Work Text:
Capitano has sought him out more and more lately.
Childe is not complaining. He relishes the attention, the hard-hitting punches that teach him a new lesson with every strike. The others treat him like glass. They call him wild, inexperienced, and a tart young thing. But Capitano—Capitano seeks Childe out to mold him, shape him into something new, something better.
And he wants to be malleable.
But Childe also wants to win, which he’s centuries away from, he’s sure, but it makes the fight sting all the better.
He has a plan. Childe always loses, but he watches; he learns every punch, every kick, and every move that Capitano has, and even though his progress is a crawl, it’s there. Every time Capitano calls him out here, he gains an inch, and that’s enough.
Plus, there’s just something about the way Capitano moves, how he fills Childe’s space, how his power permeates the air. Childe is young, comparatively, but he isn’t the impetuous thing others think he is. He has needs. Wants and desires. Power and glory, to rest at the top alongside the First Harbinger, to—
“Boy.”
Right. Childe was so lost in his thoughts, he nearly forgot about the crushing grip wrapped around his wrist. He got close this time, closer than he ever has before. Close enough for Capitano to actually put a hand on him. Childe tries to ignore the throbbing of his groin, thinking about it.
A crush. A stupid, boyish crush borne from the lust of power, but it does nothing to stop the curl of Childe’s mouth as he offers up a smirk.
“Impressed?” he asks, mostly snark.
Only this time, Capitano takes the bait and replies, “Yes. You’ve improved. You…” He chews on his next thought, still holding Childe tight. “You seem to respond well to first-hand training and drills.”
“Sparring,” says Childe. “You can just call it sparring.”
“You spar with others, but with me, you seem to—”
“It’s because you’re the best,” blurts Childe. “You don’t treat me like I’m a kid. You teach me, guide me.”
“It is easy to do so when you respond so readily to praise.”
Childe’s face burns—but not as much as Capitano’s gloved fingers, which still dig into his flesh. That grip on his wrist is sharp now, smarting, an effortless show of strength from the most powerful of the Harbingers. Being the Eleventh is nothing to sneeze at, but Capitano is…
He swallows, his throat bobbing. Childe wishes he could see Capitano’s face.
“Call it curiosity,” he says. “I’m motivated by seeing what’s underneath that mask of yours.” Because no one else has.
Capitano snorts softly. His grip loosens and then he finally lets go, but he doesn’t step away. He’s still close enough for Childe to smell sweat, the metal of his armor, and the sickly sweet smell of—what is that? It reminds him of an old, dead animal in the woods. Gods, he wants to know just what’s lurking there.
“A challenge, then.” Capitano takes one, two steps away, his boots dragging across the dusty ground of the training yard. “You love those. If you get close enough to touch my mask—just touch it, and I’ll reward you.”
Childe’s throat goes dry. When he speaks, it’s raspy. “How so…?”
The air is heated, though. He knows. Capitano knows. With every spar, they toe this line more and more. Capitano isn’t a flirt, but he does speak in the way that he fights, and his interest has been evident enough for Childe to go back to his room and fuck his want out on his own fingers.
Capitano doesn’t immediately answer. He stands there, still too close, that sickly sweet smell clinging to him.
Childe wishes that he had a face to read or that Capitano were more obvious in his body language. His imagination runs wild. His idea of a reward is hands-on and leads to a happy ending. “And if I lose?” he asks, his tongue fat and thick in his mouth.
Capitano tilts his head ever so slightly. A pause. “Then I get the reward. Is that not standard? The winner takes?”
Oh. Oh, that’s—
Childe’s spine tingles. His core clenches. The high of their spar and Capitano’s proposal has his sex throbbing, already slick. He shifts slightly because any friction is better than nothing. Childe’s needy; needy enough that waiting might be torture, and he considers losing on purpose just to see what that might even entail.
“You’re on.” Childe’s voice is caught, grating. Hoarse. He swallows around the lump in his throat and points to the center of the training grounds they currently occupy. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Capitano likes routine, and their spars follow a pattern. Their breaks never last long. Resetting for the next round comes quickly. This time, Capitano lingers in Childe’s space, his steps slow as he considers something. “Hand-to-hand combat.” His voice is smooth with a tinny quality from being trapped behind his mask. “Our training is usually focused around weapons. I do not think we’ve ever crossed flesh and bone.”
Childe thinks he would’ve died if they had. He’s had a hard-on for this man for years at this point. Even the way that Capitano grabbed his wrist earlier was unexpected and out of the norm. “It’s something typically reserved for Katya. Don’t trust others enough to get that close.”
“But you trust me.” It is not a question. Capitano doesn’t wait for an answer. “And you would not waste such a rare opportunity.” Gloved fingers trace the edge of his cloak before curling around the hem. Capitano shrugs it off, tossing it aside, showing off his boxy form and powerful shoulders.
