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“Either do something about it or…” Anselm hesitates, looking to the side.
“Or?”
“Or I resign.”
“Resign?” Varka laughs. “Please. You don’t really want to do that.”
“You don’t understand how bad it is. I’m gone if something isn’t done.”
Varka sighs. “I’ll fix it.”
It.
It being one of the biggest headaches Varka has right now, rivaling any amount of paperwork thrown his way, any Rerir or other villain sent from the abyss. It being the thing that makes his knights threaten to quit, even when they are otherwise willing to throw themselves into battle for him, risking their own lives.
He stomps away from the camp, where people are congregating, laughing and sharing drinks. It’s where Varka wishes he could be instead of seeking out the tent on the far side of camp, isolated, away from everyone else.
A quick glance in the tent reveals it is empty, along with the immediate surrounding area. Instinct leads him into the woods, through a path that darkens the further he gets away from the lights of the main collection of tents with central bonfire. He senses rather than hears the presence ahead of him, stepping through into a small clearing with a figure standing at attention in the middle of it.
“Lohen,” Varka says, face rigid.
Lohen.
It.
The problem. The headache. The conundrum.
On one hand, he’s one of their most talented young recruits. His fighting skills are honestly impressive, both one-on-one, where he’s scrappy and smart, and in a battle situation, where situational awareness matters. He’s an impressive mind on the battlefield, able to strategize in ways that, frankly, kept people alive and safer. He’d flown through the ranks for this reason. On the face of it, he should continue that ascension and perhaps even be in contention for Varka’s own position one day.
However.
“Wanna spar? Or are you still acting like a pussy?”
Right. That.
It.
Lohen’s frankly a touch crazy. He always was, but in a way that was more manageable. Varka himself was a handful at that age so he just worked with it, trying to mentor where possible, but also just hoping Lohen would grow out of his behavior naturally as he aged.
His behavior had gotten exponentially worse, however, since his run-in with Rerir and Adorno’s passing. What initially seemed like Lohen grieving had slowly spiraled into the mess of today, where some of Varka’s best people were demanding he remove the young knight from service and possibly from Monstadt. Which, he gets. Lohen no longer has any respect for authority and could be incredibly vulgar, not in the way that a military force usually is, but in a way that is actually insulting. He can keep people alive but, somehow, people still prefer not to work with him. He’s off-putting, aggressive, and his “pranks” have started putting people in real danger.
Nevertheless, Varka has always liked him. He’s always thought he could be shaped into a fine man one day. He always thought that Lohen meant well, even when led astray. He understands the trauma of both Lohen’s childhood, but also Rerir, Adorno, everything. It seems clear to Varka that he’s acting out because of trauma, PTSD, something, and he wants to help. Lohen is still one of their own and one that is clearly struggling.
Something since Nod-Krai seemed to break the younger man. Varka tries, genuinely, to talk to him. Heart to hearts over beers. Light duty for a while. Offers of leave, mentoring, or support, or maybe even seeing one of the head doctors Jean hired. Lohen blows it all off, refusing to even engage.
Which, Varka has seen trauma. He has. He knows it. He has some of his own after all. But at what point does trauma stop being an excuse for frankly inappropriate behavior?
Lohen behaves inappropriately in other ways too, directed toward Varka himself. He’s aggressively sexual sometimes. One night, Varka had walked to a bench after a feast to look up at the stars, and a moment later found Lohen in his lap, grabbing at his dick. He had pushed him off, brushed it off as a drunken mistake, and then settled on never speaking of it again with anyone.
The behavior does not stop, however.
“Accidentally” shoving his ass into Varka’s crotch while passing by and then innocently batting his eyes. A vulgar hand motion while Varka gives a speech to a regiment. One shameful afternoon watching Lohen lick a popsicle while making direct eye contact that sends Varka running back to his tent to jerk off. It’s not his proudest moment, but he is only a man.
The young knight is pretty, of course. Anyone with eyes can see that. It’s not like Varka hasn’t been tempted to break one of his rules for life-don’t stick your dick in crazy.
Besides, what would it look like if he fraternized with an underling? Especially one seeking promotion?
