[funny, how indispensable a harbinger has proven to be.
and perhaps it shouldn't be, given all that harbingers are (allegedly) capable of. kaeya has heard the rumors—and has thus amassed a carefully curated collection of them, a majority of which center upon one harbinger in particular. understandable, really. far be it from kaeya to turn a blind eye to the threat currently waltzing in and out of mondstadt's gates as he pleases...
...but far be it from kaeya to ignore a wonderful, ah, "business" opportunity.
or: the treasure hoarders have grown bolder, in recent months. there are far too many camps for even someone as industrious as kaeya to handle alone—and childe, as it turns out, is a wonderful mix of eager for battle and eager for attention. kaeya's attention, anyway, which kaeya oh-so carefully doles out as they continue working together. a brief brush of fingers here; a meaningful look there; the occasional kiss, always ending with a laughing kaeya pulling away well before childe would like him to.
(what can kaeya say? it's a fun game to play.)
but kaeya is, unfortunately, only human—which is why, as he lingers by the bar in this backwater tavern, he finds his eye continually wandering back to the red-haired man currently regaling the regulars with some tale or another. a fight, kaeya is sure. possibly even the fight from a few hours' before, though taking down that treasure hoarder camp wasn't especially difficult; kaeya barely had to lift his sword before childe was cutting a path straight down the center of, and wasn't that something? wasn't that something.
now, however: a hum. kaeya's gaze drifting from childe's shoulders to the dip of childe's waist, thinking about everything and nothing—before abruptly turning back to the bartender, signaling for a second drink. two of them, actually, because as childe ends his tale—with a flourish, of course, which is met with (drunken) applause—kaeya catches his eye, offering him the smallest of smiles over the rim of his glass. come here.
childe does.
and maybe it's the (middling) wine he's already polished off? maybe it's childe himself, blood-splattered and glowing, practically glowing. the bartender sets both drinks on the bar behind him, and kaeya doesn't even bother to turn around; he's too busy stretching his free hand to childe's chest, running his fingers along that bright red scarf.]
Well, well. Aren't you popular. [kaeya's voice is amused, but low. barely audible over the din of the tavern—which, of course, is by design; he rather hopes childe leans just a bit closer as he continues.] I thought you might be thirsty after giving such a long speech.
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and perhaps it shouldn't be, given all that harbingers are (allegedly) capable of. kaeya has heard the rumors—and has thus amassed a carefully curated collection of them, a majority of which center upon one harbinger in particular. understandable, really. far be it from kaeya to turn a blind eye to the threat currently waltzing in and out of mondstadt's gates as he pleases...
...but far be it from kaeya to ignore a wonderful, ah, "business" opportunity.
or: the treasure hoarders have grown bolder, in recent months. there are far too many camps for even someone as industrious as kaeya to handle alone—and childe, as it turns out, is a wonderful mix of eager for battle and eager for attention. kaeya's attention, anyway, which kaeya oh-so carefully doles out as they continue working together. a brief brush of fingers here; a meaningful look there; the occasional kiss, always ending with a laughing kaeya pulling away well before childe would like him to.
(what can kaeya say? it's a fun game to play.)
but kaeya is, unfortunately, only human—which is why, as he lingers by the bar in this backwater tavern, he finds his eye continually wandering back to the red-haired man currently regaling the regulars with some tale or another. a fight, kaeya is sure. possibly even the fight from a few hours' before, though taking down that treasure hoarder camp wasn't especially difficult; kaeya barely had to lift his sword before childe was cutting a path straight down the center of, and wasn't that something? wasn't that something.
now, however: a hum. kaeya's gaze drifting from childe's shoulders to the dip of childe's waist, thinking about everything and nothing—before abruptly turning back to the bartender, signaling for a second drink. two of them, actually, because as childe ends his tale—with a flourish, of course, which is met with (drunken) applause—kaeya catches his eye, offering him the smallest of smiles over the rim of his glass. come here.
childe does.
and maybe it's the (middling) wine he's already polished off? maybe it's childe himself, blood-splattered and glowing, practically glowing. the bartender sets both drinks on the bar behind him, and kaeya doesn't even bother to turn around; he's too busy stretching his free hand to childe's chest, running his fingers along that bright red scarf.]
Well, well. Aren't you popular. [kaeya's voice is amused, but low. barely audible over the din of the tavern—which, of course, is by design; he rather hopes childe leans just a bit closer as he continues.] I thought you might be thirsty after giving such a long speech.
[that was a lot of talking back there, sir!]