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“Arrested?” Wanderer's eyes widened as he turned to face Buer.
The small archon nodded her head while she attempted to pull her hair into its usual side ponytail. Noticing that she probably wasn’t going to be able to do it on her own, Wanderer stepped over to help. He took the hairbrush from her hand before taking her hair in his free hand.
He brushed her hair gently to the side, gathering it in his palm while Buer explained what she heard. “He was on trial in Fontaine when he was found guilty by the Ortrice Mécanique d'Analyse Cardinale. They believe he is responsible for the disappearance of a young woman. That's all I know, though.”
Wanderer’s fingers paused for only a fraction of a second before continuing their careful strokes through her hair. When his shoulders started shaking, he turned away quickly under the guise of reaching for the ribbon set aside on the table. The corner of his mouth twitched despite himself. The image of that idiot standing in that courtroom, feigning innocence with that insufferably—
A sharp breath escaped him that was dangerously close to a laugh. He covered it with a cough. Buer tilted her head, watching him far too closely for his comfort in the reflection of the mirror.
He straightened, tying the ribbon into her hair. “Why,” he asked, “are you telling me this?”
Buer folded her hands in her lap. “Well, you used to work with him, no? I figured you might like to know.”
Wanderer’s expression smoothed into something unreadable. “You assume quite a lot about me.”
“You don’t care?” she asked gently.
His gaze shifted toward the window, watching as a bird flew towards the nearby tree. “It’s none of my concern,” he said.
“But,” Buer said quietly, “you’re smiling.”
He hadn’t realized he was until she pointed it out. He was smiling but that was because the image of that idiot behind bars was enough to make a grown man smile. Most Harbingers got out of trouble with the law due to their positions, but they typically stayed out of Fontaine because of how strict their laws were.
A part of him didn’t believe that he was guilty for making some woman disappear. The Harbingers aren’t good people but they don’t typically act without reason. The only reason he would make someone disappear was if he was ordered to, but even then the Fatui would be responsible for cleaning it up. Something about all of this felt wrong. Not that he planned to go to Fontaine to prove his innocence or anything.
“It’s ironic is all. That idiot needed some of his ego knocked out of him anyway.”
Wanderer pulled the ponytail tight before letting his hands fall to his side. He muttered a soft ‘there’ and stepped away to let her look at herself in the mirror.
This wasn’t the first time he’s done her hair for her. He often did it when she had to wake up early for stuff because she was not a morning person. And, since Wanderer didn’t need to sleep, he was never tired. So on the days she could barely keep her eyes open, he would help her with her hair and makeup. He even taught her how to do his signature red eyeliner. Although she claimed it always clashed with her eye color so she didn’t like it.
The tiny archon hopped off her chair and landed gracefully on her feet. “I have some work to do around Sumeru. Do you think you can take care of that Withering Zone nearby?”
Wanderer rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms. Leave it up to Buer to ask him to do something on his day off from classes. Not that it would take long, he just didn’t want to do it and with his mind elsewhere now, he really didn’t want to.
Buer called out saying she would see him later tonight but when she returned he was nowhere to be found. All she found was a letter that read: Headed out. Be back soon.
It left her with a million questions but there was one that was louder than the rest. Where did he go?
-
The ocean stretched in every direction until sea and sky blurred together at the horizon. Sunlight danced across rolling waves, scattering fragments of gold over the water whenever the boat rose and dipped with the current. The smell of salt lingered heavily in the air, mixing with damp wood and old rope as the sails billowed overhead.
Wanderer hated traveling by boat. He could have flown but he’d probably only make it halfway before he got tired. Even though he doesn’t need to sleep or eat, he still gets exhausted after having to use his vision for too long.
When his destination finally came into view he approached the front of the boat, placing his hands on the railing. A cool breeze rolled in from the sea and stirred his dark hair. He blinked the water from his lashes as Fontaine finally came into view. Even from this distance, he could see water moving through the city, cascading between levels in a way that made it seem as though Fontaine had been built around the sea rather than beside it.
He’s never been to Fontaine even as a Harbinger. He’s heard stories but he never felt the need to come visit because he found vacations stupid and pointless. As someone who’s been alive for over 500 years, the idea of a week vacation was meaningless in his eyes.