Ignoring the issue does not make it go away though. It only seems to provoke Lohen more, triggering more aggressive behavior. He flirts in ways that remind Varka of someone who would expect payment afterward or perhaps someone trying to sleep their way to the top, even though the Knights don’t work that way. It just doesn’t make sense. Not with a young knight. Not with someone who is half his age at most. Not with someone who hadn’t acted this way before.
Lohen is a problem in more ways than one and it needs to be taken care of.
“We need to talk.”
“Beat me in a fight and then we will.”
It isn’t like they haven’t sparred before. They did plenty and it was always a good time. Varka always won, as he should for someone in his position, but it was never exactly easy and Lohen grew by leaps and bounds with every fight, always learning, always improving. But, it didn’t feel safe to spar now, not when Lohen is this unstable, not when he’s possibly having a mental breakdown.
Just what did Rerir do to him?
“Complaints about your behavior…”
His sentence is cut off by Lohen stabbing at him. Varka dodges instinctually.
“Are you crazy?”
“Are you a pussy?”
Varka huffs. “You can’t even get a hit in on me on a good day.”
“Easy to say that when you haven’t faced me in months. Coward.”
Anger ripples through the Grand Master. He’s been nothing but understanding and patient and all Lohen does is throw it in his face. Maybe he needs to have his ass kicked.
“Fine, we can do this.” Varka pulls his claymore out.
Lohen immediately darts at him, launching across the clearing with shocking nimbleness.
Their weapons clang. Like a striking pit viper, Lohen attacks, swiftly maneuvering his daggers like they are an extension of his own body.
Varka blocks every blow, but it takes all of his concentration, Lohen’s agility is actually a challenge for someone like Varka, who focuses on strength and power. He calls upon his vision to help, as does Lohen, which is not something they normally do in spars. The air is charged tonight though and something more than just bragging rights is on the line.
Varka decides he needs to end this quickly, especially looking into Lohen’s eyes, which seem dead and dull.
A spot. A weak defense. Varka shifts his weight, aiming at the opening, swinging at the other man. At the last second, he pulls his punch, something in his gut not really wanting to lay Lohen out with a fist to the face. He doesn’t actually want to hurt the other man, especially when he still thinks Lohen is not mentally all there right now.
He’s immediately punished for this choice, as Lohen takes advantage of the hesitation to slash his arm and nick his cheek in two quick strikes.
"And that does it.”
Varka huffs, wiping at the blood on his check. “Does it? A scratch?” Varka goes on the offensive, not playing games anymore, not treating this as a spar, but rather a fight. He swings with his sword in one hand, forcing Lohen on his heels, then uses his other hand to grab one slender wrist to pull Lohen forward. He twists, using the side of his blade to smack across Lohen’s shoulders. The smaller man ducks down, impossibly nimble, avoiding the worst of the strike, but he’s close enough now that Varka has the advantage. The advantage and a surprisingly powerful kick, which he uses now to send Lohen sprawling to the ground.
Varka immediately places a foot on his chest and his blade under the smaller man’s chin.
“Yield.”
Lohen grins up at him, eyes crazed, suddenly dancing with humor.
“I said yield.”
“What will you do if I don’t?”
Varka remains silent. Ultimately, the answer is nothing. He has no desire to actually hurt any of his men. But, he senses that what Lohen needs right now is a firm hand, a punishment, a loss, not kindness and leeway.
“Fine. I yield, grandmaster,” Lohen jeers from under his foot.
Varka sighs, easing up to let the other man stand.
“Now, your behavior. You know I have always supported you and I still do. But, it’s a problem. Can you work with your vice-captain? You know how to behave. I’ve seen you do it. I just met with…”
Suddenly, his vision shifts a bit, narrowing.
“Met with?” Lohen prompts, grinning at him.
He looks at the smaller man, suddenly light-headed. He rubs a hand over the cut on his arm, feeling warmth spreading across his body that feels more obvious now that his adrenaline isn’t pumping. He’s so stunned at the moment that he can’t make his brain or mouth function. Surely, Lohen wouldn’t have…
He sways on his feet as dizziness threatens to take him down. He plants on foot forward, willing his body to behave. Suddenly he feels heavy, a warmth spreading over his body, hottest yet at the area of the cut. Then, the rage takes over.
“Did you drug me?”
“Oops.”
