Archive of Our Own

The night was bright and full of promise.

Capitano had spent most of his day, and week for that matter, sorting out the new trouble for the Fatui. As one of their highest positioned personnel who also dealt with things more… hands on, he took care of people and situations far more efficiently than the rest of the Harbingers. The Tsaritsa could rely on him to cut things short without much bloodshed; after all, he excelled in diplomacy and intimidation without needing to show his cards for a reason. There was a gap in the organization, a syndicate really, where a cleaner approach needed filling, and Capitano was more than happy to provide, granted that the Tsaritsa kept supplying him with the resources necessary for his ultimate goal.

The man he dealt with was good at hiding like a rat, but when Capitano found him, things fell into place easily. He got into negotiations with some less than legal methods, forced him to sign a contract and that was it. There was an evening of drinking and wasting his hours away to look forward to, yet he found himself in the company of one of his colleagues.

One of the newer recruits. Someone under Pulcinella's tutelage. A ginger-haired boy with a loose tongue and eyes that sized Capitano up like he was a feast made to be devoured. He'd kept his distance from Tartaglia when he first met him, unsure if he should get involved, but it was a losing battle when the boy kept throwing himself at him like a divine offering. It was supposed to be just one night.

One night to fuck and get his frustration surrounding Ajax out of his system.

If only Tartaglia wasn't perfect. He knew how to act like a brat enough to get a rise out of Capitano and how to submit when he was manhandled properly. That wasn't counting how good he looked on his cock. The fucked-out expression on his face while he took it, moaning loudly and whorishly, so willing whenever Capitano kissed him. The taste of his mouth and skin was enough to drive Capitano crazy, dissolving the initial intention he had about taking him time breaking Tartaglia. The morning after was just as sweet, especially when Childe practically begged him to fuck him into the mattress again, not minding the myriad of bruises and bitemarks on his body nor the soreness that must’ve ached despite his brave face. He seemed to enjoy it, actually. The pain when Capitano pushed him to the absolute limit. Their shower together afterwards was gentle and measured, and Capitano couldn't help but notice how Tartaglia kept glancing at the mirror and touching the marks on his body, pride shining in his murky blue eyes.

After that day, Tartaglia would show up randomly throughout the weeks, and they'd end up in the same situation, in different locations, with the boy bent over, or picked up, or pressed down against the mattress, or the sofa, or a desk, fucked out of his mind. He never shared his location with him, but Ajax found him anyway, simply knowing where he'd be throughout the days. Capitano knew one of his subordinates, Mikhail, was giving the Eleventh the information about his coordinates, but it was fairly… innocent. Or rather, Mikhail only did it whenever he thought Capitano was too tense and needed a break, effectively using Tartaglia as a means to an end. Not that Childe seemed to mind, exactly, he always acted shameless when it came to approaching Capitano.

Never giving away how he knew, not knowing that the First had less than noble ways of getting the truth out of him.

However, he would not need to. Childe was eager to please him underneath the exterior he'd carefully built. A well-reasoned question would be enough for him to spill his guts out. One of the reasons Capitano could trust him with certain things. Getting intimate with him was one of them. Unfortunately, Tartaglia's appearance meant drinking was out of the question if they wanted to do it right.

Childe took his drink from him, tongue flickering out in anticipation — purposefully taking a sip from the same side Capitano had — while blinking his long lashes at him. His eyes were warm and needy in the bar's golden light, staring up at him like Capitano was the only thing he wanted in the entire world.

That was enough.

Capitano dragged him out of the bar; some of his subordinates were there, they could handle his tab for now. Everyone knew better than to interrupt him when he was dealing with someone else, whether it was for violent reasons or sexual — or in Tartaglia's case, both.

Tartaglia went easily when Capitano shoved him against a dim alley’s wall and pulled him into a reckless kiss. He went forward with teeth and tongue, biting Tartaglia's lips and invading his mouth the moment he parted it to let out a sharp gasp. Capitano was on him, against him, the towering bulk of his stature shielding him from other people's view, groaning as the taste of whiskey on Childe's tongue slipped through. The boy squirmed helplessly underneath the overbearing onslaught of sensations. Sweet little noises escaped from the messy desperation of their kiss. Tartaglia responded perfectly to Capitano's need, moaning, sucking and squirming in his caging hold.

His hands were on Tartaglia's hips, keeping him firmly in place before he wedged a knee between his legs. Rough and swift. Capitano's frustration spilled into Tartaglia's mouth, tongue pressing and licking the back of the boy's teeth, claiming everything that was given to him without a second's remorse. It never helped how Childe kept begging for it. He didn't ask directly, no — but he always found Capitano and taunted him openly with his eyes and lips and hands that wandered far too close to his thighs whenever they were next to each other. The meetings between Harbingers grew insufferable because of it. Tartaglia always found a way to sit beside him, or across him, and the way he moved his hands and legs when he did. Hours could pass, and his insolence remained the same.

Of course, he always allowed Capitano the privilege to fuck him senseless after riling him up, which only seemed to spur him on more.

Capitano should stop Childe from acting so carelessly, he should indulge in punishment that didn't include squeezing his hips and biting his neck enough to leave marks. He should, and yet —

I don't want to.

It was selfish of him, he knew. Tartaglia was clearly only looking for a thrill; the high you get from provoking someone far older and stronger than you and reaping the rewards in your own way. Tartaglia liked him, and normally, it wouldn't have been enough. Far from it. Capitano had more sense than to attach himself to someone who liked appearing in front of him only when he wanted something out of him, but it was something he equally wanted, wasn’t it? The Eleventh was charismatic, with a face and body and voice to prove it. The freckles scattered over his body, the scars and bruises he’d sometimes return with — the urge that flared was just as nonsensical, but he didn’t have a reason to refuse himself from it. Tartaglia wanted it, wanted him.

The way Tartaglia trusted him enough to lean back and take it when Capitano got too handsy, too rough, was a testament of what the boy thought of him. Tartaglia had enough faith in the First to let him throw Tartaglia around whenever he felt like it. Even when Capitano’s lips trailed down the side of his jaw and his teeth were sinking into his neck, two steps away from breaking skin, the boy groaned loudly instead of trying to get out of his hold. His hands flew to Capitano’s hair, fingers trembling before he fisted them and his hips started moving, frantically rutting against Capitano’s thigh. Desperate for fiction, for touch from him and him alone; Capitano could make him come here, just grinding against his leg like a desperate mutt. He could force him into submission with sweet promises, guide him into coming in his pants right then and there, and yet, he was feeling generous today. Enough to withdraw his knee, ignoring the questioning whine out of Tartaglia's lips.

Capitano’s breaths fogged in the quickly chilling night, but there was a way to stay warm. Right in front of him.

