It began when he was eighteen, screaming to any god that would listen, for help. For them to listen to his pleas, as he clings to a father that is bleeding out in his arm. When his father was encased in the bathing of warm green light; Diluc could only grovel as the deep wounds knit themselves together. His cries soften as he watches the stuttered breath of the injured man turn even as peaceful sleep gripped him. His father had been right. The world would never turn its back on the faithful and for that, he was eternally grateful. It was through the tears does he see him, the wind archon swaddled in white.
It was with reverence, that he clings to the tiny –oh so petite –hand of the god that gifted him this chance and promises to give his all, his devotion, to the only one that listened. He mutters thanks and praises as he pressed his forehead against the upturned palms and speaks of debts to be paid. He would never forget, this favor given.
When they return to the knights, are told to keep quiet to save face, the anger he feels is fleeting considering his new discovery. It is without regret that Diluc returns his blade and relinquishes the vision that led him nowhere. There is no disappointment to be found where he went next, turning to the god that gambled to help him, that gave him salvation when he needed it the most. He takes up a seat within Mondstat very church. One that allows him all the time to pay back what is due. The god’s kind deliverance would be paid back in his worship and servitude.
He does not question it, when one day, he wakes up to find his vision and claymore sitting at the end of his bed, a pure white feather left atop as if to pin them down. Does not question it when the winds lead him to places swathed with creatures of the abyss. Does not even blink an eye at the slips of paper he finds beneath his door with instructions written with a flourish. He does as his god bids for he is thankful. He ascends through the rank quickly when he puts his mind to it, replaces the cardinal, and offers pious words of worship to those that listen. At night he puts down his book to go clean up the messes of those that dare desecrate the land loved by Mondstadt’s deity.
Four year marks a new change with the arrival of a bard with blue-tipped hair. It takes a single glance for Diluc to know who had graced them. Years may have passed but he would be remised to forget the face of their savior. He does not speak a word to anyone and merely tells his father to waive the boyish god's ever-growing fees whenever he stops by Angel’s Share to share wine and song. It was the least they could do. He does think that it is a bit…hilarious, that no one likens the bard to the figure depicted on the gigantic statue that towers over the city. Then again, if he had not known better, perhaps he would have written him off as an enthusiastic devotee.
But he does know better, and he relishes this knowledge. A secret shared between them.
On days when the breeze is gentle and the stars shine brightly in velvet skies, Diluc stands guard as god sings atop of stone hands that are a paltry copy of his own.
He learns soon enough that God has a name he likes when the archon comes to take back what rightfully belongs to him. Diluc lets it play out, between Venti and the traveler and the poor nun, as they pleased. There is a twinkle of amusement in the archon’s eyes that he would not deny. When the holy lyre disappears the next day from the vault, he merely offers his condolences to the Favonious Knight investigating and tells them this must have been the will of the archon. He eventually sheds his whites for a few days, hefts his claymore, and follows his god into Stormterror’s lair at a teasing quip.
Diluc finds his dislike of the Fatui renewed when Venti loses his gnosis upon his church grounds.
Like the giving delegate he is known as Diluc offers Venti a place to stay when he finds him moping beneath the trees of Windrise. Wilted as pluck sweet flower.
“Ah~ I knew it, Master Diluc takes care of me the best.” Venti preens as he stretches out on Diluc’s bed, his back arches as the heat of Diluc tongues traces over the anemo sigil on his chest. The mark glows vividly viridescent as the red-haired man laps at dusky pink tips, worries the sensitive nubs between his lips, and lets his hand cradle the wisp of a god. The scent of sweet cecilia cocoons him. DIluc does not quite know when his verbal worship had turned into this strange physical devotion, but he cannot find it in himself to grumble too much. His mouth drips lower as Venti shimmies impatiently across the sheet. The white of his angelic garment and quickly discarded with a wave of a hand.
“Diluc~” The whine is followed by the sensation of fingers in his hair, their tugging is demanding but gentle and Diluc finds himself look up, head canted to the side. “Faster!” Venti pouts, petulance in his voice that Diluc lets slide because this is his god. “If it would please you so.” The red-haired man responds as de drags the deity to the edge of the bed, lets him dangle there as he drops to his knees. Words of reverence fans against Venti’s crotch as he mouths him. His reward is a song so sweet; it makes his own cock throb within the confines of his pants.
Crimson eyes keep a careful watch on the writhing body in front of him as he peppers multiple kisses along a slender thigh. Presses a bite against the knee crooked over his shoulder and slips a tongue between the tight ring of muscles located between two round cheeks. Venti keens and Diluc admires with a certain amount of satisfaction as the seafoam marking on the archon’s left thigh blaze. He presses his face closer, leaves even more marks in his wake as he pulls away. The silver string of saliva connects them before breaking and Diluc admires the way the other clench, needy as ever. He replaces his tongue with a finger and hums softly as Venti bucks onto it. His fingers curl and he watches as Venti whine, fingers scrabbling for purchase on his shoulder as he pants into the sheets. “Diluccccc!” It was exhilarating, to have one’s holy lord in bed like this, demanding and whining as they soiled the sheets.