“You…you crazy bastard…you…” he drops to one knee, no longer able to stay standing.
Lohen cackles. “In a real fight, you have to be prepared for anything, Captain.” He makes the word sound insulting and Varka decides he’s done. Lohen is done. He’s gone, out of the Knights, out of…
His grinning face is the last thing Varka sees before he falls forward into the ground.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Varka is first aware of soil in his mouth, gritty and mildly sulphuric. His awareness comes slowly though, eventually gathering enough presence of mind to spit, or at least attempt to. He’s groggy and stiff, but that doesn’t matter right now. Nothing matters right now but wrapping his hands around Lohen’s neck for all of the last few months, for drugging him, but also for leaving him alone in the woods face down in the dirt. What the fuck? What if an enemy had walked by?
This insult is really what enrages Varka. He gets up, stretching briefly to soothe aching muscles, and then storms back over to the collection of tents. His eyes dart across the groups of people, drinking and laughing and seemingly completely unaware that Varka is radiating murderous rage.
A hand slaps on his back. “Hey, need a drink?” Anselm says. “Sorry if I came across too…wait. Why are you bleeding?”
Varka looks at him miserably.
“Shit. Lohen? He cut you, didn’t he? See, isn’t he a little bitch?”
“It will be taken care of. Now. Where is he?”
“Uh, I don’t know. Griffen?” Anselm calls over to a man washing a pair of socks.
“Lohen? Sometimes he goes out toward the cliffs over there and smokes.”
Varka storms off in that direction, grinding his teeth.
At first he thinks Lohen isn’t there either. The darkness seems still as Varka weaves between trees and the small jutting areas of rock. Then, he sees a small red light in the distance.
Lohen is there, smoking a cigarette and smirking, leaning against a smaller cliff face. Varka knows he’s dealing with full grown men and women in the Knights. He gets it. He doesn’t restrict them from earthly pleasures. But, for some reason this pisses him off even more to see Lohen smoking casually, like he didn’t just attack the Grand Master of the Nights of Favonius.
“You’re done,” Varka says simply.
“Done?”
“I’m removing you from duty, effective immediately. You will go back to Monstadt…”
“Oh no,” he says, blandly, monotone.
“Go back to Monstadt and wait for a military tribunal.”
“You know, people tell me you used to be fun.”
“Fun? I was…am fun. What is fun about drugging someone, you fucking psycho.”
“You did say I wouldn’t get a hit in on you.”
“Look you little asshole, you attacked a superior. You will be lucky if I just get you dishonorably discharged and don’t try to send your ass to prison.”
“Bor-ing. Are you sure there isn’t another way you want to punish me?”
“Excuse me?”
Lohen walks over, still smirking, placing a hand on his chest.
“I said you’re boring.” Then, he blows his smoke directly in Varka’s face.
Whatever thin line of restraint he had before finding Lohen snaps like a rubber band.
He grabs Lohen’s wrist, twisting the other man around and slamming him against the cliff face. The cigarette drops from his hand.
“I was told you were impressive, but who knew you would be a limp-dicked boring ass…”
He smacks Lohen’s head against the wall. “Shut up. You need to stop talking.”
“Make me,” Lohen purrs.
Varka reacts before he even knows what he’s doing, kicking the back of one of Lohen’s knees out, sending him to the ground. Lohen reacts immediately, a dagger appearing out of nowhere, stabbing upward toward Varka’s leg. Varka grabs his wrist, twisting until the dagger drops, twisting until he knows it hurts. Then, he pauses, Lohen on his knees before him, wrist twisted in his hand. He hasn’t really planned what to do after this.
Make me.
He suddenly becomes painfully aware that he is hard as a rock. The words echo in his mind.
Make me.
Make me.
He’s undoing his belt before he can even consider what he is doing. Before he can even consider the ramifications, the consequences, every reason why this is a bad idea. The click of his belt buckle unlatching sounds like a bomb going off in the quiet night. He feels Lohen go very still.
There is a screaming in the back of his mind that should bring him to his senses, but a play by play of everything that happened this night goes through his head.
Make me.
Ok. He can do just that.
He grabs the back of Lohen’s head with one hand. The other hand sticks a finger in his cheek, prying his jaw open. It’s easier than he imagines it should be to wedge a finger in Lohen’s small, wet mouth.