“I’m—yeah, I’d be stupid to not—” starts Childe.
Capitano moves so fast that he barely misses it. Childe grunts, barely dodging out of his way. Heat pools in Childe’s belly as Capitano’s fingers graze his side. Cool to the touch. Childe nearly leans into it, desperate to feed the pleasure that’s churning his gut.
“Anticipate one’s movements, Tartaglia.” Capitano’s voice is light, teasing almost, as if he’s amused. “Not every opponent will play nice and wait.”
The fact of the matter is that even as a Harbinger, Childe is woefully unskilled when compared to Capitano. Even at his best, he doesn’t stand a chance. And not that Capitano has ever played it easy on him. No, he’s always skirted the line of offering up a challenge without making it impossible.
This, though, is impossible. This hand-to-hand combat at close quarters makes Childe feel entirely outmatched. Capitano moves quickly, fluidly. He dances around Childe, offering him opportunities to get a hit in. Bait. It’s meant to draw him close, but the moment that Childe does, it’ll be over for him.
But maybe that’s what Childe wants? Maybe he should give into his desire and see if Capitano is entirely immune to the pleasures of flesh as so many rumors say. Childe doesn’t think he is. The man’s already broken his habits. He toys with Childe when he could be making an example of him instead. Capitano’s fingers brush against him with teasing touches. He gives Childe attention that he doesn’t extend to others. Shares his time by training him personally. Childe can’t see his face, but that mask lingers in his direction, the heat of it burning all the same.
Childe lets Capitano toss him to the ground. He doesn’t dodge when hands curl around his waist, when Capitano’s ankle hooks around his, and Childe is yanked off his feet.
Then Capitano is hanging over him, a knee between Childe’s thighs, his weight palpable. That knee doesn’t touch. It’s just shy of Childe’s crotch, close enough for anticipation to burn through him. Capitano has never been close like this. He’s never settled over Childe like he belongs there, like this is the most natural thing, but fuck, they fit together perfectly.
“I—” Childe’s throat is dry. “I yield. This time.”
Capitano remains still. “A valiant effort.”
It was not. Childe spent the entire spar distracted by the way his core throbbed with want. “So,” begins Childe. “Your reward?” Easier to put the ball in Capitano’s court than make a fool of himself.
Hesitation. Capitano shifts slightly, his thigh pushing closer to the apex of Childe’s legs. Oh. That’s nice, just the gentle brush of friction. “I am not a fool, boy. You wear your desires openly.”
“And yours?” Childe knows it’s cheeky, but he turns bold as the moment settles into something easier, something more comfortable.
“I would think it obvious. I am intentional in everything that I do.”
“I’d noticed,” purrs Childe, his lips pulling into a wide grin. “Go on, then. Take whatever you want from me.”
That thigh presses closer to grind against his sex. Finally, finally—even through his clothing, the relief is palpable. Childe groans, his head tipping back as he lifts his hips and spreads his legs for more, for better reach, for—
Capitano stills again. His hands find Childe’s thighs, squeezing at them, feeling the muscle there. His mask dips to look between them, to where his thigh is pressed. Childe has no doubt he’s a wet mess. His underthings have been soaked for ages, and with Capitano’s thigh grinding against him, several things should be obvious.
“Boy,” he murmurs, thinking. But then: “You’re ready for this, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. Yeah.”
Capitano presses a hand against Childe’s ribs. He hums, dragging it down. Childe isn’t wearing his uniform today, so there’s no midriff. Is Capitano thinking about it? That slip of skin so often on display? His gloved thumb pulls over the linen of his shirt before pulling at it properly, tugging it from Childe’s trousers. “Tell me, boy, what do you want?”
Boy. Childe squirms at being called that. Heat rises, filling his chest. It feels good, feels right. Capitano’s hands curl around his waist again, and Childe jerks at the feel of leather against his skin. “Fuck, that’s—” A hysterical snort. That’s what he wants, isn’t it? It’s been a long time since he’s had a proper cock because his fingers work just fine, but there’s a thrill to having Capitano over him, asking this. “Just touch me. Anywhere.”
Capitano hikes up his shirt to reveal Childe’s flat chest. The direction of his gaze lingers. Childe swallows, wishing that he could see his expression, that he could gauge interest. He’s small enough to not need binding, thank the gods.
“Go on,” he goads. “I—I’ll tell you if it’s off-limits. If it’s not—oh.” Warm, rough leather pulls over a nipple. Childe shivers, the bud hardening under the touch. “That’s—that’s—” Childe curses softly as he squirms.
