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“Zhong- mmph, haah, gods,” the younger whines, hips bucking as his thighs twitch.
The head under his skirt and between his legs pays him no mind, lapping at his swollen clit, and he moans again, legs kicking out. “I- you can’t-”
Zhongli closes his lips around the stiff nub and suckles.
Venti’s vision whites out, his senses numbing as he arches with a hoarse cry, fingers scrabbling on the table for purchase, before one hand comes down to grip at the silken material of his skirt, trying to grip the hair beneath.
Vaguely, he’s aware that he gets even wetter, his slick dripping from his entrance at the pleasure. His mouth falls open, back arching into and against Zhongli’s persistent mouth, soft cries falling from his lips as his thighs shake from where they press against Zhongli’s head.
“Nngh,” the bard huffs, breathing shallowly, cheeks flushed and lightheaded. “Hah, ha.. Zhong- Zhongli, that’s enough…”
Slim fingers slide into his tightness easily, his slick providing an easy entry, and he whines, jerking at the continuous licks at his clitoris.
“Barbatos,” Zhongli murmurs against his skin, and Venti whimpers, quivering as sharp teeth nip at the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs.
His brain muddles.
“M-Morax,” he protests breathlessly when the fingers start moving, spreading his inner walls and twisting.
Zhongli lifts away from under his skirt, after a last nip. “You’re so beautiful.”
Venti flushes, hissing when Zhongli curls his fingers, digging into his sweet spot, hips jerking in protest. “Ah- gah, don’t- don’t say it like that!” He reaches down to grab at Zhongli’s wrist, but lets go at the disapproving look given to him. “I’m- it’s- sensitive, Morax, I’m-”
Zhongli licks his lips clean of the clear juices staining his lips from Venti’s arousal earlier, and the younger god bites back a sound of desperation at the action.
Zhongli spreads his fingers, and Venti bites down hard on his lower lip when it brushes against his nerves just lightly.
He thinks he tastes blood, and Zhongli leans up to steal a kiss.
Venti pants, unable to keep at the deeper kiss the other Archon is trying to get him to reciprocate, kissing sweetly at the side of his lips, catching his mouth, licking into it when Venti tries to take deep breaths.
In between all of this, a third finger pushes its way into Venti’s unsuspecting pussy.
At that, the younger god makes another high, desperate sound that’s swallowed by a rougher kiss, Zhongli’s free hand grabbing at his chin now to hold him still as he devours his mouth and unwinds him on his fingers.
Venti clutches at Zhongli’s clothes, gyrating his hips down now, breathing shakily between the short breaks for air Morax allows him from time to time.
When Zhongli presses too hard into his nerves, Venti tears away from his kiss to give way to a low cry tearing from his throat.
“Barbatos,” The Geo Archon mutters, nuzzling into his neck, pressing more kisses there that has Venti unwittingly tilting his head for more.
“Don’t- don’t act so loving with me when you’re, ah, literally fucking me on your fingers!”
Zhongli chuckles against his skin, delving his fingers in slowly. “I would like to cherish whatever I have with you before you disappear from my life for another few hundred years.”
Barbatos huffs again, hiding his reddening cheeks by pulling Zhongli close enough that he can’t see his face. “Another few hundred years is what I need to recover from all this, you insatiable blockhead.”
Then he breaks off into a cut-off moan when Zhongli bites at his skin, eyes squeezing shut at the dual sensation inside him and at his neck.
Where he’s sensitive… and where Morax knows he’s sensitive.
Zhongli digs his fingers into his nerves again, and Venti’s thighs close in protest, before they fall open again to accept whatever Zhongli wants to do to him.
“I,” Zhongli starts, before trailing off, sucking a bruise into Venti’s skin.
Venti groans and clutches at him, hips rocking slightly for more. “Y-you?”
Zhongli brushes his nose against his cheek in a very Morax-is-showing-affection manner. Part of Venti’s heart melts, the other part clams up, the last part… just wants to be satisfied.
Venti, after a moment, presses his nose against Zhongli’s cheek, too, for just a second, before he backs away and puts distance between them again.
The fingers in him that had paused for those brief few seconds begin their rhythm again, this time steadier and faster than before.
“You-” Venti moans, “What are you trying to do?”