Something about the day was different.

“Captain —” Tartaglia bit his lips – his voice hitching as Capitano slipped two fingers down his jeans, stroking the jut of his pelvic bone before reaching down and groaning at the reveal of soft, wet heat greeting him instead of any semblance of a barrier.

Fucking hell.

Capitano didn't believe in God, or any Gods, in general, because if he did, surely, his thing with Tartaglia was a test to see how far the heavens above could drive him mad. It was downright infuriating how tempting the boy was. Both offering and sacrificing himself for — pleasure, simply. And if Tartaglia was willing to take what he offered, who was he to refuse him?

“Going commando, are you?” Capitano teased a leather-clad finger near Tartaglia's tdick, thumbing the sensitive head while his middle finger slipped down and in. Ajax’s lips parted, his eyes rolling back from the simple dip above before he refocused. “You should be more careful, Ajax. It isn't in your best interest to flaunt yourself to others in front of me.”

“I wasn't flaunting —”

Capitano shoved the entire length of his finger in, forcing the boy to moan instead of finishing his line of thought.

“Fuck… Captain!”

Capitano twisted his finger inside, stifling his own groan at the unending wetness clenching around him, pulsing like it was trying to pull him deeper. Tartaglia was trembling, his chest heaving up and down as he struggled to keep his eyes on Capitano. He tried though, he really did, even when Capitano started moving inside of him, thrusting deep and pulling out just as quickly. The Eleventh took it without wavering, without breathing properly.

Only his desperate moans and pleas came out of him. Music to Capitano's ears. He couldn't get enough of how breathy Tartaglia got; he was transfixed by how the bright-red flush on his cheeks spread down to his neck, chest and then disappeared around the dip of his shirt, urging his hands and teeth, waiting for Capitano to rip into him and leave him bare, ready to be consumed.

If Capitano’s feelings didn't venture so easily into primal, animalistic expressions, he wouldn't have to be so careful with the boy. Constantly reminding himself to take it slow and easy — as easy as he can — was barely helping.

“Sin itself,” Capitano murmured to himself, burying his face against Tartaglia's neck before sinking two more fingers inside his cunt. As deep as he could go. “Driving me insane.”

“Captain…” Tartaglia groaned, trying to rut his hips into Capitano's palms. Desperate, still. “Please yes, fuck. Gods, I've missed yo — this —”

Tartaglia stopped himself from admitting, but his mistake was offering Capitano even the barest suggestion of it. What he meant to say, what he wanted. Something as simple as missing him spurred Capitano on. He didn't need more. When they didn't speak, when they let their bodies do the talking, things were simple, easy. Capitano took and gave and Tartaglia was simply happy to be there. No need to overcomplicate things with sentiments and desires best left unaddressed.

It was prep, but an act that Capitano enjoyed equally. Tartaglia coming apart on his fingers alone brought him back to their first night together, the hours he'd spent holding the boy and stretching him out until orgasm after orgasm spilled into his patient hands.

Tartaglia had drenched Capitano completely, and the way his boy's eyes dilated when he brought his hand to his lips and tasted him was worthy of being framed in a painting, or a photo, Capitano wasn't picky. That idea persisted in other ways, in other encounters. Polaroids and recordings of the ginger being cheeky and showing off were scattered in his phone and a drawer in his office.

Having fragments of those moments helped in particularly gruelling nights, when his heart felt heavy and full of ache.

Once, Capitano had known what it was like to have a person to give himself fully to. Once, Capitano tasted the bliss of ignorance and deluded himself into thinking his happiness had a chance of lasting. The memories of war were a curse of itself. He didn’t want to linger in it, barely handled the weight of grief from those who left him behind, and yet, there he always was, staring at the listless lights of the sleepless city from his bedroom window, wondering if his warmth could chase away the thoughts again.

It wasn’t healthy.

But Tartaglia didn’t seem to mind being used, and he didn’t mind Capitano taking care of him afterwards either. Never asking for more, even when it was obvious that he wanted to ask for something after every night they spent together. It would've made Capitano's job easier. Allowed to simply be and give instead of wondering and thinking and hesitating. He wasn't always like this, but when it came to human connections, there was always a price to pay at the end of it.

Nonetheless, Childe had a way of chasing those thoughts away with his touch alone.

Tartaglia was biting the corners of his lips, muffled moans slipping through despite the boy’s tight grasp on his own body, trying to not give in, desperately — a losing battle, if Capitano ever saw one.

Childe would fall apart if Capitano gave him more. A gentle press had his tdick twitching, with more slick dripping freely down his fingers. Capitano thrust three inside, and then four, curling the tips and searching for that spot in Tartaglia that made him twist and moan wantonly. He could tell he pressed against it when Tartaglia clenched and cried out, his head thrown back against the brick wall, yet completely focused on his pleasure to truly notice what he was doing. This dingy spot of theirs wouldn't do. They would need to move soon.

Later, Capitano thought, transfixed on the sensation of how easily Tartaglia's entrance gave way, dripping wet already as he fucked him leisurely on his fingers. Lust had never ignited such thirst in him before. He was more careful than this. He was more cautious than pushing one of his colleagues into a dimly-lit alley and wanting to taste him on his tongue. He could tell Tartaglia was on the verge of an orgasm, the tiny spasms in his hands as he desperately tried to regain control over the situation, his grip sinking into Capitano's side and tightening against his jacket. The hold on him was as firm and unyielding as before — something Capitano noticed over the course of their nights together. Childe never wanted to stop touching him, although he didn’t say it directly either. Capitano had to infer through the way he clung and grumbled whenever his work drew him away from their bed, and vice versa.

Capitano gave Tartaglia a reason to linger, of course; he was nothing but obsessed with everything Tartaglia was willing to offer, but the urge, with its consequences and the added feelings that latched onto his heart, was as dangerous as the high that came from watching Childe’s expression melt into a puddle of absolute pleasure.

“Captain,” Tartaglia cried as he came, his entire body shuddering against Capitano’s hold.

Capitano pressed deep, as deep as his fingers could go inside of Tartaglia, gently stretching him out as waves of Tartaglia's orgasm drenched his hand, feeling the quiet spasms of his walls and the pulses that ran through his hole. Capitano's eyes were honed in on Tartaglia's face. The way his lips parted and repeated his name with a loud, shameless whine — it was filthy and beautiful. Everything about the boy was worth revering. Capitano leaned down and muffled Tartaglia's moans with his lips, unable to hold himself back, absolutely consumed by the sight.

It was sweet. The taste of Ajax, alcohol and something more slipping through had Capitano biting Tartaglia's lips and pressing his tongue inside his mouth. Tartaglia groaned, struggling against the kiss and the impossible to break hold, but his body was more decisive, grinding against his palm, bucking his hips forward like he wanted and needed more.