Capitano is curious with his touch. Attentive. One nipple and then the next, his fingers trace the length of Childe’s chest with reverence and awe. Childe isn’t used to that; he’s used to quick fucks, face-down against the floor. Not that this can’t be that. Not that this won’t be, but for all of Capitano’s want, he takes his sweet time.
“You’re taking forever. You’re—I thought you wanted this."
A soft, tinny snort. “Impatient.” Not a question. Capitano lets go of him to peel off those gloves, tossing them aside. “I’m amenable to your requests, but you have to make them.”
“Are you expecting me to beg?”
“What if I were to request that as my reward?”
Oh. Oh, that’s—
Childe’s core twist. Heat gathers, searing through him. “I thought fucking me was the reward.”
“Is it a reward if it was going to happen eventually? Tartaglia, I am particular in my indulgences, and you are neither blind nor stupid.”
“So the begging gets you off, then?”
Capitano’s hand finds him again, this time skin-to-skin. His touch is cool, so different from the flames licking the rest of him. “You begging gets me off. Wild, you are. Uncouth at times. There is a certain pleasure in taming you.”
“And if I can’t be tamed?”
“Then a tempest you are instead.” Capitano’s fingers slide into the waistband, teasing Childe’s belly. He pulls, watching the give of muscle there, the way the fabric pulls at Childe’s hips. Next time—
Next time, he’s already thinking. How bold of him. But maybe if Childe plays this game, maybe if he’s a good boy, there will be more than just next times, there will be an entire story to unfold.
“Please,” he mutters, lifting his ass. Childe fumbles with the fly of his trousers, hastily tugging them off.
Capitano helps him. A wide palm slides around Childe to the small of his back, helping support the strange angle he’s bent at. His other hand helps yank Childe’s clothing off, tossing his trousers and underthings aside, peeled off in one go. “Here,” he murmurs, palms skirting the length of Childe’s legs. “The training grounds. A rascal they call you. You are living up to that, boy.”
“It’s late. No one will come, and even if they did, I don’t care. Let them watch.” Childe’s fucked others in worse places. And really, the thrill of it zings down his spine. The thought of another walking in and seeing Capitano bent over him, fucking him. He doesn’t sleep with others. Everyone in the Fatui knows that.
Childe is special and oh, he loves that. “You still haven’t touched me,” he complains, pressing the heel of his palm to the smooth skin just above his groin. He aches for more. Capitano’s hands hover close, just shy of where Childe wants them. “Please. Please.”
The begging comes naturally. He must sound sinful with the way that Capitano tenses, sucks in a breath. He takes hold of Childe’s thighs. Teases the soft skin inside with his knuckles, a brush of pleasure as they fall closer, closer—
Childe sucks in a breath when those knuckles drag across the apex of his thighs, just above his glistening folds. “Hard,” whispers Capitano, circling his thumb around the bud there. “Your cock. Marvelous.”
Oh. Childe swallows thickly. His cock. Right, right. Not a question, not even a second thought, just immediate unwavering affirmation that leaves Childe even wetter than before. “Gods,” he hisses. “Archons, I’m—more. More.”
Capitano’s fingers sweep down and across Childe’s sex, catching against his slick. Childe moans, head falling back against the hard, dusty floor of the training grounds. “That’s—”
“Inside?” inquires Capitano, the tip of a cool finger just barely sinking in.
“Yes,” snaps Childe impatiently. “Just shove it in. It’s been so long.” That he’s wanted this, that he’s had another cock inside of him—Childe isn’t keeping track. Lately he’s counted his moments in the time they spend sparring. This is divine. Everything about this is a dream, so Childe wants, he begs.
Capitano’s hands leave him. Childe is bereft, melting into the floor, impatient for his touch again. A fire burns through him. His cunt throbs with anticipation and need. Capitano fumbles with his belt and trousers. Pulls them down just enough to free his cock.
Childe stares. And stares and stares and stares. Long enough to hit the right places. Thick to spread him wide. “Respectable,” he says, as if Capitano isn’t hiding away a monster in his clothing, as if he isn’t going to be wrecked to the point of limping the next day.
Capitano huffs. He holds his cock and then strokes it. Too dry. Childe is impatient, so with a wave of his hand, Hydro slicks Capitano’s palm, easing his grip. A soft exhalation falls from Capitano’s mask. A near moan.
Perfect. Childe’s new goal is to make this man crack.
“Fuck me already. You know I like a good fight. This is no different.”
Capitano leans forward, pressing the tip of his cock against Childe, dragging it across his swollen sex. Unlike the rest of him, it’s warm. Not pale like his hands or those long fingers. It’s pink at the tip, leaking precome, and promises a world of pleasure the moment it sinks in.
Childe’s so wet that all it takes is one thrust. Capitano hooks an arm underneath the crook of Childe’s knee and shoves his cock in, and Childe loses all thought. “Oh fuck,” curses Childe. “Oh, oh fuck.”
