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Illuga can’t help but wonder, every so often, what might make a gentlemanly man like Flins tick. A thumb against his plush lip, perhaps, or a fleeting touch to his inner thigh. Maybe he'd need something more forward, like Illuga’s lips against his pulse, his neck, his pretty, sculpted shoulders that Illuga has only seen once, some time ago. His skin would taste like sweat and the chill of winter.
An image of Flins’ lips pressed to the edge of a stein slips into his thoughts, and he concludes that the taste of winter would reach the corners of Flins’ mouth before melting against the heady smoke and warmth of the firewater he’s so fond of. Perhaps his bare touch would be the same: a chilling sort of burn at the first brush of his fingertips, soothed by passionate grasps of Illuga’s waist, his hair, his hips, all sure to leave Illuga with pleasant aches.
As well-mannered as Flins presents himself, Illuga has caught fleeting emotion twitching his calm features—flares of interest as he passes glinting gemstones, glimpses of smugness when he drinks a lightkeeper or Favonius knight under the table, even a flicker of something Illuga is reluctant to name in the midst of battle. Even the most composed individuals can fluster, and Illuga is sure that, under all of Flins’ poise, a greedier, more carnal facet of him waits for someone to drag it to the surface.
Illuga’s traitorous imagination spreads a false version of Flins across his thoughts: on his knees, sleek hair mussed; hovering at Illuga’s back, hands ghosting along his sides as his lips wander; back pressed to his bedframe, lantern-light irises hawk-focused on every roll of Illuga’s hips.
Someone says his name, and reality splinters the images until he returns to himself. The Flagship’s chatter roars in his ears, drowning echoes of Flins’ low laughter and breathy moans. He pitches forward, pressing his warm face into the fabric of his glove as he whines out, “I need to get laid.”
A pause, and then Aether gives a surprised laugh from across their booth. “That’s not at all what I thought would come out of your mouth.”
Illuga doesn’t respond. Instead, he scrubs his hand across his face before lifting his head. He reaches for his stein and raises it to his lips. The final few gulps of mead, crisp and honied, taste nothing like fire or smoke.
“That’s two steins downed, too.” Aether clicks his tongue, adjusting so his ankle balances on his opposite thigh. In his hand, his own cocktail glass has only a sip or two of brightly colored liquid left. Even if he’s drunk far less, the telltale sheen in his eyes tells Illuga that a healthy dose of firewater served as the cocktail’s base.
He shrugs. “If the old man’s gonna force me on a vacation, I may as well let loose a little. I’m not an on-duty captain right now, and I rented a room here anyway, so it’s not like I’m taking the trip to the northern isle tonight.” His hand raises, a silent signal to Demyan. Once Illuga catches the bartender’s eye, they give each other a nod, and he drops his hand.
“Ah, so we’re sticking it to Nikita.” Aether’s lips twitch upward. He tips the glass back, drinking the last of his cocktail.
Illuga watches his throat bob. Even before he’d seen Aether in person, he’d heard people praise the Traveler’s pretty features and vibrant personality. Sketches of him had made their way to Nod-Krai, but none of them did Aether justice: no drawing could capture the spark in his eyes or the mischievously lopsided smile he flashes when at his most confident.
Aether had made his breath hitch the day they’d met, but he wasn’t and isn’t Flins. Illuga has never felt the urge to twine his fingers with Aether’s, nor has he ever wished to draw this friend into his bed. No, that thought has only ever wisped into his thoughts around Flins.
Aether huffs an amused sound and taps Illuga’s hand. “Stop going to other places. We’re drinking.”
Illuga blinks and registers Demyan placing a full stein in front of him. “Thanks,” he says with a dip of his head.
The bartender mirrors him before taking his leave. Illuga’s attention drifts back to Aether, who he notes has a fresh cocktail already lifted to his lips. “I didn’t think you drank.”
Aether lowers the cocktail comfortably to his lap after taking a sip. “Not often,” he agrees. “But Paimon’s with Lauma and the Scions for the night, so I can indulge. At least here people don't think I look too young.” He rests back against the booth’s cushion, eyes glinting with amusement and interest. “So what—or potentially who—has you so pent-up? You did say you needed to get laid.”