Capitano grunted, pulling away from the kiss with a rough hiss. “Greedy.”

Tartaglia's pretty, flushed face greeted him, his chins tipped upwards, a devilish smirk on his lips — his dark eyes glistened at Capitano's comment, unafraid to show that he wasn't ashamed of his attitude. He was endearing enough for it to hurt.

“Don't think I've been greedy enough, Cap’n,” Childe said, his voice sounding breathless around the edges. “I don't think you're going to stop on one, though, so it works out, no?”

Capitano clicked his tongue once, displeased by how quickly his wants were read. Though, it was far from unexpected at this point. There was never one and done when it came to being with him, especially if you were one of the few that he coveted in the deepest of his heart.

“Feeling more like a brat today, Tartaglia?” He asked, seizing the boy's waist to easily hoist him in his arms. Ajax went easily, laughing as his legs curled around Capitano's torso, his arms loosely hanging over his shoulders. “I can't guarantee that will bode well for you. Wearing these, too. And here I thought you had the potential to be more subtle with your approach.”

Jeans chaps, held together only by a modified leather cover that kept his skin out of sight because he wasn't wearing anything underneath. The recent discovery wasn’t really helping him keep his thoughts straight.

“Oh, trust me Captain, if I wanted to be able to walk tomorrow, I won't be here,” Tartaglia purred into his ears, his hands toying with Capitano’s hair. “You won’t keep me waiting, will you, sir?”

“Cheeky.”

Capitano wrapped his arm Tartaglia’s back, holding him up by a firm grip on his waist alone. “Open.”

He offered his sullied leather glove to Tartaglia’s face, intrigued by how quickly his azure eyes narrowed on the slick slowly drying on the surface and the smug, understanding smile on his face. Tartaglia leaned forward without needing any other direction, his eyes half-lidded and fluttering down at Capitano while his lips wrapped around his leather fingers, eagerly sucking and licking up his own mess. The sight alone stirred something hot and explosive in Capitano. He was already turned on after the foreplay, it was already bordering on too much when he focused solely on watching Tartaglia fall apart. Now? He was going to make sure Ajax couldn’t walk the day after, and more. He did have some time off after that shit-load of a mission. Time to spend keeping Tartaglia exactly where he belonged.

Tartaglia didn’t stop at just sucking his fingers clean, though. He parted his lips and made a show of it, pressing his tongue against the crease of his gloves while his dark eyes remained shameless, holding eye-contact just as brazenly.

Capitano was going to eat him alive.

At the hint of Ajax’s teeth — digging into the leather, applying pressure to the pads of Capitano’s fingers —, he took over, pushing Tartaglia's tongue down roughly, tracing the edges of his canines before hooking his thumb around his jaw. Spit slipped, drool leaking over his glove. An involuntary noise of satisfaction left his mouth.

He was good like this.

Ready, willing — capable of withstanding so, so much more.

“Tsk.” Capitano chided him, despite being all too pleased with Tartaglia letting him do whatever he wanted. “You're one messy boy, Ajax. Didn't think about me while having your fill, did you? We cannot have that. You'll have to take responsibility.”

Capitano released his jaw, wrapping his hand around Tartaglia's neck next. In his hands, everything of the Eleventh’s looked small, even his neck. Which drove him wild, a lot more than it should, because Childe was far from a small man. Tartaglia was muscular and tall in a lean, trimmed down way. The few times he remembered Tartaglia using the gym at his place, he prioritised cardio and stamina more. Perhaps he did take Capitano's ‘you need to work on your stamina’ comment more seriously after their first time together, since he was quite exhausted in bed after and needing more than a bit of coddling as aftercare. Not that Capitano minded in the slightest.

However, he had no trouble after the first few nights. The Eleventh did his due diligence, enough to warm Capitano’s bed like it belonged to him.

Considering the fact that Capitano hasn't had to visit red-light districts or gay bars at all since he got the chance to know Tartaglia better in that sense, he might as well admit that it belonged to Tartaglia.

“And what will you have me do, Cap?” Tartaglia licked the corners of his lips, settling in far too comfortably when he had Capitano’s hand wrapped around his throat. “Because if we’re going in the direction I think you’re taking me, I don’t have a single bone in my body that regrets this.”

Good boy.

Capitano’s lips twitched, and he allowed half a smile to push through. He noticed the subtle shift of Tartaglia’s gaze too, how red bloomed underneath his eyes at the small hint of Capitano’s true feeling. Adorable, and very endearing. It was ridiculous how quickly Tartaglia managed to dig through all of his walls. How vulnerable did he make himself to allow it before stopping it completely? Had he wanted companionship, closeness, that badly he was willing to indulge the whims of a very pretty, young face?

“You’re going to keep me warm.”

Capitano stepped back, away from the dirty alley wall, and continued out of the shadows, carrying Tartaglia towards the parking lot.

“Captain…” Tartaglia sounded intrigued by the prospect, not putting two and two together until the sight of multiple motorcycles lined up came into view. “You can’t mean —”

Capitano’s helmet and keys were already in place, courtesy of Mikhail, of course. He lowered Tartaglia onto his bike, just above the seat, facing towards him instead of the usual way around and took one of the handles to brace both the motorcycle’s and the Eleventh’s weight in his arms. The road he was taking was Fatui territory, there was no one who would stop them, and if they did, Capitano had his own way of making them pay for it.

The night was gloomy, only a hint of moonlight peaked from the lingering grey clouds up ahead, but it was a very fitting atmosphere for Tartaglia to sit pretty and flawless on his bike, waiting for him to take over and whisk him away. Capitano could use a cigarette to take some edge off, but — Tartaglia biting his lips, ass out and eyeing the casual flex of his arm was making his blood grow hotter with each second. 

Good thing the air was cold enough to nip at his skin. 

Can’t ravish him here.

He could, but despite how he came off, Capitano didn’t enjoy sharing. The sight of Tartaglia coming apart was for him and him alone. Once something was his, no other hand needed to know its shape, and yet his contradiction shone through his hypocritical feelings — unexpressed ownership was like an unsigned check. Without telling Tartaglia, without clarifying what he wanted, it was useless to indulge in such wistful thinking. The boy could back out once he was offered the deal. Capitano wasn’t going to hold his rank and status over Tartaglia’s head, he had decided that a long time ago, but such an offer came with a willingness to be completely, unabashedly, open and intimate.

And Tartaglia could say no.