“Good boy,” murmurs Capitano as he slides home with a rough roll of his hips. One hand moves to rest against Childe’s belly. The other curls around his waist to guide his hips up, to hold Childe there.
The angle leaves Childe trembling in his grasp. Gods, it feels good. He can barely think through the haze of pleasure and the thick girth of Capitano’s cock as he carves him open. His cunt squelches. Childe moans, arching from the ground, his back bowing as Capitano stills, grinding against him before pulling back.
It isn’t fast enough. It’s an even-paced, deep, bone-rattling tempo that drives Childe mad. “More, I’m—fuck, I need more.” His other leg rests against the notch of Capitano’s hip. The heel of his feet kicks against Capitano’s back as he demands more, more.
“Greedy,” groans Capitano as he fucks his cock even deeper. “Such a greedy boy, swallowing me right up. But so, so good for me.”
The praise is an accent to the hard thrust that Capitano gives him. Childe sings, crying out, unashamed. He doesn’t hold back his moans, his curses. He begs openly, clinging to Capitano as he fucks him hard and raw.
This is what Childe wanted; raw, primal need as Capitano ruts into him. Weeks, months of flirtation through spars have led to Childe being split open on his cock.
Capitano stares. The direction of his mask is trained on Childe’s sex and where his cock spreads him open. He pulls his thumb across Chile’s cock again and again, praising it and how Childe responds. And those affirmations, low purrs of how handsome his cock is, how tight, how he feels good—Childe could die a happy man like this.
“I’m—I’m, oh fuck, I’m—” Childe claws at his face. One hand clings to Capitano’s bicep, nails digging into the flesh there. He’s close; he’s so, so close. Capitano’s cock fills him so well, presses against the perfect spots. Each harsh, wet grind leaves him a sopping mess. The pleasure in his core tightens, tightens until he’s about to spill over, until he’s taut with anticipation, his breath caught as he forgets to breathe.
It’s short. Sloppy and messy, as Capitano fucks him hard and fast. He pulls at Childe’s cock, catching it between two fingers, and that’s how Childe tips over the edge. His vision whites out. His cunt clenches, squeezing around Capitano’s thick length.
Capitano stills, his arms shaking with strain. A few more rolling thrusts and deep, low moans as Capitano tries to last, tries to fucking Childe through his orgasm. He pulls out instead, catching his cock in his palm, spilling against Childe’s belly with a groan.
There’s enough for Childe to wonder how pent-up he is, how long it’s been since he last got off. Childe sweeps his fingers through Capitano’s spend, wetting them, drawing their tips to his mouth for a taste. “Next time,” he purrs, “I’d rather try it from the source.”
Capitano’s grip on his thigh tightens. “Greedy,” he calls him again before peeling away, leaving Childe cold on the floor.
But then his cloak is dropped onto him, Capitano kneeling again to drag it across Childe’s front, a crude and quick cleaning.
“That isn’t a no,” remarks Childe. Just like their fucking, fixing themselves up is quick and hasty. Childe stands on wobbly legs, tugging his trousers back up.
Capitano catches his elbow in a gentle grip. “You should rest. We—I…”
He sounds awkward in the aftermath of it all. Childe gawks, his lips parted, but he, too, doesn’t know how to respond to that.
Finally, Capitano continues. “Your rooms are on the other end of the complex. We were…vigorous and—”
“Are you offering up your bed?” Capitano says nothing, just rubs at the back of his neck. “Again, not a no.”
“I would not be against it. You, in my bed.” A pause. “Being a Harbinger is a lonely thing. You know that.”
“So we’re doing this again,” surmises Childe. He grins, unable to keep his excitement at bay. “We’re definitely doing this again.”
“There’s no need to sound so eager—”
“But you like that. Eager, good boys with praise kinks—”
“Tartaglia.”
Childe reaches out and punches Capitano against his chest to lighten the mood. “Joking aside, thank you.”
For not just the fucking but for not asking questions. Once his trousers were off, Capitano didn’t hesitate, didn’t treat him any differently. Childe can’t say that about his other casual fucks.
But this isn’t casual, is it? It can’t be with Capitano ushering him into his private rooms. When was the last time that happened?
Probably never.
Capitano is a gentleman, at least. Doesn’t call attention to the elephant in the room. “Careful,” he murmurs when Childe turns and winces. That alone leaves Childe’s cheeks flushed pink.
Still, it’s nice. The space between his legs is rubbed raw and throbs, but Childe feels so fucking satisfied. He gives Capitano another cheeky grin. “You know that you’ve just fed a monster, right? I’m never going to stop bothering you about this. You’ve ruined me with that dick of yours.”
Capitano huffs—but for the third time, doesn’t say no.
Good enough for Childe.