Illuga frowns, opening his mouth to respond, but Aether quickly coaxes, voice full of faux innocence, “I’m an honorary member of your squad. We’ve fought side by side.” He even rounds his eyes and bats his lashes.
He internally curses. In the morning, sober him will berate himself for letting his frustration slip to Aether of all people. The Traveler is not Nefer—quick to blackmail and trade the juiciest information—and he’s certainly not Varka—far too loose-lipped and a terrible gossip when drunk—but Aether has his own mischievous streak Illuga doesn’t want to spark up.
Given Aether’s puppy dog eyes, though, there’s no escape without spilling his guts, so he groans. “Fine,” he yields. “But I swear—”
He doesn't even have to continue with some bullshit threat since Aether nods with fervor and mimes zipping his lips. “I won't breathe a word, promise.”
Somehow, Illuga doesn't exactly trust that.
He sighs and drags his tongue absentmindedly across his bottom lip. His attention dips to the stein, and not for the first time tonight, he imagines Flins picking it up with his lithe fingers instead. Raising it to his lips while meeting Illuga’s eyes over the rim. Sipping the alcohol with a pleased hum that would turn Illuga’s insides to mush.
He forces the thought away.
“Have you ever wanted someone you shouldn't?” he eventually asks.
Aether frowns, head cocking to the side. It reminds Illuga distantly of the dog he sometimes sees on Final Night Cemetery. “Define ‘shouldn't.’”
Illuga picks up his mead and takes a drink, letting it wet his drying throat. “Someone I don’t think would ever let me get close. Someone inhuman.”
Realization draws Aether’s lips into a soft “O” shape. Then, his expression softens, his glazed eyes suddenly longing and far away. “I’ve wanted someone like that, yeah. He’s waiting for me back in Liyue.”
Surprise flares in Illuga’s chest, but before he can voice anything, Aether’s eyes return to his, knowing and amused. He raises an eyebrow. “You think you shouldn’t want Flins?”
Illuga makes a strangled noise and sets down his stein. He glances around, checking to make sure no one had overheard. Luckily, few people sit close to their booth, and all of them are consumed with their own drinks and conversations. “How’d you know?” he hisses as he leans in. “I was vague.”
Aether’s expression falls deadpan. “One,” he drawls, lifting a finger, “Flins sucks at pretending to be human. I’m pretty sure he’s the only one who thinks he’s doing a good job.” A second finger raises. “Two, I’m not oblivious.”
“If you knew from the start, why let me talk?” Illuga asks, folding his arms.
“Quality entertainment.”
His eyes narrow, annoyed but not upset. He can’t be, not when the teasing glint in Aether’s gaze reminds him so much of the one he catches in Flins’. “You’re terrible to drink with.”
“Lies and slander,” Aether sing-songs as he waves a hand. He smiles, the wide stretch of his lips endearingly lopsided. “He’s got you done in bad, huh?”
Worse than he could even begin to explain. He groans and sits back, sinking against the cushion as he folds his arms. The alcohol pulses warm in his veins. “I keep trying to be annoyed by all of his teasing, but it actually just makes me want to shove him against a wall and kiss that stupid smirk off his face,” he says, practically a grumble. “I can’t stand it, Aether. We’re colleagues. Friends. He’s… something other than human; I don’t know. My dad would never approve.”
The Traveler makes a noncommittal sound, tapping a finger against his jaw. “Nikita seems like he just wants you happy.”
“Even with his drinking buddy?” Illuga’s shoulders fall further.
“With a loyal partner who supports you and understands your duty,” Aether corrects. “Flins matches that description well.”
Illuga’s teeth sink into his lip and slide, pulling at the skin until it smarts. Aether makes it sound so easy, like all he has to do is find Flins, drag him down for a kiss, and let the rest play out. He wants too much, and there’s a good chance Flins wants nothing beyond what they have now.
Aether sighs and reaches out, pressing the pad of his finger to Illuga’s forehead, dead in the center. “You’re overthinking,” he says as Illuga goes cross-eyed trying to look at where he’s touching.