And Capitano would have to step back from their relationship altogether, willing to let whatever connection that remained between them dissolve into nothing to ensure he wouldn’t be stepping on any of Tartaglia’s boundaries. If a confession managed to make its way out, there was no turning back. Capitano was not naive enough to think what they had was meant to last, and he wasn’t foolish enough to believe things could stay the same after he did the emotional equivalent of gutting himself from the inside out.

“Looks like you’re not feeling hurried today,” Tartaglia said, moonlight catching in his muted blue eyes. The rosy-taint on his cheeks persisted despite, and perhaps, because of the cold. For a guy who set out to find him at the dead of night, Childe was grossly underdressed for it. “I’m not complaining, though. Take your time, Captain. I didn’t prepare myself just to be ignored.”

An almost see-through white shirt with a fishnet tank-top underneath and two necklaces dangled down to his chest, one of a cross and one of his military service dog tags. Childe was far from a pious man, his actions with Capitano alone proved the nature of what he thought of the divine. But he knew Tartaglia’s family was important to him, and Snezhnaya was a devout country, with even the Tsaritsa holding faith. She did not force her faith onto her Harbingers, but it was a prominent thing within the nation.

Blasphemy and heresy was what happened in their bedroom, where Tartaglia brought that necklace, just begging to be tugged around like a dog on a leash while he was being fucked out of his mind.

It wasn't always present in Tartaglia’s outfit of choice, but when it was, Capitano understood the hint given to him. A little bit of degradation and pain notable enough with the pleasure. Demands he would gladly fulfil, of course.

Capitano captured Tartaglia's lips with his own. No need to provide commentary when he could show how much he wanted him. Tartaglia was always eager to kiss him back, moaning loudly against his mouth like he was waiting for it. A kiss enough to steal his breath away. Capitano deepened it with a soft groan, feeling parched all over again. The filth that he'd forced the Eleventh to lick off earlier bloomed against his tongue, crude and addictive in its taste — it beckoned him forward, reminded him of how he throbbed in his pants.

Of how uncomfortable he felt being confined by fabric.

Capitano sucked Tartaglia’s lower lip in his mouth, nipping at it lightly before pulling away and licking at the mess Tartaglia made around his own mouth. Like a puppy, Capitano thought fondly, his eyes on Tartaglia's chest as it rose and fell rapidly. Panting with his mouth open. It was far too easy to excite him.

But Capitano shouldn't toy with him for any longer. He wanted this too, of course.

He unzipped his jacket, using his legs to steady his bike as he pulled it off his shoulders. Tartaglia was breathing normally by the time Capitano handed him the jacket, nodding once when Tartaglia threw him a curious look. A hint of permission was all Tartaglia needed to eagerly slip his arms through the sleeves, drowning in the leather and fur with how big it was on him. Capitano found himself taking a second to appreciate the moment, stifling the urge to smile at how good Tartaglia looked as he moved to unbutton his pants, casual in the way he freed himself.

He did it slow, showing off a bit by taking his cock out in inches. He didn't need to look to know Tartaglia's gaze was hot and focused on his hands when he fisted the root, stroking slowly as precome leaked from the slit. Squeezing himself only helped so much. The urge to consume Ajax just grew tenfold instead. He wanted Tartaglia squirming for it before they continued.

Which warranted a show.

Capitano thumbed the wide head of his cock, pulling back the foreskin to reveal more of how wet Tartaglia's antics made him before gathering the precome and slicking himself with it. It was far from enough. Capitano was under no impression that a man, or woman, could just take him without prep.

He spent enough time stretching and eating his partners out for the first round for a reason.

Not that they had that luxury today. One orgasm was far from enough prep, but it helped that Tartaglia didn't mind the stretch and pain. Their size difference drove him wild in different ways, and Capitano couldn’t say he wasn’t immune to the appeal of it — not when he usually saw the proof of it whenever he held Tartaglia close.

It was intoxicating.

The sight of him, the feel of him.

He grabbed one of Tartaglia's thighs and pulled him closer, adjusting his hips in position enough to lower his cock and rub the head against the slicked up folds. The warmth that dripped down on him as Tartaglia tried not to squirm was maddening. Tartaglia groaned low in his chest before Capitano pressed down, rubbing the cockhead directly against his entrance. Wetness leaked much more freely, providing almost enough for a comfortable breach. Almost. Capitano pushed in, just the crown, and grunted at how quickly Tartaglia's hole clamped down on him, pulsing around him like he was trying to suck him in.

“F-Fuck…” Tartaglia muttered breathlessly, his legs falling naturally around Capitano's waist as he shifted closer, forcing more of the length inside. “How are you so big.”

He wanted to take his time, yet with Tartaglia whining and squirming closer, they were wasting more spending it in the parking lot.

Capitano placed a hand on the small of Tartaglia's back, marvelling briefly about how the tip of his middle finger and thumb could reach the two sides of his waist easily when he stretched it out before he pushed Tartaglia down and flushed against his waist. His cock was almost completely shoved into that sweet, trembling heat, just a few inches from truly being buried to the hilt, yet it was enough for Capitano to close his eyes and indulge in the bliss that washed over him. The tension in his body was being nicked off, with Tartaglia tightening around him instantly. It was sin, and heaven itself. Two contradictions in one.

I'm going to ruin you.

Having Tartaglia like this; whining loudly, speared open on his cock, pulsing and wet, his fingers digging into his sides and his legs encircling his waist in a vice-like grip, knowing he wasn't going anywhere; it was everything to him.

“Still perfect,” Capitano praised, stroking Tartaglia’s back. “You can keep me warm till the ride home, can't you, little fox?”

“Yes — Fuck.” Tartaglia groaned as he buried his face into Capitano’s chest, trying and failing to relax around him. “You're such a tease, Captain.”

His words came out muffled, but it rumbled against Capitano’s skin, and a strange sort of heat bloomed from it, deep within his chest. Tartaglia pressed against him, warm and needy — that was how it should always be. Teasing or not, Capitano was at ease, the sharp edges of his want softening into something that felt like acceptance. Belonging… How absurd that it was here, in a parking lot with Tartaglia sitting and squirming on his lap, that he felt the most comfortable in his skin.

“Hold on properly, Tartaglia.”

Ajax obeyed in a matter of seconds, his legs clamming down on his waist and adjusting enough to feel completely glued to him. With a relaxed sigh, Capitano put on his helmet and started his bike. Within a matter of a minute, they were out of the parking lot, riding through the winding roads that led outside the city while Tartaglia sat there and kept him warm. It was late in the night, which meant the traffic was barely present. Aside from the rare car and motorcycle, the road was deserted, and with the winds rushing past them, filling in the silence that followed, the night was without a trace of flaw. Capitano was aware of how Tartaglia was dealing with the ride. It was impossible not to. A warm body pressing tight against him, preserving the heat between them while his cock was snug inside a hot, willing hole — he wasn’t going to ever leave the boy alone, if he had any say in the matter.