As the boat docked, he wasted no time getting off. The moment the plank was lowered, he stepped onto it and made his way toward the dock, eager to escape the vessel that had trapped him on open water for days. The wood creaked beneath his feet as he descended into the bustling harbor. Almost immediately, he was met with a wave of unfamiliar sights and sounds. Merchants shouted over one another while advertising their goods, sailors hauled heavy crates from ship to ship, and travelers pushed through the crowds carrying luggage and supplies. The scent of saltwater lingered heavily in the air, blending with the smell of fresh fish, damp stone, and oil.
Wanderer's gaze drifted across the harbor as he stepped aside to avoid a pair of workers carrying a large crate between them. Everywhere he looked there were elevated walkways and bridges, and structures stacked upon one another. Fontaine was very different from Inazuma and Sumeru. He wasn’t sure if he liked or hated it.
Ignoring some guy trying to hand him some kind of food, he headed towards the nearest building. Anything to get him away from the smell of salt water and fish. His eyes glazed over the crowds moving through the streets as he searched for someone who looked remotely useful. Finding the prison couldn't be that difficult, right? It was a nation obsessed with law and justice. Surely if he asked the right person, they could point him toward wherever Fontaine kept its criminals.
As he turned down another busy street, a loud voice suddenly rose above the noise surrounding him.
"Extra! Extra! Latest scandal from the Court of Fontaine!" The voice belonged to a young woman standing near a fountain with bright pink hair. Newspapers were tucked beneath one arm while she enthusiastically waved another stack overhead. "Court records released this morning! Fatui Harbinger arrested! Read all about it!"
Before she could even offer Wanderer a newspaper when he approached her, his hand shot forward and snatched it directly from the stack she was carrying. Wanderer's eyes were already scanning the front page, ignoring her gasp of surprise.
Fatui Harbinger Found Guilty By The Oratrice. Sentenced To The Fortress Of Meropide.
Following a highly publicized trial held at the Opera Epiclese, the Fatui Harbinger known as Tartaglia was found guilty by the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale. The defendant has since been transferred to the Fortress of Meropide where he will remain incarcerated.
Beneath that was Tartaglia’s picture from the courtroom during his trial. The bastard looked ready to kill everyone in that courtroom.
He lowered the paper, “what exactly is the Fortress of Meropide?"
The girl immediately brightened. "Oh, that's Fontaine's prison. It’s underwater. The Fortress of Meropide is basically its own city. Criminals get sent down there. Most people don't ever see it."
How wonderful.
He turned on his heel and left without thanking her. If the prison was underwater, he was going to need to find a way down there. But how?
-
Tartaglia sat with his back against the stone wall. Everyone had gone to bed for the night except him and the guards of course. He could hear them muttering to themselves about the fight he caused earlier at dinner.
One of the inmates, an old guy probably in his late thirties, stole another inmate's food who couldn’t have been older than seventeen. Why that kid was even here to begin with, Tartaglia didn’t know. But that didn’t stop him from beating that guy up for taking that kid's dinner.
Unfortunately, starting fights means you get punished, which is why he was now sitting alone in a cell, with nothing but the sound of running water in the pipes above him to keep him company.
Realistically, he could use his Foul Legacy to break the bars and get out. But recently it’s been hard to call upon and ever since he’s been sent here, his connection to the abyss felt extremely weak. He felt extremely weak. Any time he tried to connect to Foul Legacy it just caused him more pain than usual, and he could only hold it for a couple of seconds. There had to be something blocking his connection to the abyss here. He just didn’t know what.
The sound of commotion outside his cell caused the Harbinger to lift his head. The guards who were talking a second ago had gone silent before a door suddenly slammed shut.
He quirked a brow before pushing himself up to his feet. His boots scraped against the stone floor as he crossed the small cell. The dim lanterns lining the corridor casted long shadows through the iron bars, painting uneven stripes across the ground.
Suddenly, he heard the soft sound of bells jingling right before a shadow suddenly appeared in the dark corner of the prison. It stretched across the floor before its owner emerged from the darkness.
Tartaglia instinctively straightened. The figure was smaller than he expected. Their clothing blended easily with the shadows around him, and a large hat casted much of his face into darkness. The dim lanternlight caught only glimpses of pale skin and sharp features.
The Harbinger didn’t recognize him. He didn’t look like a guard. He wasn’t wearing their uniform and he looked too short to be approved as one anyway. They liked their guards tall and intimidating. At least, that's what he had heard from gossip.
“Uh, hello? Who are you?” Tartaglia questioned.