“Me?” Zhongli echoes, his tone laced with desire but also… warmth, “Nothing. Trying to please my mate.”
Venti chooses to ignore the title for now, his heart pounding for a different reason than the static pleasure coursing through his veins.
“Stars,” Venti breathes, shaking his head slightly when Zhongli nips at his neck again, “I need you- ahaa! Ah! Inside, please, Morax please-”
A hand lifts his skirt, and the other hand vanishes for the briefest second, leaving Venti in confusion, about to protest having Morax’s fingers not inside him — and then a hand slaps down harshly on his folds.
Venti cries out, jerking in Zhongli’s firm hold with those sharp teeth, his senses zeroing down to his throbbing clit and his empty cunt. His slick sprays at the hit, wetting Zhongli’s hand, and Venti breathes heavily once more.
“Morax, what—!”
Another harsh spank, this time landing directly on his clit.
To his shame, Venti convulses on air, a shocked cry leaving his lips again as his vision greys out, hot slick dripping from him as he reaches down to finger himself hard to get himself off.
“Fuck- Morax!” The bard cries, rutting his hips against air, and the consultant grants him some relief. Two fingers slide in next to Venti’s own, stuffing him fuller than what he had taken before, and Venti babbles at the stretch, eyes rolling back.
Zhongli guides him into a hard rhythm, curving his palm over the back of his hand and driving their fingers in together, curling on every pull out, forcing Venti to whimper, back arched and eyes rolled back.
“Pretty,” Zhongli notes again, kissing away a stray tear that leaks from Venti’s eyes. “You’re so pretty when you open up for me, Barbatos.”
Barbatos whines, hips still rocking, taking the blunt force of the pleasure-pain. “What a selfish lord,” he tries to snark, failing when his voice cracks.
“I want to remember this forever.” Zhongli says, more to himself than anyone else, really.
Venti opens his mouth to say something else — but his eyes widen when another two fingers from Zhongli’s other hand press at his entrance.
His lips part in a low cry as the two slowly force their way into him, his own fingers sliding out of his hole messily.
Zhongli’s fingers are- bigger than his. They’re bigger. Longer, and bigger. They reach further inside than when he touches himself, the quiet moments in between frantic sobs when he takes in too much energy and needs a way to release all of it without releasing too much wind, stuffing himself full with his fingers, wishing it was someone else, someone bigger, stronger, with amber eyes, a firm grasp and a warm smile…
Morax ducks his head beneath the skirt again, leaving Barbatos to feel for himself what was going on down there.
“Don’t lift the skirt,” the other archon orders him, and Venti freezes despite himself, obediently settling his palms flat against the table and taking in deep breaths instead.
Zhongli is close to his rut. It’s obvious… Venti’s senses are heightened too, in such a close proximity with the man himself. The geo energy has been building up in Zhongli, a frustration at the edge of his warm tone, hinting at a darker desire than he let on, a desire, perhaps, to fuck Venti into submission, to make Venti his mate, to breed him until his instincts are satiated.
None of which coherent Venti and Zhongli would want. (They would never admit to wanting such things with each other anyway, both in fear of losing a certain freedom that comes with being alone — and of fear that the other may reject them entirely.)
So Zhongli settles for marking the Anemo Archon’s unblemished skin.
These marks would not stay unless Barbatos himself wished it to. A mating claim would, whether the other god wanted it or not… a darker impulse in Zhongli’s senses urged that he take his prize, to claim what was always meant to be his — in his mind, anyway.
He could never take that freedom away from the God of Freedom. A bard who loved freedom more than he loved anything else, or anyone else.
Venti runs his fingers along the crown of Zhongli’s horns that have sprouted since the few moments he’d been distracted by thoughts.
Then he’s successfully distracted once more when the four fingers hook on the sides of his cunt and pull slightly, spreading him open for view.
Venti gasps, clenching down hard, before one side of the pressure disappears.
He holds his breath, waiting as Morax shifts under his skirt once more, his breath fanning over his sensitive flesh.
There’s a long, slow lick from his asshole to his clit that causes Venti to shiver with a breathless moan, before the tongue slides into him as well.
Venti squirms as Morax’s tongue (which have become more snake-like, befitting that of a half-transformed dragon) dips into him again and again, as if trying to drink his juices.