Ajax was a perfect cocksleeve. He pressed his muffled noises into Capitano’s skin, pulsing at harsh turns and speed bump that fucked Capitano’s cock deeper into him. He was getting wetter by the second. No doubt making the stretch more comfortable, as comfortable as it could get around a sizeable cock. Any other man would’ve been too distracted to continue driving when such a pretty little thing was pulsing and moaning on him, yet the Captain had enough patience and fortitude to know that fucking Ajax out of his mind after the ride to somewhere safe and secluded would be well worth the effort.

However, the First wasn’t impervious to Tartaglia’s mind-numbing heat.

He was throbbing harder, cock twitching in the very depths of Tartaglia’s guts and leaking freely, adding precome to the gushing mess dripping down Tartaglia’s thighs. The urge to fuck him till he could only say his name and fill him up to the brim, multiple times, was there, keeping him almost painfully hard despite the heaven he was nestled in.

The way his thoughts spiralled reminded him of addiction.

Gods.

What was he supposed to do with an urge so consuming? His heart was pounding, demanding he acknowledged that it was far bigger than a simple means to exhaust his pent-up frustrations. Ajax was willing to trust himself enough to cling onto him and do whatever he was ordered to, regardless of the risks that came with the ordeal — if Capitano knew he couldn’t handle a simple ride with his… lover, then he wouldn’t have indulged so shamelessly — and that trust was devastating in its own right. A touch and multiple tastes. That was all it took for the mighty Captain of the Fatui to fall head first in love.

Because it was love.

The need to crowd Tartaglia in and consume him. The need to find him and hold him whenever frustration built up in his body. The need to kiss his smile and his tears and whisper the sweetest nothings into his ear. If Tartaglia was demanding, Capitano was possessive, clingy whenever he was allowed close and overtly pleased by the marks he left on the boy’s body.

Mine.

The word was simple, yet just as devastating.

They exited the city without catching the attention of anyone troublesome. The outward threat was done, but there was something else they needed to contend with after the split from the main roads. The trip from the city to his home wasn’t smooth, and they needed to drive up a hill to reach the mansion that overlooked the capital, adding winding trails and bumpy roads into the journey. It wasn’t by design, yet at the first physical bump in the road, the gravelly path allowed for vibrations to run through the bike and right into Tartaglia’s core.

His cunt grinded down on Capitano, but the vibrations didn’t stop, and it felt like the spasming walls of his hole were giving Capitano a nice and slick massage. Good lord. It was almost distracting enough for him to want to stop and fuck Tartaglia in the middle of nowhere.

Childe was going to be the death of him.

Capitano was determined to enjoy the slow build of pleasure; the way the bike forced them to rut against each other, shoving his cock inside at every bump, allowing Tartaglia to grind against him as the vibrations added more stimulation to the already pleasurable position.

Ajax whined, his voice reaching Capitano’s ears more now that he didn’t focus on speeding through the city. There was a hint of desperation in the way Tartaglia tried to buck his hips into him. He was trying his best to follow Capitano’s earlier direction, holding onto him tightly, yet his need was getting the better of him.

To have so much and continue wanting more, that was the Eleventh in a nutshell.

“You’re doing good,” Capitano said, not caring if Tartaglia heard him or not. “I know you won’t disappoint me, Tartaglia.”

It was a bit cruel of him, yes. Knowing how much Tartaglia wanted to prove himself in his eyes and using it against him? It bordered onto some sort of sadistic, titillating sort of enjoyment. But the way Tartaglia stilled and did his best to prove that he could for him; it was an act of devotion in itself. There was a leash in his hand, its length and make indistinguishable to the naked eye, and yet, he was given the end of it, allowing to hold, pull, push and tug and see how Tartaglia would react. And he wanted to see how far he could go with the control handed to him without a single thought for the consequences.

Capitano wanted to taste the devotion pouring out like an endless stream from Tartaglia’s lips. The source of the devotion didn’t matter, as long as Capitano was allowed close enough to quench his thirst with however many gulps he deemed necessary. He wasn’t this insatiable usually; in every other aspect of his life, he knew how to be disciplined and precise, keeping his thoughts and emotions in check.

But something about Tartaglia warming him so obediently, whining into his chest and clenching around him to make good on his promise — it brought the worst out of him. The insolent, greedy thing in him that wanted to clamp down on Tartaglia’s neck and keep him there, force him to be with him for the rest of eternity — for however long their lives lasted. It was heaven to be inside of Tartaglia, and hell to want more than the boy could ever give. The road was starting to test his patience with its winding stretch, and the knowledge that it was going to take twenty more minutes to reach his place was grating his patience. Perhaps, if it wasn’t Capitano’s first time being cockwarmed by Tartaglia like this, he would have more patience with the jolts of pleasure that struck his nerves at every stretch of the gravelly path, not to mention the fact that the speed-bumps and sharp turns were making things worse. He should’ve known the Eleventh would have a way to make Capitano lose himself in more ways than one.

Another silken pulse of the warm, wet walls around him, and Capitano decided to opt for a new plan. He didn’t want to wait. It was too much and not enough. The heat brewing in him was about to leak from his skin and burn him from the inside out at this rate.

Capitano switched his destination for the evening. There was a clearing in one of multiple dead-ends that overlooked the active nightlife of the capital. He drove there occasionally when he needed peace and quiet away from his mansion, and the scenery wasn’t bad either. But regardless, it was isolated and cornered off enough for no living soul to frequent, and all Capitano needed for the night was a peaceful spot to fuck his beloved’s brain out. Even better if it came with a pretty backdrop to look at after they were done with the deed itself.

He wasn’t planning on staying the entire night outdoors, after all.

Tartaglia remained imperious to the change in schedule, tucked close and safe to Capitano while they rode into a split path that led away from the main road. It was a short distance from the start of the path to the clearing. The city glittered like a breathing sea of stars beneath them, and Capitano came to a stop right in the middle of the grass-filled spot. If not for the general isolation of the hill they were on, the clearing likely could’ve been a good picnic spot for families and couples. The view of the undisturbed sky, bright city and surrounding hills was stunning, regardless of the eerie silence that blanketed nature with its touch.

Tartaglia relaxed around him as Capitano nudged the kickstand into place and leaned back, planting both of his legs firmly on the ground to stabilise their risky position. It wasn’t an entirely brainless ordeal, but when they were stationary, Capitano trusted himself to hold Ajax right where he wanted him — settled comfortably on his lap, leaning on the curve of the black leather seat of his bike. It made Tartaglia’s hip jut upwards, angled to press onto Capitano’s waist perfectly. He was exactly where he belonged.