It’s like someone else is controlling his body as he presses the head of his cock against Lohen’s mouth, smearing pre-cum over his lips. At the moment, everything falls away, his title, his duties, his honor, and narrows down into just this: getting his dick inside the other man’s mouth and making him shut up. Nothing else matters, not god nor country nor family or friends.
He sticks the head inside and feels teeth scrape against it.
“If you bite me, I will knock them all out,” he says, deadly calm, completely unlike himself.
It serves the intended purpose though. Lohen’s mouth falls open, making more space for him to inch forward.
It’s blissfully warm and tight and Varka doesn’t want to be anywhere else but right here, right now.
He pauses for a moment, letting Lohen breathe before resuming his pushing. His mouth is wonderfully pliant, somehow adjusting quickly to the invasion.
Lohen’s tongue moves furiously against his cock, likely trying to adjust or get rid of it, but it only serves to make everything impossibly more pleasurable. Varka moans loudly at the sensation, unable to stop himself, hoping that they are just far enough away and hidden enough that no one sees or hears. Lohen swallows around him and then gently sucks. Vaguely, he wonders why Lohen seems to be helping. But, at the moment, all he can care about is the fact that it feels so good.
How long has it been since he’s gotten his dick sucked? How long since he’d gotten his dick wet in any way with someone else?
Without meaning to, he thrusts his hips, the urge to fuck as natural as breathing in this moment. Lohen takes it like a champ, adjusting, opening up for him. He continues his low, rocking pace, pushing deeper, further than he should.
Lohen’s hands grip his thighs, firstly pushing him away, then seemingly accepting his fate and rubbing aimless circles. It’s only what Varka can consider encouragement. He inches forward again, feeling rather than seeing Lohen’s head hit against the wall behind him, using that as leverage to push deeper, feeding himself as far down Lohen’s throat as he dares.
Making sure the smaller man can breathe flashes across his mind at the same instant as wishing he could see how pretty Lohen looks right now, finally shut up, finally accepting his place, on his knees, a cock halfway down his pretty little throat.
Varka nearly comes at this thought alone.
Lohen keeps rubbing at his thighs, soothing Varka’s fears about Lohen actually not getting any oxygen.
He presses forward, pushing Lohen’s head against the wall, gripping at his hair, fucking shallowly into his mouth and throat. He hears Lohen gag, saliva dripping down his chin. It’s music to his ears.
His balls smack against his chin and Varka knows he’s as far as he can go, feeling dimly proud of Lohen, who seems to accept it, leaning his head back, taking all of it, every shallow thrust, every smack of Varka’s balls, every smack of the back of his head against the cliff face in rhythm with the movement of his hips.
He knows he won’t last long, not when the most erotic thing that has ever happened to him is still happening. He continues his pace with one goal in his mind.
Filling Lohen up with his cum. Stuffing him full. The smaller man is going to take every drop into his belly if it’s the last thing Varka does on this planet.
His orgasm tears through him like a freight train and he holds himself firmly against Lohen’s face, spilling directly down into his stomach. Lohen’s grips at his thighs, swallowing furiously, choking a little but ultimately taking it down like a champ. Varka groans, leaning against the wall, enjoying a moment of beautiful afterglow.
Then, silence. Only the crickets in the distance. A moment of stillness.
Then, regret. It hits him immediately, intensely, and entirely. A sledgehammer to his chest that upends everything he’s ever believed about himself. He has never, not in his entire life, done anything sexual with someone that wasn’t explicitly consensual. He’s never even fantasized about it.
But clearly something inside him was capable of it. Something was lurking somewhere inside his psyche. His mind immediately jumps to the defensive. Lohen had basically asked for it right? He’d drugged him non-consensually. And he didn’t fight it that hard.
He shakes his head. Excuses for a lesser man. Nothing Lohen had done or not done lets Varka off the hook for what he just did.
At first, fear pulses through him. Then resignation. He would admit his wrongdoing, of course. Sign whatever statement Lohen creates or make his own.
He would accept his fate, his justified punishment. He would not fight going to jail.
The jail he could accept. Any fines. Losing his titles.