Diluc adds another finger, thrusting shallowly as he stretches Venti out. The other’s cheeks are rosy as he throws his head from side to side mouth open for air. His hips continue to seek their own pleasure and watching him sob for more, sends another wave of heat down to Diluc’s dick. Venti sobs as he presses in a third digit, spreading them slowly as he opened him up further. The sharp gasp almost makes him pull away in concern but the two hands that barely wrap around his wrist lock him in place. It would not be hard, to forcibly tear his himself away but, how could he? He was a man of God, a believer of Barbatos, a person of honor, how could he sin by refusing his lord and savior?
Diluc always had a hard time denying Venti. “Mm, more, oh there! There~” the bard continues to sing as he fucks himself on rough digits.
Diluc could feel Venti’s walls fluttering against them as he takes what he wants. He leaves his fingers there and instead uses his free hand to guide the other’s leaking length into his mouth. The taste is bittersweet like always. His teeth scrape against the pulsing flesh. His tongue plays with the sensitive tip, and his cheeks hollow as he gives a sharp suckle, swallowing him whole. He curls his fingers up when Venti squeezes again, drawing a wide-eye silent scream from the bard’s throat. A sharp keen that follows has Diluc looking up just in time to watch his god come undone. Venti’s hand is covering his mouth, snuffing the excessive noise, and the pink flush from his face had spread down his neck and chest as he cries into the pillow. Heat fills the pyro-user’s mouth, and he swallows all he is allowed save for the droplets that leak from the corner.
He drops Venti’s cock with a pop and chuckles softly at the wet squelch when he removes his fingers. “I assume I did well, lord Barbatos.”
His own answer is a whine at the emptiness he leaves behind.
Diluc drags his tongue up the soft expanse of skin before pressing a chaste kiss against pink lips. Dazedly Venti smiles, his arms opening for the larger man to sink into the embrace as he nips marks against the exposed neck. “So good, Diluc really is the best.”
“But that is not all the devotion you have, eh?” Diluc groans, as a pair of hands, dive into his pants to grip his dick, pulling sharply at the rigid length until it was eased out of the confines that had grown too tight. He thrusts into the Archon’s hands and his eyes blow wide as the grip tightened. “Give me all of it~” Creamy liquid coats the small hands before it is used to smooth over the turgid rod, slicking it for what’s to come.
Venti licks the residue from his fingers and giggles as Diluc traces the movement, enchanted. This attention, he basks in it. Draws power from the single-minded dedication.
What else could Diluc do, but comply? Not many had the freedom of having permission to rail their lord senseless nor did they have the privilege, of knowing their god so intimately inside, and out.
Venti rolls onto his hands and knees, raises his hips, and screams into the bed as Diluc’s cock fills him. The larger man pulls out to the tip, only to drive himself back in again, with a loud snap. His hips smack against Venti’s ass, drawing a hiss. His hand braces themselves against svelte hips and with each thrust he guides Venti back onto him. The pace he sets is brutal, drawing strings of nonsensical whimpers from the god.
Whimpers that turned into mumbled incoherence as Diluc curls over Venti and grinds. “O-oh! A-ahhhh!” The holy passage that slips from Diluc is would have been blasphemous if it had not been spoken to the Archon himself.
“Thanks be to the Anemo Archon. May Lord Barbatos hear our words of thanks. May his benevolence deliver to us upon winds, everlasting freedom,” the cardinal rasps the line he utters every day upon the pews and within the confession boxes. Watches as those words kindle the marks that run down Venti’s body. Making their bright glow renew. The bard’s already sensitive walls convulse against the thickness stretching it with each line of prayer uttered.
“Hnnngh, good, sho goooood.” He glows brighter, as Diluc continues to slam into him from behind while offering adulations. The Archon’s back arch as his hips begins to twitch. His thighs quiver and a large hand keep him from sinking into the mattress a boneless mess. Diluc curses beneath his breath as his own pace stutters, he moves a hand to press between the bard’s shoulder and to anchor the other as pleasure lifts him off the bed slightly. The other digs bruising marks into milky skin. He feels it before he sees it, the swirl of wind signaling the appearance of pure wings that unfurls from Venti’s back as he milks Diluc of all he is worth. The wail from his lips would have woken the poor souls if there were one around. Wetness seeps into the sheets and with a loud groan, Diluc paints his god’s insides white as he furiously chases after his own pleasure. Cum leaks from where they are joined and with a squelch, he pulls out only for the mess to splatter against his already soaked sheet.
“A-ahh…hah,” he sobs. Venti’s cheeks rub against the cotton as he rocks, his eyes were dazed as he looks over his shoulders to give Diluc a cheeky blissed smile as he sinks into his own mess. Excess spend continues to run rivulets down the supple legs. Venti wings quiver a second more before they settle. In another burst of light, they melt away, leaving a smattering of feathers behind. “Hehe..oops.” Diluc was not about to deny the feeling of masculine satisfaction and pride that filled him.
The ex-knight uses a corner of the sheet to swipe at the mess as Venti sighs. His arms are stretched as he uncurls from his position as he turns over, letting his back sink into the bed. A finger runs through the mess on the sheets; the bard gives it a curious taste before wrinkling his nose. “It tastes better when it is just you.”
Diluc swallows sharply as Venti’s finger sinks into his own leaking hole.
“Now, clean me up will you, Master Diluc?”