“S’pretty,” Capitano stated, running a hand down Tartaglia’s side.

“Are we…” Tartaglia pushed back, moving to look up at him. “…did we arrive?”

Capitano frowned, yet a closer look revealed why Tartaglia seemed completely clueless about the detour. His pupils were completely blown out. There wasn’t a hint of light within his azure eyes, a general lack of awareness and being lost in the sensation revealing itself instead.

“Did I do good?” Tartaglia asked as he rested his chin on Capitano’s chest, peering up from his lashes like he was drunk on the possibility of it. “I didn’t disappoint you, right, Cap?”

Capitano offered a hand to Tartaglia’s face, palm facing forward, and watched with amazement at how Tartaglia leaned into his touch, nuzzling into his hand with a listless smile on his lips, eyes closing in complete and utter trust. The chill of the night barely compared to the warmth settling in his chest. He was begging for Capitano to take and shower him with praises. Swept off his feet and stolen away from the hustle and bustle of the nightlife, Tartaglia — despite knowing the dangers of the city, of the blood spilt on Capitano’s hands — placed his life and body on a silver platter just for him.

A naive and dangerous move to make, had it been anyone else.

“You’re doing exceptionally well, pup,” Capitano said, unable to keep the tenderness away from his voice. It was impossible to deny himself both emotionally and sexually. A throb deep in Tartaglia’s heat and the prickle of desire and the heat that was gathering in him asked for priority, anything other than sitting there and waiting. “I believe a reward is in order.”

Tartaglia melted further at the praise, rumbling from deep in his chest like he was trying to purr and preen at his words. He was so easy to please. But maybe, that was the point — things were easy with Tartaglia for a reason. The relief and the release that came with getting to take care of someone else, guiding them and putting them into place; what more could he ask for?

Love, his mind provided silently.

“Hah…” Capitano sighed. “You’re fine with anything I give.”

“How can I ever complain, Captain?” Tartaglia drawled out. He sounded as out of it as he looked, blissful and drunk on it — him. “Reward and punishment, both feel sweet when it’s coming from your hand.”

He should’ve known that was how Tartaglia would answer.

“You make it sound like there’s no difference in either.”

“No, no, it’s —” Tartaglia opened his eyes, half-lidded and brimming with a different kind of intent altogether. A mixture of determination, lust and unending greed. “ — I… I like it. Both. All. Anything. Everything you’ve got, sir. It’s hard to explain without sounding like I’m going insane.”

“You don’t have to.”

Capitano dragged his hand down Tartaglia’s face, down his jaw and neck and lingered for a bit on his necklace, tugging at the chain for a second before letting go. It was a reward this time, not punishment. He grabbed Tartaglia’s hip and pulled him more into his lap, adjusting enough to force the last inches of his cock snug inside.

Tartaglia made the sweetest noise against him.

The breathy, higher-toned moan of his was delightful, absolute indulgence solidified into form and given a voice. A single taste, the tension in Capitano’s everything melted away in a slow, burning pace, sliding off his frame, dripping away only to be replaced by a singular expression of mind-consuming pleasure. He needed Ajax the same way the boy needed him.

Settled deep enough to forget any and everything the world threw at them.

Driven by primal urge, Capitano pinned Tartaglia against his bike with one hand alone, pulled back and drove in, pleased by the feel of Tartaglia’s cunt fluttering and giving way around him, trying to suck more of him in. Greed didn’t begin to describe the way his insides quivered and tried to adjust desperately — it had been a week or so since the last time they fucked. As another moan spilled out of the boy’s lips, Capitano made an internal promise to have him crying in pleasure by the end of it. He wanted to see Ajax full, wet and dripping with him. He wanted to see how far the boy’s flexibility went, held down like a sacrificial lamp while he was split open on a cock that should’ve been far too big to be comfortable, let alone pleasurable. Yet, Ajax took it, him, in stride, desperate for the burn and feel of it, begging to take everything, all at once, needing to feel the soreness for days to come afterwards. An easy enough wish to grant, for someone as formidable as the Captain.

The strength that came with his size was often reserved for his foes, or those daring enough to test their limits against him, and once, he had assumed it would be the same for Tartaglia. He had assumed the Eleventh needed one taste, like himself, to get it out of his system, and it was going to be over.

He served as a badge of honour in the Fatui, occasionally, for those who considered themselves brave enough to kneel on his bed and offer a taste he couldn’t refuse.

And Ajax returned, every fucking time with those ridiculously pretty eyes, begging for another taste. And then another, and then another.

Stubborn, beautiful little thing.

Capitano grinded into that heat, finding satisfaction in the way Tartaglia’s expression shifted between pleasure and pain. It was slow, but the stretch alone was substantial, pressing into the deepest parts of the boy with minimum effort. Tartaglia was nice and wet. At this point in their trysts, Capitano had learned to read what each sensation they shared meant, whether the clench that nearly squeezed everything out of him was from pain or whether the firm grip around his length was from an incoming orgasm. If Capitano pressed deeper in the right angle, he’d bump against Ajax’s cervix.

Experience was a hell of a drug to have when it came to someone as addictive as Tartaglia.

But he knew better than to spoil his fun beforehand.

“I know exactly what you mean.”

He started fucking Tartaglia properly after his indirect confession.

‘I feel the same’ was buried in the slow drag out of Tartaglia’s hole before he thrust in that wet heat again, right to the hilt, grinding deep and hard. The bike shook slightly from the pace he set, half-holding and half-trapping Tartaglia while he pounded into him, making the questionable position work seamlessly with the steadiness of his legs and the strength of his arms alone. It was nothing in comparison to the need that burned within him. Anything that stood in the way of him reminding Tartaglia the reason he returned was negligible. He could make Tartaglia forget about everything that wasn’t him — there was no need for him to seek the pleasure he needed anywhere else when he was waiting for him.

If Ajax’s penchant for bloodthirst hadn’t existed, Capitano might’ve offered him something similar to job keeping his home nice and lived in while he spoiled the boy beyond words could describe — tucking him away from everything that could hurt or harm him in the world, just him to have, hold and fuck to his heart’s content.

He was selfish, he knew.

Yet, that selfishness bled into possessiveness from every harsh thrust he forced the boy to take — to take him. Malleable wasn’t the right word, but there was a sick satisfaction in knowing Tartaglia’s insides were trained to mould into his shape, and the reclamation of that ownership, that primal show of possessing and marking the deepest parts of him, was devastatingly sweet. There was a reason they did it raw more often than not. There was also a reason Capitano didn’t fail to stuff Tartaglia full by the end of the night, every time they met. The memory of coming with the tip pressed against his cervix, unloading everything into his womb was awfully compelling, despite the filth and depravity of it that coloured recalling such a moment. Shame, too.

