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“I’m always surprised when you do this, you know?”
Barbatos- No , Venti, Dahlia corrected himself as the god’s hand cradled his face oh so carefully and lovingly, making the worry and all the stress of the day vanish from his mind, letting only the pure desire of being held, of being loved by the one he absolutely adored.
“...Why? Is it that weird, petal?” Venti’s voice is like honey, and his hands are a cure for the pain and fatigue of his body.
“You have lived among mortals for millennia, my liege. Yet you still find me so fascinating that you’d rather hold my face for hours.” Dahlia sighed, closing his eyes. The archons’ hands were always warm, even when the room temperature and Dahlia’s own body was freezing. “Tell me, am I that different from the rest of the people you have met?”
“You know, dearest, the fact that you’re my herald, the only messenger of Barbatos should speak volumes of what you mean to me, don’t you think, dah-li-a ?”
The pink-haired male lowered his eyes, incapable of keeping it on the blue-green gaze of the god he adored.
What a blasphemy.
“I should put a stop to this, I shouldn’t be with you like this, on keeping this-”
“Why not?”
“It’s improper.”
“Then, if that’s what you believe, why haven’t you done so, my friend? You’re still melting in my hands. Is it a temptation that sweet that you refuse to run away from me?” Dahlia opened his mouth to defend himself, but his excuses were silenced by the soft lips of the bard in front of him.
“Sweet, sweet, my sweet dahlia…”
Seeing Dahlia so docile in his hands, so fragile, Venti wondered if this was what the old lizard meant when he talked about his fascination with the young harbinger from snezhnaya, but he was not like Zhongli at all, he was not once a predator living by instinct, after all he once was just a wind.
Then, why?
Why was this particular mortal so appealing to him?
To have his frail body, his adoration, his love yet wanting to taint him, to use him… but never discard him.
“Why, indeed.” Was all that what Dahlia answered, before grabbing his face to kiss him once more . His lips were sweet, tasty as the apples they both had shared moments ago, fresh fruit that the deacon had bought specifically for him. “Why can't I just say no to you?”
“Is it because of your devotion? You want to be held in the arms of the god you adore?”
“I would rather be in the arms of the bard that I love.”