The strange man crossed his arms with a grin as he emerged from the shadows fully, tilting his head up. Indigo eyes met ocean ones with amusement swirling inside them. Crimson red eyeliner decorated the corners of his captivating eyes, and when he tilted his head, Tartaglia realized the jingling sound was coming from the accents on his hat.
“It’s been a long time,” his voice was deeper than he expected. “I can’t lie, seeing you behind bars has got to be the most comical thing I’ve seen all year.”
Long time? What was this guy talking about? They’ve never met, have they? He did seem oddly familiar but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Like it was dancing on the tip of his tongue.
“Did the guards send you to mock me or something? Or… confuse me? I don’t believe we’ve met.” Tartaglia took a single step forward but no more than that.
He tilted his head, the accents on his hat jingling again along with the movement. For someone who’s been in jail for about two weeks now, he still looked sharp as ever. Ocean eyes scanned him from head to toe just like the first time they met. “I’m just a humble wanderer,” he explained, “I heard the news of a Fatui Harbinger being arrested and just had to see it for myself.”
Tartaglia didn’t seem to like that answer very much. “Well, if you came for a show, I’m sorry to disappoint you but you won’t be getting anything. I believe the exit is down the hall to your right.”
“Aww, and here I thought you’d like me to stay for a chat. I heard no one really talks to anyone here besides the occasional fist fight. Although I can’t imagine you’re unhappy about that. Considering that blood lust of yours is forever growing.”
“What the hell are you…? Who the hell are you?”
“A humble–“
“Bullshit,” he cut him off. “I’ll ask one more time. Who are you?”
Ah, how he had missed that sharp tongue of his. He used to threaten to cut it out whenever he pissed him off. He really should have.
“Are you really in any position to be making demands here? You’re behind bars and I’m,” Wanderer held up a key, “holding the very thing keeping you in there.”
Ocean eyes widened as his body froze. His gaze locked onto the small piece of metal dangling carelessly from Wanderer’s fingers. How the hell had he managed to get that? Surely one of the guards must have noticed that it was missing.
For a second, neither of them moved but that was shattered when Tartaglia lunged forward. His hand shot through the bars towards Wanderer but he stepped back out of reach. Tartaglia’s fingers sliced through empty air, missing the key by inches. The prison bars rattled violently as his momentum carried him forward. His shoulder slammed against the iron with enough force to make the entire cell door shake.
A curse slipped from his lips.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Wanderer grinned at the glare he was tossing him through the iron bars. His hands gripped them so tightly his knuckles were surely white under his gloves. “That’s no way to behave, is it?”
“How did you get that? The guards must have put you up to this. Is it because I beat that one guy up at dinner time? He deserved it.” His teeth clenched so tightly his head spun.
Wanderer spun the key on his finger, seemingly bored with his explanation. “I don’t care nor remember asking. If you want me to let you out, you need to make it worth my while.”
“And how am I expected to do that? I don’t even know you. Although,” his ocean eyes slowly took him in from head to toe. He looked as if he was memorizing every detail of him or trying to undress him with his eyes. “You do seem weirdly familiar. Like,” he licked the roof of his mouth, “an old coworker that I avoided during banquets.”
The last thing he did was avoid him during banquets when he was with the Fatui. If anything, he sought him out during those just to bother him. He even once spilled his red wine on his white Fatui coat just so he would have an excuse to get him alone. The night had been spent with the eleventh on his knees doing anything but talking.
He studied the stranger more closely. The feeling of familiarity hadn't gone away. If anything, it had gotten worse. Every time he looked at him, something tugged at the back of his mind.
The Harbinger sighed, closing his eyes as he pressed his forehead to the bars, the cold iron biting faintly against his skin. “Just tell me what you want.”
Wanderer's expression had gone strangely flat, but there was a tension in his shoulders now that hadn't been there before. It almost reminded Tartaglia of a cat whose tail had just been stepped on.
"What I want…" he repeated, sounding almost amused by the question. "You’re assuming I even plan to give it to you. What if I just came to dangle it in your face and then leave? ”
Ocean eyes opened to glare at Wanderer who seemed to only brighten at his expression. Days trapped in this place had already worn his temper thin. The constant exhaustion, the weakness that clung to his limbs, the inability to properly access the abyss… it all felt like a stone pressing down on his chest.
And now freedom was dangling less than ten feet away. Being held by the most irritating and captivating person he had ever met.