It is really everything else that tortures him. He had disappointed everyone he cares about in the world. He was supposed to lead by example, to be the hero, to keep Monstadt safe. He had always taken the job seriously and taken his role in it seriously. People look up to him. A flash of faces dance across his mind, Venti, Jean, Traveler, Flins, his knights, but probably worst of all, Razor and Noelle. They would all know. They would all rightfully judge him, leave him, lose respect for him.
Furthermore, he had also disappointed himself. He acted no better than a wild beast, no, perhaps even worse than one. A wild beast doesn’t know what morality or ethics are. Varka does and he decided to eschew them for what? A blowie? A forced one against someone half his age and size? He could get his dick sucked by half the people in the Knights if he wanted it, consensually and enthusiastically. Why Lohen? Why now? Why like this?
After his jail term, he would atone. He doesn’t know how. Volunteering? Perhaps seeking out which deficit in him caused him to act this way to begin with? Movement below him stirs him from his spiraling thoughts.
Varka takes one shaky breath. Before anything else, he needs to make sure Lohen is ok, at least physically, and apologize. He knows the apology may not be accepted, now or ever, but nevertheless, it’s the first of many the younger man deserves.
“Lohen…” he murmurs, looking down, afraid of what he might see. Anger, rage, disgust…he could deal with that. Despair and pain? Further trauma? The accusing eyes of a victim? Varka hopes that its rage. Please let it be rage.
He freezes at what he actually sees.
Lohen grips his thigh, looking up like a mortal to an angel, eyes soft and loving, mouth slack.
“What…” Varka says, stepping backward. Lohen scuttles forward, wrapping his arms more tightly around Varka’s leg, gazing up with adoration across his face.
“Sir…” he says softly through a tear-streaked face.
Varka wants to be anywhere but where he is right now. He wishes he had a time machine to go back at least the day. Maybe longer. Maybe back to wherever he went wrong in life. He fights the urge to shake his leg violently, shake Lohen right off and then perhaps run away. Start a new life somewhere else where he wouldn’t be recognized. Sumeru is quite large. Maybe there.
But, right now he has to mitigate damage. He has to take responsibility. Lohen is clearly traumatized, his face a mess of tears and snot and a little bit of cum dripping out of the side of his mouth. There’s a wet patch Varka doesn’t want to think about on the front of his pants. He looks broken, eyes glazed over, hands mindlessly grasping onto Varka’s pants.
Varka rips off his coat, lifting Lohen to his feet and draping it over him. Lohen deserves privacy right now. He makes a quick assessment of his choices, none of which are perfect or even adequate. There isn’t a med tent in their current set-up. No healers either as their team had traveled ahead with a few gravely injured men. Groaning at his options, he ends up leading Lohen back to his own tent, safely tucked under his arm with the coat covering him. He knows that his tent is not a place that will feel safe for Lohen, but right now he has to get the young man fixed up and settle on a plan for moving forward.
Thankfully, he’s able to slip into his semi-private tent located further into the woods than the others. It’s a little bigger and nicer than the other tent set ups, indicating his status with the Knights. He’s grateful now for this fact. He sets Lohen on the bed and then picks up the bucket of water he keeps to wash up at the end of the day when baths and showers aren’t available. He sticks a towel in there, wringing it out and then walking back to an unmoving Lohen, coat still draped over his head. His hollow eyes seem to stare off into the distance at something Varka can’t see. He looks so small, especially under Varka’s huge coat. It would almost be a cute image, if you changed the circumstances.
Varka’s self-loathing roars back to life at the thought.
“Hey, we are going to get you cleaned up.”
Lohen barely reacts, head only inclining slightly.
“I’m going to wipe your face. Tell me if you want to do it yourself or if you want me to get someone else.” Ideally, someone else would help, but Lohen was at odds with almost everyone else in the Knights right now. Worry paralyzes him for a moment. Should he even be touching Lohen right now? But he can’t stand to leave Lohen dripping with Varka’s mistakes and bad judgment. He gently wipes down the other man’s face.
“I’ll get you a change of pants too. Then we can head back wherever you want to go. Home, or to a doctor, or straight to Jean or whoever is our head of public safety right now. I can get anyone in camp too, of course. It’s up to you.”
Lohen doesn’t react immediately, blinking as Varka cleans the fluids from his face and neck.