All he can do is lie down there and take the near overwhelming sensations with low gasps for air, head thrown back against the table as Morax eats him out, thankfully ignoring his tormented clitoris for the most part.
Until Barbatos decides he can’t take the teasing anymore, squirming in Morax’s firm grip of his thighs, huffing. “Morax- please, I wanna c- cum,” he whines, voice pitching higher towards the end when Morax scrapes his teeth lightly over the bundle of nerves at the apex of his sex.
Morax pulls away after one last, thorough lick, amber eyes meeting his dazed green ones as he bucks his hips a little desperately, fingers itching to grip Morax’s hair and guide him to where he needs him most, spreading his thighs, trying to entice the qilin into taking him.
There’s more movement under the skirt, and then- oh.
Barbatos makes a low sound when three fingers slide into him, clenching down against the intrusion, more pleas falling from his lips.
Slowly, the fourth joins, until all that’s left out of his sopping cunt is Morax’s thumb, and the older god scrapes the rough pad over his clit teasingly.
“Morax,” Barbatos whimpers. He makes more noises of need, as though unable to form words anymore, and Morax grants his silent plea.
The fingers fuck him slowly, not enough for Barbatos to feel any overwhelming stimulation, pulling out and thrusting in shallowly over and over.
It keeps Barbatos on the edge, the thumb stroking at his clit from time to time, though he does not dare reach down to grant himself the pleasure of climax.
“D-do I need to beg for you- to liste- ah, listen?” Barbatos hisses, rocking his hips down impatiently. Pathetic tears leak from the corners of his eyes from the lack of relief, frustration at not being granted what he wants.
Morax leans down to brush their noses together, the action both comforting and mocking. “If you would like to, I have no objections.”
Barbatos grips the horns that have sprouted on the crown of Morax’s head, tugging at them harshly.
He delights in Morax’s small wince, the further dilating of his pupils, the heavier geo power settling over him now.
“Just.. just fuck me.” Barbatos says, face flushed and brows furrowed as Morax’s fingers curve in him carefully.
“I would like to try something,” Morax replies, brushing their lips together. “Trust me, dear wind.”
“When have I… ever doubted you?”
Morax chuckles against his lips before trying to steal another kiss. “Alright then.”
There’s more pressure at his entrance, Barbatos thinks vaguely as Morax kisses him slow.
And then it breaches him.
Morax’s thumb slides in next to his other fingers, and Barbatos has to pull away to make a rough sound, his eyes wide as he tries to look down. “Morax- what!”
“Trust me, remember?” Morax murmurs, gripping Venti’s hip to ensure he doesn’t move too much, his fingers staying buried in him.
For the first time, something not unlike fear dances into the anemo archon’s eyes. “You- you really…”
“I need,” Morax grunts.
“Stars,” Barbatos says under his breath, breathing erratic, but after a few hesitant moments, his legs fall open for Morax’s easier access.
At that, the geo archon makes a deep sound of approval that rattles through Barbatos, settling deep in his bones and melting his resistance.
The hand half in him wiggles slightly, and Barbatos feels every movement when it starts — the experimental short, puncturing thrusts, the twisting ones that force him to spread even wider, forcing him to bite back moans of both pain and pleasure, and the slow grinding ones that causes the most nerves to spark behind his eyes.
Morax litters his neck with bruises, his lips and teeth abusing the soft skin that Barbatos keeps intact. Barbatos keens when a particularly harsh grind presses into his sweet spot, his toes curling and fingers digging into Morax’s shoulders.
It takes awhile of messy grinding before- before-
Before Morax’s hand finally seats itself deep in Barbatos.
He doesn’t realise he’s crying until Morax kisses his tears away.
He can feel him — inside. He can feel him inside, each minuscule movement, like when Morax twists his hand just slightly, Barbatos cries out and reaches down to rub at his clit.
“Morax- Morax please,” The younger whines, his gaze unseeing as Morax slowly gyrates his hand inside the smaller being. The wind god’s fingers dance over his clit quickly, though he is so wet that his fingers keep slipping and he grips Morax’s wrist with his other hand.
Morax is barely controlling himself.
“Barbatos,” he says again, that name, and Barbato’s eyes snap up to his. “I need. Please.”
Barbatos nods.
Morax seats him back down on the table, ensuring the younger is comfortable, before he attempts to flex his fingers inside him.