"Look," Tartaglia said, gripping the bars again. "I don't know who you are, how you got in here, or why you've decided to torment me specifically. But there’s no way you came all this way just to make a few jokes and leave. So I’ll ask again… what do you want? Power? Mora?”
“Power?”
“I’m merely guessing,” he explained. “You said you know I’m a Harbinger and that title comes with power. Is that what you’re after?”
At first, a small laugh slipped past his lips, and then another, and then another. Until it turned it into him doubling over from his laughter. The sound echoed off the prison walls which seemed to only make it louder. “Power? Power?” he mocked between laughs, “I have more power in my pinky toe now than you’ll ever have in your entire life.”
Tartaglia tilted his head to the side, “care to fight to test it?”
Of course that was what he got out of that. Always seeking a fight, the damn bastard. He rubbed his jaw, “you’re such a fool. Although even I can’t deny that I still wonder how that pretty head of yours works.”
Still? Also… pretty? Tartaglia wasn’t a stranger to people calling him attractive but he’s only been called pretty a handful of times.
Wanderer leaned forward, reaching one hand between the bars and grabbing his face. His nails dug into his freckled cheeks painfully, pulling him forward. He was close enough that he could faintly smell that old cologne that he always hated. It smelled of pine and vanilla, a terrible combo in his opinion. He had told him to change it so many times but he just never listened.
When their eyes locked, all that fury in those ocean eyes faded as something else washed over them. His gaze burrowed into his own while the Harbinger scanned his face. He was probably trying to understand why he felt so familiar but he would never figure it out.
His cold thumb ran across his warm, human skin. He’ll never understand how Tartaglia was always so warm. Not that Wanderer could get cold but he used to seek him out during the winter nights. His body heat was always so comforting to his hollow body.
Tartaglia exhaled slowly through his nose and shut his eyes for a moment, trying to rein in the impatience crawling under his skin. He also didn’t like the way his skin erupted into goosebumps when Wanderer touched him. Every part of him wanted to reach through the bars and snatch the key, even if it meant he’d take his hands off of him. But he knew Wanderer would just step out of reach again.
He decided to try one more time, “tell me… what do you want?”
For a moment, Wanderer didn’t say anything. Instead, he just continued to stare at him as if mulling over something in his head. Then he said, “to make up for something I missed out on before I left.”
“Huh–” a violent gust of wind slammed into Tartaglia's chest hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. His feet left the ground for a brief second before he crashed backward into the stone floor of the cell. Before he could push himself upright, another current of wind rushed through the cell. It wasn't strong enough to throw him this time, but it wrapped around him like invisible hands, tugging at his clothes and hair.
The cell door clicked once, then opened with a slow groan of protesting metal. Tartaglia lifted his head, eyes wide but before he could even get to his feet the heavy iron door swung shut behind Wanderer just as quickly as he had opened it but that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was that Wanderer then threw the key outside the cell, which meant they were locked inside together.
Tartaglia’s head snapped after it, then back to Wanderer like he wanted to strangle him. “Are you serious?” he growled, every word dragged rough through clenched teeth. The disbelief in his voice only made his anger worse, because beneath it was the humiliating realization that he had fallen for the idea that he was going to let him out. “Great. Just great. Now we’re both stuck in here. Was that your plan all along?”
Wanderer didn’t even seem to be listening. “Don’t waste that look on me,” he said as he reached for his hat, taking it off and placing it against the wall. He approached him slowly, causing Tartaglia to back away.
The cell was small so it didn’t take long for his back to hit the stone wall. He pressed his body flush against it as Wanderer stopped in front of him, a weird flush dusting his pale cheeks. He placed his cold hands on his chest, annoyed with the fabric separating their flesh.
His breath caught in his throat for reasons unbeknownst to him. “I know you… don’t I? Why can’t I remember?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Wanderer replied as he slipped one hand in between the opening of his Fatui uniform. His fingers tracing the outline of his abs just like he used to do. He remembered every crevice, every freckle, every scar. There wasn’t an inch of his body that Wanderer's lips hadn’t touched at least once. “All that matters is that I’m here now.”
Tartaglia shivered under his touch but didn’t push him away. If anything, he made more room for him by spreading his legs.
Wanderer slipped a hand to the back of his head, burying his fingers into his ginger locks. He slowly brought his head down, giving him enough time to pull away if he wanted to. Their breaths mingled in the tight space separating them.
“Last chance to stop me,” Wanderer murmured against his pink, plush lips. “Tell me to stop and I will.”