It felt far from right to want Tartaglia this badly.

The feelings within were outside his realm of understanding. It should alarm him, terrify him, even. Capitano was determined and dedicated to a fault. There was nothing that got him to waver and reconsider. Nothing other than a boy with a pretty face and a hero’s name.

Fucked.

That was what he was. Both of them, if he was being more honest. His thoughts centred, as it always did, around Tartaglia and just Tartaglia. Something in him fundamentally rejected anything that wasn’t about indulging in the boy, and that was dangerous in its very roots. To have that much sway over his thoughts, to borrow so deeply in his mind and heart that it was impossible to pry away the pieces of himself that Ajax left behind with every touch —

A test from the world; that was what Ajax was, surely.

When Capitano had thought he lost every reason he could’ve to stay in the world that forced him to live while taking away the people he loved, it gave him a reason to stay with a different person altogether. One who was separate from the conflict and bloodshed of his previous life. One who lived in the present, and also the future, more than he did, even.

Ajax had his place in the Fatui, the same way Capitano did. Despite his position and status, he wasn’t entirely privy to the plans the Tsaritsa had for the boy. No matter how hard he held him, fingers digging into plush skin, just shy of leaving purple-blue bruises behind the day after; no matter how hard he fucked him, thrusting into him over and over again, claiming the most intimate parts of him; no matter how possessive his touch, his kiss, his anything was, it all led to a simple reality.

Tartaglia wasn’t his.

At least, not yet.

He was going to blame it on the height of pleasure clouding his judgement. The jolts, the warmth and the pressure. To speak of arbitrary perfection was beneath him, yet poetry spurned without his consent and it spiralled with the intensity of a raging storm capable of spilling all of his secrets.

The heat penetrated through the layers they wore, it sunk its dagger deep in both of them, pulling them into the abyss of mindless descent. Tartaglia was getting lost in the sensations. He melted in Capitano’s hands, moaning at the unending pace, shaking and trembling and clenching, tempting Capitano with every breath he took. He was so wet. His body sang in a way that resonated to Capitano’s core, almost as if he was trying to coax it out of Capitano — everything he was willing to give, like he had admitted before.

His perfect little vixen.

The only reason Capitano hadn’t latched onto the willing, bare skin of Ajax’s neck was because of the helmet that stood in his way. He could stop, get rid of the offending thing to bite and suck to his heart’s content, but there was nothing in the world that could make him pull out of Tartaglia fully without fucking himself back in. Only an absolute life-threatening circumstance was capable of getting his attention now, and outside of it? How could he stop when Tartaglia was making such wanton noises, pleasure tinged in the laboured, rumbling voice of his, singing a chorus of little ah, ah’s and Captain in seamless harmony. How could he even think about letting go when Ajax had the most tantalising grip on him, begging for more with the hitch of his hips and a tightening clench of his walls. The way his insides massaged Capitano’s cock, giving way to his thrusts and welcoming him in deep, promising nothing but pleasure and dripping warmth — it was mind-numbing.

Capitano wanted Ajax in a way that blurred any rationale out of a casual situationship.

He wanted Tartaglia to taste him every morning, he wanted Tartaglia to remain buried in his arms, pinned in place and secure for the night; he needed Tartaglia to be exactly where he belonged.

Capitano could drown himself in Ajax.

He could forget, briefly, who he was and who he needed to be. The person behind the many different masks he wore after everything died in the ultimate catastrophe was waiting for a simple moment to return from the void in his chest. Beyond the voices of the dead, beyond the echoing ripples of regret, there was a beating thing inside his ribs that craved hope like humanity often did at its worst moments. He was grasping at straws, he knew, but it felt better than being resigned to the reality of having nothing, and no one, again.

It was infinitely better to bury himself in the pleasure that connected him to another soul, one who craved him deep enough to alleviate the hurt.

“Captain.” Tartaglia’s moans spoke of his title with the tenderness reserved for his real name.

Capitano was used to it, and he preferred it in most situations, but it was starting to grate against his ears a little. Not much, but enough for him to want to hear that pretty voice say his actual name, the very same he thought was useless moving forward, because Khaenri’ah was a burned and buried nation now.

The years that passed had cemented the fact despite his wishes for the contrary.

Who Capitano was as Thrain had lost relevance.

And yet…

Was this what the many ballads about love spoke of?

The motivation to continue on endlessly, the need to know every little nock and corner of another’s soul. The mindless devotion fell into place almost seamlessly here. He wanted to cement his soul in Tartaglia fully. Grind himself deep enough to bruise. Fuck any thoughts that wasn’t about him out of Ajax’s mind, bringing the boy to climax after climax until he knew of nothing but the cock ramming into him, coming very close to rearranging his guts.

Capitano could feel Ajax shuddering around him like he was close. Overstimulation brought with it a promise of pain, and being used so seamlessly, held and moved with one hand alone like a little toy meant to be filled to the brim — it must’ve been enough. Capitano wasn’t going to let Tartaglia have a moment to catch his breath.

This was him.

His desires spilled through the gaps with only one goal in mind. He was going to have Tartaglia, in every way possible. Capitano angled both Tartaglia and himself to thrust harder, pushing against the spot inside of Tartaglia that made the boy jolt like he was being physically administered a dose of concentrated pleasure. Using the boy was easy, especially when he was so fucking willing. It was getting difficult to think beyond the snug heat that dripped with desire. Every stroke was a bit easier, every thrust reaching deeper, and eventually, with a pace that stretched both of their limits thin, the wide tip of Capitano’s cock nudged against that precious opening inside Ajax, stuffing the boy so thoroughly that he was throbbing against his cervix.

Capitano stopped moving, holding Tartaglia’s hips against his own. He kept Ajax right there as he tried his best not to lose his entire mind, twitching in the deepest parts of him like it was a proof of his claim over him. It wasn’t, but with how tight Ajax always felt around him, he doubted the boy spent his days with anyone else who could satisfy him in the ways he did. The reason Tartaglia always came back for more, the reason Capitano always accepted his return, no question asked — the root of their obsession was painted in similar hues. He was doing his best to not burst right then and there. It would be easy to. Tartaglia was a man straight out of his dreams, with a face and body that edged him on more than anyone else had in the past. A feat in itself to anyone who knew him. He was selective when it came to reoccurring presence for all the right, and wrong, reasons.

“Tartaglia…”

Ajax was holding onto one of his biceps with a vice-like grip, and he barely noticed it before he fully stopped. Pleasure had consumed him, narrowing his focus dangerously to the point that his judgement and awareness was getting hampered.

Yet, it did not alarm him as much as it should.