“And you’re assuming that I have a chance with him.” He huffs and wrinkles his forehead, easing again when his friend retracts his hand.
“Mhmm,” Aether drags out. “Except I’m not assuming; I know. And because I know, I think you should be up front with him.”
Illuga snorts. “And what, ask him politely to fuck me?”
It’s far from a decent thing to say in public, but it’s late, he’s over two steins in, and he’s frustrated to his limit. He doesn’t feel like being the professional Lightkeeper captain right now.
“If that’s what you want from him.” Aether shrugs, unbothered. If anything, he seems a bit more relaxed having Illuga’s guard down for once.
Illuga pushes himself up so he can comfortably nurse his mead again. He takes a deep breath, adjusting his grip on the stein. “I want him to be treated right. Anything else can be secondary so long as he’s happy.”
A fond sort of wistfulness softens Aether’s features. “So this isn’t just being sexually frustrated. This is you being in love with him, too.”
No amount of liquor could have stopped him from blushing and looking away. He feels the heat scale his cheeks and climb along the ridges of his ears. He gulps down more mead to give himself a few extra seconds. “Of course I am,” he mumbles after, thumbing the stein. “Sure, I’ve done some things with other Lightkeepers as stress relief, but Flins is different.” More. Everything. Aether can take his pick.
“Oh?”
Something shifts in Aether’s tone, but Illuga’s too tipsy to waste effort identifying it. Instead, he sighs and rests his head back. “I want to be so selfish when it comes to him. I know I’m just some young captain, but I’m still a man. And Flins makes me happy, so I just want to make him happy, too.” He sighs and clicks his tongue, raising his stein to his lips. “Stupid thoughts, right?”
Illuga hears a contemplative hum behind him and stiffens. It’s followed by Flins’ voice, low and even and, if Illuga didn’t know better, a bit surprised. “‘Stupid’ is far from the word I’d choose.”
As panic bowls him over, his drinking partner tilts his head up to beam over Illuga’s shoulder. “Good to see you, Flins,” he chirps, smile perfectly innocent.
You’re hellspawn to drink with, Illuga thinks, projecting the thought as loudly as he can. Aether doesn’t so much as twitch.
Flins’ coat appears in Illuga’s vision first, followed by the gray of his pants and the pristine leather of his gloves. He swallows thickly before convincing himself to greet Flins properly. “Good evening,” he manages. It takes a beat too long, but he forces their eyes to meet. His heart does a poor little stutter in his chest.
His colleague always looks handsome, but nothing entrances Illuga as quickly as Flins’ smile does. Especially this one, small as always but impossibly fond. Even as it tinges with amusement, it doesn’t lose an ounce of softness.
“Aether,” Flins greets in return. He dips his head to the Traveler before his gaze is back on Illuga. “Young Master Illuga.” Hesitance crosses his expression, so foreign that Illuga barely believes he sees it.
Aether takes that slight pause as his cue to stand, taking his cocktail glass with him. He even reaches across the table and plucks Illuga’s stein from his hand, disregarding the noise the man makes. “I’m tired, so I’ll go settle our tab with Demyan before heading out. I’m sure Flins would happily escort you to your room for the night, though, Illuga.”
He’s not sure whether to throttle Aether or hug him. Either way, his stomach ties itself into knots as he raises robotically to his feet. Flins seems just as taken aback, except he recovers much quicker and nods. “Of course,” he agrees. He holds out a hand toward Illuga, palm upward as his eyes flash with something Illuga surely mistakes as a flame. “May I escort you to your room for the evening, dear Illuga?”
Illuga. Not “young master.” Want warms him from the depths of his stomach to his fingertips as he accepts the hand with his own. “I’d appreciate it,” he says, working to keep his voice level even as anticipation prickles along his skin.
He lets Flins guide him away from the table and toward the back hallway. Illuga glances over his shoulder after a few steps, seeking out Aether to make sure he’s alright. His friend smiles back at him, lopsided and wide and stunning, and mouths, “Enjoy.”