the land of justice, ruins are but gems – few and far between. It is indeed a rare sight there, yet, the nations surrounding it has ruins scattered across the land.”
The man nods understandably, retracting his fingers from the claw marks and extending it towards the other male, “Zhongli of the Wangshen Funeral Parlor, though my job description rarely doused about death and mortality, and more about history and tradition,” finally, he introduces himself, a name that Neuvillette could use for him.
Neuvillette reciprocate, his hand reaching for the other’s, though as their flesh makes contact however, an electrifying jolt sends up Neuvillette arms, causing him to startled.
“Morax…” he hearing voices, grunts of someone that he does not know of, “Morax…” It repeats the name of the previous geo archon, fading after a while. It’s haunting. Creepy. Why did he hear voices.
His attention snaps back to the man before him when Zhongli put his hand on the other’s shoulder, a concern expression splash across his face; brows knotted; frowning; his wrinkles evident with worries. Shaking his head, the Iudex extends an apologetic smile.
“Pardon me.” He says, trying to recompose himself. Regardless what was that, perhaps Zhongli is the answer. While the connection between him and this sense of familiarity remain unknown, but what he could gather, Zhongli might be able to reopen something within him. If not, then Zhongli’s intensive knowledge of the past perhaps shed light.
“Neuvillette,” purposefully, he omitted his career, fearing it might cause discomfort for his new found friend, “I’m just a member of the Maison Gastion,” he lies, giving the other’s a small smile, “Not such intriguing field, but I do perchance hear interesting gossips from time to time,” and it’s not like he’s lying about that part, while walking from his office to the Opera, he sometimes do hear people talking about something, some were less interesting, others’ make Neuvillette to listen more, “It seems you’re rather learnt, Mr Zhongli.”
Zhongli chuckles, waving his hand dismissively. Being complimented, if it were any other people, he’d be shrugging. But from him. Zhongli sighs, “Please, drop the formalities. Call me just Zhongli.”
Reluctant at first, but Neuvillette knows better than do against what the other says. After all, if Zhongli is not comfortable with formalities, there’s no use for using it in the first place.
“Okay, Zhongli…”