“Please…” Tartaglia grunted, digging his nails into Capitano’s skin. “I’m so fucking close, Cap’n. Please.”

His begging was terribly sweet, like the rest of him.

Capitano could sit there and hear him whine and watch squirm the entire night. Force him to be there with him like this until the sun rose from the horizon. If he was any less of a man, he might’ve. It didn’t help that Tartaglia was practically keening to be taken and ordered around, pliant and easy whenever it came to what he wanted.

Giving Capitano so much control.

Flirting with dangerous men, as if there was any safety to be had in blood-kissed hands.

Ajax couldn’t have known that he was the exception, but he swayed his hips and leaned confidently towards Capitano like it didn’t matter. How he ended up, where he ended up — it was all just a game to him. Perhaps that was the reason he caught Capitano’s eyes. A shooting star burned the brightest when it was moments away from being extinguished. And Capitano wanted to hold onto his spark, keeping it alive and breathing within the palm of his hands. An impossible dream, perhaps, but one worth considering.

After all, he believed that no destiny was truly unchangeable.

“Sir.”

His cock twitched at the honorific.

Buried in Tartaglia, it was impossible to deny himself and what the boy did to him.

Ajax was trying to get him going, and the ‘Sir’ in question was far too deep in pleasure to bother hiding what the power dynamic between them did to him. Let him know, let him enjoy. The least he could do was further Ajax’s enjoyment, giving him enough reason to keep staying with him, regardless of how selfish he was about his reasons for doing so.

“I think,” he said, loud enough to slip through the muffle of the helmet before rolling his hips, rutting forward in slow, measured thrusts. “You can come like this.”

It wasn’t enough.

Far from it, really, but Ajax had unravelled and squirted, even, multiple times with only guts-rearranging penetration before. Capitano wasn’t asking for much, was he?

“Captain.”

Discomfort pricked him, again.

The name, his status — in Tartaglia’s voice, it was especially special. But something was different at that moment. He was considering an alternative he never had with anyone else. When Tartaglia talked about toppling down thrones that stood resolutely in the world, he never imagined one of them would be his own.

“Thrain.”

Tartaglia squirmed against him, too lost in his demands to register what he was being told. “Huh?”

“It’s Thrain, Ajax,” Thrain replied, tilting his head to meet Ajax’s gaze head on. “You can use my name when we’re together, like this.”

It took a long second for the realisation to kick in Ajax’s face. Under the moonlight, he was just as beautiful and tempting as before, but there was a different glow about him now, and the red in his cheeks turned a devastating crimson within the blink of an eye.

Everything happened at once.

Ajax came with the loudest moan of the evening, his insides squeezing Thrain impossibly, making Thrain feel the exact twitch, flutter and clench of Ajax’s inner walls as wave after wave of slick poured and drenched him, pulling him closer, deeper, simply begging for every drop of what was reserved for him and only him. It was far too much, and exactly enough. No one could blame him for succumbing to a temptation so sweet.

A single, soul-shaking shudder from Ajax, and it was over, done, the voices in his head screamed to join Ajax in his release, and it was terribly easy to let go. The buildup, the anticipation and how deeply he missed the boy was poured directly inside, gushing hot and thick, with the intent to truly stuff Ajax full. Stars burned in his vision as electric jolts of pleasure exploded and mapped its way up and down his body, making him clumsy with his awareness, but he knew how to handle himself in situations of overwhelm. It was instinct, but he ended up right where he wanted to be, pulling Ajax close and resting his head on his shoulder. His chest shook with effort while the full extent of his orgasm hit him, drawing out the moment to an impossible degree as he throbbed and emptied everything he had in Ajax. All he could think while reaching and coming down the high of it was how much he had missed Ajax. His warmth was not something Thrain could replicate anywhere else. His touch was special in a myriad of ways he couldn’t name. Thrain was holding him tightly, balls-deep, and he still missed Ajax to the point his heart ached.

He was completely enthralled.

And it was devotion in its finest, purest form.

“Thrain.” Ajax’s voice slid through the haze, providing a physical anchor to his spiralling thoughts. Away from the emotional intensity that was starting to warm him from the inside out. “Thrain.”

Ajax said his name, and it felt like coming home.

Ah.

Wasn’t that the whole point of his continued existence?

He’d longed for a place to call his own, despite knowing that Khaenri’ah was never going to exist again. It was reduced to ashes, its people left to wander around the rest of the nations that barely provided any relief from the scars the war put on all of them. He was searching for relief from the memories, from the pain of remembering everything in acute detail. And here it was; the reason he could keep taking a step forward.

“Ajax…” Thrain exhaled.

Ajax must’ve heard something in his voice — the exhaustion, the adoration —and he readjusted, letting go of Thrain’s arms to pull him closer by the neck instead. His embrace was comforting, mimicking the heat of a burning hearth that persisted against all odds, and unlike the fleeting whispers of dreams and memories of a bygone nation, Ajax was real.

He was real.

Capitano came down from his high unceremoniously, leaning more into Ajax’s warmth. He refused to hide more of himself when it was easier to let go and simply be. The devastation of his emotional realisations could be dealt with later, for now, he wasn’t going to taint the memory of a flawless night with his deliberations. Things didn’t need to be complicated. The world came back into focus, and he could finally assess the harm he’d done with a clear mind and sharp eyes.

It was cold.

Snow drifted down around the edge of his vision, white flakes coming to a slow rest over both of them. They had spent longer than they should outdoors. Both of them were used to the cold, and while Thrain was glad Ajax had his jacket for warmth, it wasn’t going to be enough if they didn’t get moving. Snezhnayan snow could amp up within a matter of minutes. It was almost comical how quickly his brain snapped from the post-nut fog to focus on getting his boy out of the cold into somewhere comfortable, preferably his bed.

Capitano tried to lean back, stifling a groan as he felt the mess they made spill between them. Good Gods. It was sticky, slightly disgusting, but it stirred something in him regardless. His half-hard cock twitched with renewed interest.

He was far from satisfied.

However, Ajax refused to let go of him. He clung harder, refusing to budge, and it would’ve been very, very easy to pull him off, if Capitano wanted to. But he didn’t.

“Tartaglia.”

Ajax’s grip turned into steel.

“Ajax.”

Snow was starting to fall down harder.

“We need to go home.”

Ajax relaxed, allowing Thrain to ease both of them down onto his bike. He was waiting for some sort of protest, or a contradiction to what he just said, but Ajax didn’t seem to mind seeing Thrain’s house as his own. It was going to be a long, long night if everything went according to plan, and Thrain wasn’t going to let him leave without satisfying that urge that spurned both of them on.

He kickstarted the bike to hurry along.

Ten-minutes, and they’d finally reach home.