At that, Barbatos makes a sound, before he presses the back of his hand against his mouth. “Sensitive,” he mumbles, averting his gaze as another blush blooms in his cheeks. “You’re not the one with a whole hand inside you!”
Part of Morax preens at being able to take his potential-mate’s childish composure apart.
A few moments pass with the older god wiggling his fingers around tentatively, before-
Morax twists his hand sharply.
Barbatos’ eyes widen, his mouth falling open with a drawn-out cry as his hot cunt clamps down on him hard. He gets even wetter, spasming around his hand, whining and panting involuntarily as Morax continues to shift and prod inside of him.
“Oh, fuck—!”
Slick drips all over Morax’s hand as he brings his other hand up to rub at Barbato’s clit roughly, causing him to writhe while impaled on his hand, cries tearing from his throat.
It takes Barbatos a few minutes to come down from his high, legs no longer strong enough to be held open, sagging limply against the table. Morax has half-crawled onto the table itself to press a kiss to the younger’s cheek, never stopping the continuous moving of his hand.
“Morax…” Barbatos groans, legs twitching on every grind, panting as he reaches up to pull at Morax’s horns again. “Why.. hah, are you so in.. insatiable? Feels like I can’t walk or fly for weeks now.”
“Hmm.” Morax leaves a kiss on his nose. “Perhaps it is the rut. Perhaps it is you.”
He tugs one of Barbatos’ braids back in retaliation, and Barbatos flushes.
“Just a little more, little wind,” the adeptus says softly, as though Barbatos isn’t literally fucked out on his hand.
Then- then-
Barbatos feels the hand inside him move. More than it did previously.
With a yelp, he tries to sit up, grasping loosely at Morax’s slick stained wrist in protest, but the action just serves to grind the knuckles into his nerves.
Barbatos moans involuntarily, a keening sound deep in his throat, breathing hard once more as his head drops to catch his breath.
Morax presses him back down with a firm hand on his abdomen, and then too late Barbatos notices the power gathering beneath Morax’s palm, alarm widening the wind god’s eyes.
“Morax- Wait—!”
Pure geo energy bursts through Morax’s palm that’s pressing into Barbatos’ abdomen. His hand inside curls into a fist, scraping deliciously against the younger’s tight walls, wringing another orgasm from him, this time near-painful.
Barbatos wails.
He cries, jerking as Morax starts fisting him, fist pulling at his poor entrance, the geo energy infiltrating his senses and overcoming his weaker anemo energy. His strength had been sapped from the number of orgasms Morax had gotten him to go through, the markings on his body bleeding gold against than the usual light blue-greens of anemo.
Each pull and push of Morax’s fist inside of him drags a rough moan from Barbatos, his throat raw. Morax’s knuckles grind into his sensitive walls, sliding against his nerves, setting his body ablaze with a delirious haze.
By the time Morax pulls his fist out, forcing Barbatos to stretch around the thickest part, Barbatos can barely focus on him anymore.
Morax sheds his own clothes quickly, and then nearly rips Barbato’s skirt in half in his haste to remove it.
Barbatos’ eyes flick down briefly to Morax’s cock, the golden veins running along it, and that crazily good shape that always managed to hit right.
Has anything changed these few hundred years?
When Morax pulls Barbatos down to the edge of the table and turns him around such that half of him is hanging off the ledge, a blunt but firm head pressing against his loosened and swollen entrance, Barbatos decides that he’ll find out.
Morax slides in easily.
The stretch burns, with Barbatos whining about the overstimulation and his soreness, as Morax sinks in deeper with every passing second, driving the younger high on his tiptoes in a brief attempt to escape the overwhelming pressure.
Morax allows him no space for escape, fingers digging into his hips, dragging him back down until their hips meet and Barbatos is impaled on his cock, the younger god gasping and trembling against the table.
Morax grasps at his thighs, spreading them and using them as leverage when he begins fucking Barbatos in earnest.
Barbatos’ core spreads wide for him again and again — finally, after all these years of forgetting what it felt like to mate with the anemo archon, Morax could recall once more.
The little wind squeals and whimpers as Morax pounds him, grinding deep and fucking him hard, watching as the other archon tries to lift on his elbows, only to fall back down from how rough he is being.