He audibly gulped, “I might not know you but I do know that I don’t want you to stop… am I crazy?”
“Very.”
Their lips clashed together like it had been building for months, and for Wanderer it had. He tasted better than any tea he’s ever had. He was faintly sweet which he always found ironic since he hated sweets. But Tartaglia was the one and only exception.
Their mouths danced together, a mix of teeth and saliva, while Wanderer’s hands roamed his body shamelessly. Every nerve in Tartaglia’s body was replaced by the urgent press of Wanderer against him. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to kiss him back but he didn’t fight it. His hand that was once frozen came up to cup his cheek, noting the way his face was colder than the iron bars that kept them locked in the cell.
He knew him. He knew he did. He remembers this taste. His lips fit together against his like a puzzle piece. His tongue swirled with his own, licking the roof of his mouth and the back of his teeth.
His gloved fingers found purchase on his hips while his thumbs slipped into the waistband of his shorts. He didn’t know why he wanted them off so badly but he’d do anything to remove them.
Tartaglia suddenly jerked back, one hand flying to his mouth. His fingertips brushed across his lower lip, and when he pulled them away, they came back streaked with crimson. The blood stood out vividly against his gloves before slowly disappearing into the fabric, staining the material.
Wanderer’s eyes brightened as he licked the blood coating his own lips. “Divine,” he whispered. His cold hands cupped his face, smashing their lips back together to get every last drop. His tongue dragging along his bottom lip while the taste of iron filled his mouth.
The Harbinger could barely register what was happening since all the blood in his head was rushing between his legs. The legs Wanderer were forcing spread to make room for himself.
His fingers dug into the fabric of his clothes in an attempt to pull him closer. He tasted so strangely familiar that he couldn’t get enough. It danced on the tip of his tongue like a half-forgotten dream or a memory buried beneath years of dust.
The Harbinger didn’t pay any mind to Wanderer unbuttoning his jacket. In fact, he even helped him by undoing the bottom ones while he did the top ones. Cold hands slipped the jacket off his shoulders before moving down towards the belt around his hips. After he removed it, his nimble fingers slipped into the waistband of his pants but was stopped short.
“My turn,” Tartaglia grinned against his lips. He wasn’t going to be the only one naked. He reached for the kimono tucked into his shorts. He pulled it free, over his head and then tossed it to the side. His eyes drank in the outline of his body in his bodysuit. That bodysuit hid absolutely nothing and Tartaglia was practically drooling at the sight.
When their lips clashed again, it was a bit softer than before but still desperate. Both of their hands slipped to their waists to push each other's pants down to their ankles, letting them pool around their feet before stepping out of them.
Wanderer drank in the Harbinger's moans when he pressed his palm against his cock through his thin boxers. When he pulled back a string of saliva connected their lips, “make a collar out of hydro.”
Something about that order made the ache between his legs so painful he almost fell to his knees. “I can’t.” One of his hands landed on the small of his back to press him against his aching boner. “I don’t have my vision.”
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t care enough to ask questions. If he got him started talking about his vision then he’d start going on and on about how he didn’t really need it to get stronger and blah, blah, blah…
If he didn’t have his vision, that was fine. He could improvise. He pulled back, ignoring the small whine that left Tartaglia’s mouth when he did. He bent down and picked up his red scarf that had been left forgotten on the floor. He got back to his feet and reached up and over the ginger’s head to wrap the fabric around his neck. He did two loops before tying the end and giving it a small tug.
The Harbinger stepped forward while a small moan slipped past his lips. One thing Wanderer never forgot was how much Tartaglia enjoyed the rougher parts of their nights together. He wrapped the end of the scarf around his hand as if he were holding a leash attached to a collar. “Be good and I’ll make it tighter,” he promised with a yank that made Tartaglia stumble into him.
Wanderer’s back hit the cold bars as their bleeding lips met. He gave his bottom lip one more soft bite before moving his kisses to his jaw and down his neck. He sucked on the warm flesh hard enough to make sure there would be marks left over in the morning.
Tartaglia’s hands reached up to grab the bars behind Wanderer to stabilize himself. His entire body felt hot and overwhelmingly turned on. And the sight of Wanderer lowering himself to his knees in front of him did not help in the slightest. His cock needed attention now before he came in his boxers.