“Why?” He finally says, slowly.
“Why what?”
“Why other people?”
“You’re…hurt. I hurt you.”
Lohen gazes at him hazily, smiling and then laying back on the bed.
“I can go get one of them and bring them here…” Varka starts.
“No.”
“What do you want then?”
Lohen stretches, like a cat, and then starts tugging at his boots.
“Help.”
Varka numbly obeys, helping him slip off his boots, then also his jacket and pants.
In just his undergarments, Lohen looks so helpless and petite. Fragile. He lays back on the bed, staring upward, eyes unfocused and hazy. Varka sits on the stool next to the bed, at a loss for what to do. Did he break the other man? His simple responses and unguarded face are so unlike the Lohen Varka knows that he briefly wonders if he had cut off his oxygen for too long.
Lohen reaches a hand out toward him, patiently waiting until Varka reaches out his own hand. The smaller man grabs the offering, curling up with it, closing his eyes.
Varka sits there, frozen. He has zero life experiences that would tell him what he should do right now. Go get a healer is his first choice, then Lohen’s family, but Lohen himself doesn’t seem to want that. He seems to want to rest. Lohen curled around his hand feels like a lock and key, a handcuff as Varka remains trapped in the small tent with his regrets and shame.
His mind races. Did he hurt Lohen more than he thought? Did the smaller man snap? Would he wake up to a blade raking across his throat and a Lohen who had snapped out of it and realized Varka forced himself on him? Perhaps this last one was the best option, though the cowardly one. Then he’d just experience death rather than the total ruin of his name and exile.
He tortures himself then with imagining Jean’s face while he admitted what he did and, at some point, his eyes blink close.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
He blinks awake in the morning light. He definitely didn’t mean to sleep, but at some point it had stolen him all the same. The bed is empty and his neck aches from where he had slumped in the stool all night. Panic crawls up his throat. Where was…
“Good morning, Grand Master,” Lohen says behind him. Varka whips around to see Lohen in the entrance of the tent. He has clean clothes on somehow. His eyes are clear and his normal cadence seems back. Varka sighs in relief.
“Good morning. Have you decided how you would like to proceed?”
“I’m going to go run drills with the men. We are trying to improve footwork. They are sooooooo slow.”
“Drills? That’s not what I mean.”
“Well, we also may go on a hunt. We are running low on supplies, meat and egg. You have a meeting with the captains today about the Northern front. So, I’ll see you later then?” Varka is dumbfounded into silence as Lohen walks over, tugs him down, and kisses him on the cheek before leaving.
“Hey, Varka. You overslept. Get your ass out here,” another voice comes through the tent. And, what can he do, but get dressed and start the day?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Whatever you said to him, thank you. You really got through to him.”
Varka’s face burns and he hopes Anselm doesn’t see it, doesn’t somehow read between the lines. He glances over at Lohen, running drills as promised with the knights of the fifth company. He has a firm hand, but a fair one, guiding the men through session.
Lohen makes eye contact, offering a shy smile and gently waving a few fingers in the air.
Varka groans internally.
“I have my ways,” he says and immediately feels like a cretin.
The dirt beneath the Knights’ feet. Like a cradle robbing pig, like the human equivalent of hilichurl feces…
“Thanks again. It would have been a shame if he ruined his potential. Look at him. He’s acting like a true Knight today.” Anselm shakes Varka’s hand, eyes brimming with gratitude and then walks toward the regiment.
Revolting piece of crap that deserves public humiliation and exile, an embarrassment to Mondstadt, a stain on human morality and dignity…
A darker emotion emerges though. A dark desire. He doesn’t want to be known as a rapist, to lose the life he’s built, to disappoint everyone he knows. If Lohen seems like he doesn’t want to report anything, then who is Varka to disagree?
Maybe it would be ok, Varka lets himself think. Maybe everything will blow over. Maybe Lohen just needed to be shown that he doesn’t run the show and now he can mature as needed. Just one unfortunate blip, one bad night in their lives that they can pretend never happened. No one has to know and he can just avoid Lohen from here on out.
Could he dare to dream that life can continue as is?
He watches Lohen smile and encourage one of the slower members of the company, showing him how to run on the sides of his feet to gain more speed.
Yes, maybe everything will work out just fine.