Work Text:
Diluc is not religious per se. He has helped an archon — his archon — save his friend, and said archon just also happened to be a regular at his bar. On top of that, his archon does not pay his bills by himself. What kind of god asks a mortal to pay in his stead? It's incredulous, to the point he might even lose faith for The Above (also due to other reasons, he will not tell) .
Although he hasn't completely lost faith, it seems, when he silently prays, hands clasped together as he watches the mountains of Dragonspine from his bedroom window. Under his breath, he mentions the name of his god, then the name of his lover, and wishes for his early return. It's been a while since he's asked a favor from Barbatos. He doesn't exactly rely on him to grant his wish, but given he personally has met him, he can indulge himself in which he knows, the god owes him, ironically.
A gentle wind brushes past his cheeks. Maybe Barbatos has listened and was feeling generous, or maybe he was cowering in fear — hah! — because when the sun is high in the sky with no clouds to prevent the pelting heat waves, the unforgivingly warm weather further souring his mood while he picks at the grapes, there's a sudden shade to cool him over his shoulder. He turns his head up so fast, not even pausing to check who it was, instantly hugging the person tightly.
Small limbs snake around to his shoulders, the achingly familiar touch, somewhat cold, soothing his skin through his shirt. The cool is something he's accustomed to, given there's someone he knows who's always holed up on a snowy mountain. The freeze comes from there, but the cold melts and the warmth spreads, under the palms of the touch. He wants to cry, suddenly, at the realization of how much he's missed him. Missed the feeling of being held, missed the scent of cecilias wafting in the air. Missed his presence when sleeping with no one by his side under the covers.
There's no mistaking the breezy chuckle, he knows it's him. Albedo pats his back reassuringly, whispering, "I'm home."
In the privacy of their bedroom, they are alone. Diluc gazes out the window, novel in hand while Albedo sets up his easel.
"What do you think is the color of love?" Comes the sudden question, cutting through the comfortable silence.
Albedo stares at a blank canvas, brows knitted together in a frown as he does, now somewhat hesitant to fill it in. Diluc figures it has something to do with his inquiry. It was odd, in a way. Albedo frowning is nothing new, cute even, save for the fact it might give him early wrinkles. But he's never seen him this still when he usually waves his hand in front of it to bring forth art.
"Why do you ask?"
"I just want an opinion," he lifts his paintbrush, but pauses all the same, unsure, and lost — it's an expression Diluc doesn't think he wants to see on his face so often — before he continues, "I want to paint, but I... have no motivation, so to speak. What was it they say? Art block?"
The Ragnvindr chuckles, novel forgotten on the table. He approaches him from behind and cards his fingers through the golden locks. "Don't force yourself to draw if you can't bring yourself to."
"It's not that," Albedo sighs, subtly leaning into his touch, "it's the feeling when... I feel like I want sketch, so I do, but then the results don't... hm... satisfy me? Or I conjure an idea of what I want to draw, but then... I don't like it, I think."
Diluc quirks an eyebrow, the blonde merely sighing again in response. "I know. It's a feeling that I find hard to describe, and I am not fond of it either."
"Hmm. Why love, of all things?"
A blush begins to spread on Albedo's cheeks. The red-head blinks twice in case he imagines it. If anything — the red doesn't disappear, in fact, it intensifies. Oh.
"Because, you. Uh..."
As much as he wants to tease the poor blonde, he gives him time to catch up with his words. He's remarkably proud of how much Albedo has improved in voicing his desires or emotions, and this is but another step in helping him to refine his feelings.
Finally, Albedo looks down, as if asking the floor for answers, before looking up at Diluc again.
"I want to express my love," he places a hand over his own heart, pauses, then speaks again. "My love, is, uhm. Ah. Colors are significant in symbolizing the strength of emotions in one's art piece. If you compare between a grayscale drawing of a flower bouquet and a colorful one, you will realize that they both portray different energies."
Unconsciously, his hand summons a branch, sprouting forth leaves from it's origin. Diluc has witnessed his art before, many times, and has never failed to be fascinated by it.
"But ah — most drawings in the past have always been grayscale. Now with the creation of paint, comes more colors, and comes more symbols. If you were to compare a grayscale drawing of a flower to a grayscale drawing of a different flower, that would be difficult to discern. Here, another example, is to compare a blue cecilia to a red cecilia. See?
"Typically, most people believe the color blue to symbolise tranquility and serenity. Otherwise, if the color of blue is too dense, the piece will often be depicted as forlorning. Therefore, the blue cecilia may be a symbolism of melancholy. That, well, the definition varies depending on shading and hue but I won't take that into account — next, ah. I'm sorry, I'm rambling."
Diluc hums, arms snaking around his waist. He'll admit to himself he didn't quite catch what he said, but Albedo is the most expressive during these 'rambles', and he won't stop him from what he likes to talk about. Gently he presses him to continue, but Albedo shakes his head with a smile.
"No, it's alright. I should learn to simplify what I mean to say. Hm..." He leans a little bit further into Diluc's chest, then glances up at him with wide eyes. "I want to say that, ah, I want to draw, and express as much love into the piece as I can, strengthening the emotion through colors. And... I think to do better at that, I should implement the color of love."
"Oh, now I see." He lightly pets the blonde's head, a silent praise to his wording. Thinking to himself, he takes the paintbrush from Albedo's hand and sets it down. "Isn't red commonly used to symbolize love?"
The way Albedo shyly casts his gaze to him is not lost on him. He allows a small smirk, feeling like he's won something, whatever it is.
"Yes, but." In a barely audible voice, the chalk prince mutters under his breath, "You're already red."
How foolish, for him to think Diluc didn't hear him. The implication is as clear as day.
"Then just paint me in red."
"No- your hair, too much red will-" Albedo groans, tensing in his hold. "I want to portray you in colors more than just red, if I paint only red, then- it's not enough."
The Ragnvindr sighs, then gently lifts his chin to press a chaste kiss to his lips. A comforting gesture. Even after he feels him relax, he doesn't let go, and the blonde doesn't seem like he wants to.
"The bed is right over there," he whispers into Albedo's ear, just a hint of lust lacing his tone. He revels in the shiver he's elicited, and before he realizes it, they're already tumbling on top of the bedsheets. How quickly has things escalated, but not quite fast enough either. In the times they've spent apart, he's been craving for him everyday. The impatience and longing is just, the canvas is still blank with no real answer to Albedo's question. Not so soon, at least.
Teal eyes, blown wide gaze up at him with a silent plea. Please, he almost hears him say in the back of his head. He's missed this too much, almost impatient as he rips the first top buttons of Albedo's shirt. But then he hovers above his collarbones, taking his time. When he raises his head he's met with a confused expression. Diluc smirks. Maybe a little teasing won't harm the alchemist too much.
"Diluc-"
"Why don't I paint instead," he blows into his ear and exhales onto his neck, right above his diamond mark — Albedo keens below him — "but you be my canvas, hm?"
Finally he dips down, biting and sucking on the mark and Albedo outright moans, lewd and melodious to his ears. His hands rake on Diluc's back, no doubt leaving red lines in their wake. Being pent up can bring such reactions; he's never felt so light-headed just from being scratched, and he growls. Lifting his head, he observes the mark he's left. The purplish-blue blooming forth at the edges is a nice touch to the yellow diamond, he thinks, and he's eager to place more, to mark him and make up for all the lost time.
With another bite to his collarbone, another moan surfaces, and he smirks. "I'll paint your skin with all the colors I want."