Fingers slipped into the band around his boxers and finally pushed his cock free. Cold air hit him first before even colder hands wrapped themselves around the base of his cock. He shivered, pressing his forehead against the iron bars while silently hoping no other inmates were awake to hear them.
A soft kiss was pressed to his tip before he was swallowed whole the next second. Wanderer choked back a wave of nausea that hit him. It had been a while since he’s done this so he was a bit out of practice. His tongue licked up the precum that had been decorating his red tip before he started bobbing his head. His cock hit the back of his throat while he kept Tartaglia in a tight press between his lips.
Shiver after shiver left Tartaglia’s mouth as Wanderer quickened his pace. His mouth was so tight and warm. He was so close to cumming already, he could feel it in the pit of his stomach. He moaned longer this time. More pathetic. His quiet whimpers of pleasure made the ache between Wanderer’s legs more apparent with each one that slipped past his lips. Spit trickled down the sides of his mouth, but that did anything but slow him down. If anything, it helped him slide in and out of his mouth faster. His hands moved to his thighs, nails digging into his pale flesh.
The Harbinger tilted his head down, ocean and indigo eyes meeting. The redhead’s cheeks were flushed a bright red while sweat ran down the side of his face. His mouth was open as his breathing got heavy. He always looked so beautiful at his mercy. His red locks stuck to the sides of his face, looking perfectly tussled. He’s too beautiful for his own good.
Wanderer innocently blinked his lashes up at him after he stopped moving. He had stopped because this idiot had the audacity to cover his mouth with his hand to try to silence himself. He came off his cock with a small ‘pop.’
Tartaglia squeezed one eye shut, “Wanderer, why did you-why did you, ngh… what did I do wrong?”
He watched in silence as his chest expanded, the air desperately trying to reach his lungs. “Don't silence those noises. Otherwise,” he loosened his hold on his scarf, “I’ll stop.”
The Harbinger pathetically nodded his head to say he understood. “Okay,” he swallowed. “Please, just keep going.” He shivered again as Wanderer pressed a line of kisses on his inner thigh, trailing up. He was surprised when Wanderer switched to using his hands but he wasn’t mad. He watched his hands slide up and down the base of his cock, his thumb swirling on his tip.
He twitched in his hands, arousal dripping between Wanderer's own thighs. Tartaglia may not remember him, but Wanderer remembered exactly how to make him putty in his hands.
“Fuck,” he groaned out, “I’m going to cum.”
Right as those words left his mouth, Wanderer’s hand pulled away from him. Tartaglia gasped softly, his eyes shooting open after he had just closed them a second prior. “Wha-,” he blinked down at him, “I did what you asked.”
He pushed himself to his feet, pressing his lips to his so he could taste himself. “Did you think you’re the only one who deserves to finish?”
His eyes turned puppy-like when Wanderer pulled away but that didn’t last long when he turned around to face the bars. Tartaglia’s lips parted, his tongue darting out to lick his split lip. He moved forward to press against the back of Wanderer, who was now gripping the bars, his backside pressing against his hips.
One hand gripped the flesh around his hip while the other slipped to the backside of his bodysuit, bunching the fabric between his fingers. He pulled it to the side to expose his flesh to the cold air and leaving him on display. “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?” he whispered into his skin.
Yes. He had. So many times. But he had forgotten all of those times but not Wanderer. He remembered them as if they had happened yesterday.
He turned his head as Tartaglia leaned over his shoulder to press their lips together. He whimpered into his mouth when he felt him press against his entrance. He pulled away to moan as Tartaglia eased himself into him; the feeling of it stretching him made him arch his back. His saliva had worked as a lube to help him slip into him with ease. Wanderer’s knuckles went white as he gripped the iron bars while Tartaglia buried himself to the hilt.
Their hips met, their heavy breathing mixing in the small cell. “Tell me when to move.”
Did he think he was inexperienced or some shit? With how many times they had done this, his body had practically molded itself into the perfect sleeve for his cock. “Move,” he whispered, pleading. “Oh archons, move please.”
Tears gathered in his lashes as Tartaglia pulled out an inch and then pushed back in as a test. His pale cheeks flushed as he moaned loudly, not caring if they alerted other inmates or even the guards. He felt too good to care.
He set a slow pace, one where he pushed all the way in, paused and then pulled back out. It was driving Wanderer crazy. He wanted-no, needed him to go faster. So that’s what he begged for. His voice was nothing but a broken mess as he pathetically begged for him to go faster.
