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Diluc doesn’t want to know why he’s there. He wouldn’t tell him even if he asked, anyway. He won’t ask what Dottore’s doing in Liyue because it’s none of his business. If he were in Mondstadt, they would be having a different conversation.
But this time, Diluc’s caught the silhouette of a tall man in a ridiculous white coat at the bottom of the Northern Bank’s red stairs and for a second, he was frozen in place.
He’d stared blankly at Dottore until the man’s eyes locked on him, until a smile appeared on the visible half of his face as he walked towards him and it was like watching it happen in slow motion. If his palms are sweaty, it’s simply because the weather’s warmer here.
Diluc doesn’t believe in fate. He could have left anytime. No unspeakable force, no god is anchoring his feet to the ground while a Fatui Harbinger walks towards him with scandalous intentions.
Again, this isn’t Mondstadt, where it would be a hassle to explain what he’s doing with Il Dottore of all people. This is Liyue, a neutral ground where most people don’t know his name and the few people who do probably wouldn’t look at him twice without his usual attire – the weather really is warmer. He intended to blend in but it took Dottore a single glance to recognize him.
Of course it did.
This is Liyue. And they don’t really need to have a conversation. All Dottore does is tilt his head towards him, and Diluc’s the one who whispers something in his ear and the doctor doesn’t flinch – he doesn’t.
No one’s ever forced Diluc to follow him, but that doesn’t mean he never felt bad about it before or afterwards.
But no one can stop him either. No one’s there to stop him, anyway. No one he would listen to.
It’s been a while since the last time they were alone in a room, Diluc could almost say he forgot about it entirely if only he could, but there’s no way.
There’s no way he’s forgetting the touch of a man he wished he didn’t crave this much, there’s no erasing the memory of one of the worst things he’s done in his life, and repeated again and again and again.
No words are spoken, and Diluc’s grateful for it. He’d rather not say something he’ll regret. He’d rather not give him more reasons to believe he’s got power over him.
Does he feel powerful, when Diluc’s the one who reaches for him first, as soon as the door’s shut ? Does he feel in control, when his hands cup his face and his lips claim his like they belong to him ?
History repeats itself over and over, and Diluc expects this chapter to be exactly like the last one, but a single kiss is enough to make him pause, because something’s different.
He hasn’t pushed him against the door, and it’s not just because this one is made of thinner material than that library in Zapolyarny place where this whole shitshow started.
They don’t say anything, but when Diluc removes his mask, there’s something in Dottore’s eyes that catches him off guard. He’s missed him.
How long has it been ?
Enough for Diluc to sometimes look out of his windows and imagine the snow covered trees around Zapolyarny palace, instead of the tranquil vines of the Dawn Winery, and cold lips on his neck and the weight of someone he should have never invited into his bed.
Dottore will never tell him he’s missed this – but he can feel it when he kisses every inches of his skin with both his lips and his hands. A hand slides into his, caressing the inside of his wrist in a movement that makes Diluc’s heartbeat pick up.
He’s disoriented – this isn’t how they usually do things, he’s not used to this much softness but he doesn’t hate it. He doesn’t exactly hate how Dottore holds him like a lover and not like an enemy-turned-into-something-else, doesn’t hate how his lips carefully map every inch of his chest.
He knows Dottore’s doing this to make him lose his composure. He threads a hand into his hair all the same.
Everything’s going so slowly, Diluc realizes in a haze. He wouldn’t mind being there for hours.
“Who did this to you ?”
Diluc blinks. It’s the first words he’s heard him say in months.
Dottore looks up at him and doesn’t remove his hand from the scar he’s been tracing on Diluc’s left side. He looks at bodies everyday, for reasons Diluc doesn’t want to think about right now, but the fact that he can notice that this scar wasn’t there the last time he held him in his arms almost makes him blush.
What’s it to you , he would have replied a few years ago.
“It was one of your underlings. I was on patrol near –“
He stops mid-sentence because this is way too strange, because there’s no reason to tell this tale to his mortal enemy, and yet.
There’s no reason to be in bed with a Fatui Harbinger either, but here he is.
“Near ?” Dottore asks, and grips Diluc’s waist tighter.
“Starnatch Cliff.” Diluc’s stumbling over his words – Dottore’s fingers on his skin makes it harder to concentrate.
“What did he look like ?” he mutters with an edge to his voice, like’s he’s going to walk out of here to find him once they’re done.
But Diluc would much prefer to keep him there, because the last time he’s walked out of the room he didn’t see him again for more than a year and he’s not ready to ask him to stay.
“I don’t remember,” Diluc says, and really, he doesn’t.
He grabs Dottore’s face between his hands and kisses him with urgency, because he’s desperate for something familiar, something that doesn’t make him feel this vulnerable, like he’s just let the doctor cut him open. Dottore pulls him closer and gives him exactly what he wants.