Perhaps he should be slowing down, but Morax can barely think through the lust-filled craze induced by his rut.
The tight and wet sleeve around him is all he needs in life, Morax thinks, albeit more than a little stupefied by the needs and desires of his cock and his body.
Only when a hand slaps weakly at him does he notice that Barbatos is trying to get his attention.
His hips barely slow down, though he does move up and cover the younger’s body with his own, caging him between his arms. His nose tucks behind Barbatos’ ear, scenting him and biting at the skin there as his hips drive relentlessly into the younger god’s.
“Gods, f-fuck,” Barbatos moans brokenly, scarely able to much other than breathe and curse from how much Morax is forcing him to take.
It’s barely a minute later that Barbatos seizes up on his cock once more, eyes rolling back into his head from the force of his orgasm.
It takes a lot longer for Morax’s own pace to miss a beat, grabbing Barbatos hard enough to bruise as he fucks into the heat that takes him so well, his balls tightening.
He moans a name, far too gone to know which, but he stutters when a small hand grabs at his horns again, his attention attempting to shift back to focus.
Someone is calling him, he thinks, as his hips snap into the other’s.
He flips the person over, and that should be what the person wants, because he gets a rewarding “yes” moan, or plea, in return.
Small hands tangling in his hair guide him forward, and their lips connect just as he presses in one last time, a deeper whine leaving his lips as his balls draw up tight and he starts cumming in a (poor) attempt to breed his mate.
His mate pulls at his horns again, his heat tightening almost painfully tight around him. Morax rocks his hips into the smaller’s, and only then do his eyes focus to catch the sight beneath him: Barbatos’ eyes filled with tears, a dark flush to his cheeks, his mouth open as he pants, filled with the geo energy from Morax’s seed.
His legs are spread wide open, allowing Morax to slot himself easily between them, pelvis flush to each other, and- oh, Morax is seeding his womb.
The younger makes a low sound in his throat, brows furrowing as he takes all the seed Morax gives into his womb, eyes crossing and stars dancing in his vision at the heavy energy filling him within.
“Morax…” he slurs, barely even having the energy to raise his arm.
Morax kisses him again, because he wants to.
Barbatos makes a sound of half-hearted protest, twitching as Morax’s hips grind in again.
Morax hears himself whisper against Barbatos’ lips before taking another kiss, and another, and another…
Barbatos passes out soon after, too tired to do anything else.
By the time Zhongli’s rut ends, Venti thinks he can sleep for another few hundred years.
“I am so sore!” He complains, squirming as Zhongli tries to cuddle him in apology.
“Sorry, I didn’t think it would be so powerful this time.” The qilin says, tone apologetic, but mirth and pride and warmth swells in his eyes, and Barbatos flushes lightly. “Must be because I have you by my side again.”
“…Stop trying to flatter me, you know that doesn’t work!”
Zhongli merely hums in return, as if dismissing Venti’s words. He manages to catch Venti and drag him flush against him, before attempting to sooth his muscle aches by rubbing circles into his back.
Venti moans when Zhongli presses into the sore spots he got from being fucked against the table, wincing as the older starts massaging in that area. “I-If I didn’t know, ah, any better, I’d think you’re doing this- hah, just to hear me moan.”
Venti feels him smile against his hair. “Perhaps.”
Fuck, fuck, he’s going to be delirious.
It’s so heavy. Why is geo energy so heavy?
His mouth falls open and he vaguely realizes that he’s drooling, his body trying to accept the geo energy that clashes against his own anemo.
Morax pumps his hips, and Barbatos barely bites back another whine. His poor throat was raw from screaming and crying, tear stains tracking down his hot cheeks and his insides feel scrambled.
Morax presses even closer then, leaning down over him after Barbatos moans his name.
Oh, fuck. Full. Too full, too much energy—! He can’t take this. He can’t-
Lips press against his own, the sweetness of the kiss a welcome distraction from the feeling of his womb being filled with the opposite energy, though he makes a sound low in his throat from the lack of consistent air flow, breaking away to gasp after a few seconds when the hips grind into his again.
Barbatos barely gets the chance to process Morax’s words.
“I love you, little wind.”
Morax kisses him again, and again, and again, prying sweet moans from his mouth, stealing his air from his lungs and- his heart.
The world blacks out.