Their moans were drowned out by the sound of thighs hitting flesh in loud slaps as Tartaglia sped up. Wanderer's legs twitched, wanting to give in but his grip on the bars helped keep him upright. The hand gripping his hip would surely leave bruises in the morning. Bruises he would happily wear with pride, though.
When he got too loud a hand reached around and pressed flat against his mouth. Tartaglia leaned over his shoulder to let his lips drag along his ear. His voice was low when he spoke, “quiet down. You’ll alert the guards.”
Wanderer moaned softly into his palm, his eyes rolling back. His hands on the bar gripped them so tightly his arms started to shake. He forgot what it felt like to feel this good. It’s been a long time since they did this. They used to do it a lot in his office when he was still a Harbinger but after he left with the gnosis that stopped, obviously. Tartaglia always filled him perfectly. He wished he could use his abyssal form like he did that one time. But that would be too big of a risk. They were already being loud with their whimpering.
“Archons, you’re so tight,” the redhead groaned as he thrusted back into him. Wanderer rocked forward every time he pounded into him. Ocean eyes were glued to the sight of his cock going in and out of him.
They froze when they heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall towards his cell. It caused Tartaglia to pause for a second but Wanderer yanked on the scarf around his neck. He let out a small choked noise as a bit of drool dribbled out of his mouth.
“Did I say to stop?”
“The-... the guards,” Tartaglia stuttered over his own moan. His warm walls squeezed around him so tightly it felt like he had died and gone to heaven.
He was tugged again until Wanderer’s back met his chest. Tartaglia’s hands moved from his hips to around his stomach, pressing his palms flat against his abdomen so he could feel the outline of his cock through his skin. One hand stayed there while the other moved to Wanderer’s cock. His warm hand wrapping around his length, sliding up and down. He felt him twitch in his palm every time he reached his tip.
“Keep going,” he ordered.
He couldn’t move. Sweat slid down the side of his face while his entire body felt fried. He couldn’t–oh, archons. Wanderer had started moving himself since he refused to do it. His backside met his hips causing both of them to moan softly.
Tartaglia couldn’t deny him any longer. His hips met with his in time with his movements, making the cell fill with the wet sounds of them fucking again. Thankfully, whatever footsteps were there had left just as quickly as they came. The sound of a door shutting was the last thing they heard before Tartaglia pulled out to the tip and slammed back in. Wanderer fell forward, almost slamming into the bars.
The Harbinger was rewarded with him pulling the scarf tighter around his neck. “Ah-,” he groaned out, “tighter.”
Wanderer blinked, confused. “Huh?”
“Pull it tighter.”
A small grin spread across his lips. He missed this. His hand tightened around the fabric in his hand before he yanked the scarf. The Harbinger whimpered in his ear, a sound so beautiful that he almost finished then and there.
Indigo eyes rolled back as Tartaglia rolled his hips into him. The sound of their bodies colliding, the wet, slapping noises bouncing off the walls of the prison. The Harbinger's hips seemed to have taken on a life of their own, positioning into him as deep and as hard as he could go. Nothing but dumb and incomprehensible words tumbled out of their mouths.
“I’m going to… to…” his voice trembled in Wanderer’s ear. His body shivered as he twitched inside of him. “Are you?”
Wanderer nodded his head, barely understanding what he said over his own pleasure. A few more thrusts and he felt Tartaglia come undone inside him, filling him.
He came only a moment after, his cum dripping to the floor between his feet. Their chests heaved as they came down from their high, trying to catch their breath. He felt Tartaglia lean forward to press his forehead against his shoulder. His hair tickling the back of his neck as he drank in the Harbingers' warmth one last time.
-
Wanderer glanced back at the Harbingers sleeping form. He watched his chest rise and fall softly. How he had missed those nights when he would wake up and watch him sleep for hours. But that was the past and this was just a one-time thing to get all this shit out of his system. So he didn't have to keep pleasuring himself with his hand and old memories. That’s all it was.
He carefully tossed the frail blanket over Tartaglia because the sight of him without his clothes was something meant only for his eyes.
“Goodbye, Ajax. If our paths meet again, I’ll be sure to stay for once but if that day never comes,” he tilted his hat down to block his face from view, “to answer your question the night I left.”
…
Ajax’s voice was barely louder than a whisper, “did it ever mean anything to you? What we did…”
“It always meant something to me. Even when I didn’t want it to. I love you, but how selfishly so.”