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Despite him having been stripped of weapons and run ragged through battle, despite being bound in chains, the Millelith still flank him with an entire squad when they bring him before their emperor. He barely gets the impression of great power radiating from the figure of Rex Lapis on his throne before he's shoved to his knees and his head is forced down almost to the floor. "You don't deserve to look on our lord," the guard manhandling him hisses.
He chokes out a laugh and gives a violent shake as if he thought he could free himself from his bonds so easily, "maybe I don't want to."
The guard growls and raises a hand but before the blow falls, a deeply resonant voice fills the massive chamber, "halt." The guard freezes and his eyes go wide in something akin to both awe and terror.
Instantly, the prisoner realizes that the entire hall is now utterly silent and even the official that had been reading off the litany of his crimes was no longer speaking.
Rather, what he does hear are the measured steps of someone approaching from the direction of the emperor's throne. When those steps finally come to a stop, it is just in front of him and all he can see from his kneeling position are the toes of Rex Lapis' shoes. Half expecting the aborted strike to now come from the emperor himself, the prisoner starts in surprise when instead he feels the god-king's hand come to rest atop his head and his fingers curl just enough for the prisoner to feel the barest scratch of talons on his scalp. "I believe I have heard enough," the emperor declares, "clear the hall."
All around now can be heard whispers and quiet exclamations of shock. The official that had been detailing his crimes begins to protest but the words die almost before they've left his throat and the prisoner is left to imagine the quelling glance that must have been sent the functionary's way. Moments later, the emperor's hall is devoid of any save the god-king himself and the prisoner on his knees before him.
"The Tsaritsa's eleventh Harbinger, her feral wolf," Rex Lapis says, his voiced tinged in amusement, "bound in chains and thrown before me. What would she say if she could see you now, Tartaglia?"
Tartaglia growls and jerks away from the emperor's hold so he could brazenly stare up at him with a furious gaze. "She'd tell me to finish the job." Despite searing hatred stoked over the course of Snezhnaya's long war with Liyue, even he realizes he's not entirely immune to Rex Lapis' inhuman beauty. And inhuman he is with piercing, almost reptilian, eyes of gold, his head crowned not by any adornment of metal but by a dragon's great horns instead, and his skin marked with strange geometric designs and scattered patches of shining scales. When he had been in the Tsaritsa's presence, there had never been any question that she was something far beyond humanity but despite that her guise had always been that of a cold, austere woman. She hadn't needed—he thinks—to make such a show of of her divinity as this foreign god has.
"No," Rex Lapis responds in a thoughtful tone, seemingly unperturbed by his prisoner's blatant hostility, "I think she might give you to me. You have been captured, after all, so you are no longer her pawn but mine."
Tartaglia retorts with a snarl, "I'd rather die."
Rex Lapis laughs and brings his hand down on Tartaglia's head again but this time strokes his hair with a deceptively gentle touch until Tartaglia feels the emperor's fingers brush the back of his neck. The god hooks his fingers under the iron collar Tartaglia had been locked in and tugs it firmly. "There are many other things you'd be far more useful doing, Tartaglia." He sighs then and releases the collar to give him a perfunctory pat on the head like one might give a favored hunting dog. "You'll see."
A second later, the collar unceremoniously splits in two and lands with a resounding clank on the palace's polished floor. The rest of the chains keeping Tartaglia in place all drop as one with an almost deafening clatter. He's never been one to question a good opportunity, even if it's an obvious trap, so Tartaglia springs to his feet and lunges for the god with the remains of the collar held tightly in his hand, its sharp, broken edge facing out.
Sidestepping this first attack, Rex Lapis begins to lead them both in a dance of strikes and blocks, feints and parries. "I have watched you many times on the battlefield," he says when he catches Tartaglia's wrist in one hand just before the broken collar's rough edge makes contact with his temple.
Tartaglia sneers at him and twists out of his grip. "Everyone knows Rex Lapis hides in his palace while his people spill their blood for him."
The god-king's expression doesn't change save for something heated that flickers in his eyes just before he moves to sweep Tartaglia's legs out from under him and comments, "you have probably heard of his general." Despite having nimbly dodged, Tartaglia now finds himself forced to give ground under a relentless assault while the emperor continues speaking, "you have lost enough battles at his hands, after all. Particularly the one that has brought you to me."
Even on the back foot as he is, Tartaglia still searches for some opening, some way to gain back the ground he's lost, "he is like his emperor, then," he taunts and evades strike after strike, "hiding instead of showing his face."
A moment later, Rex Lapis proves that he had merely been toying with the Harbinger when he catches him in an unyielding grip, pinning him against the wall he'd been steadily backed toward as they performed this dance. His eyes gleam with a predatory light and his smile is full of teeth. But what startles Tartaglia the most is how the rest of his features shift and mold before him as he watches. The god's horns fade and disappear, sharp talons become a human's blunt fingernails, all inhuman marks and scales appear to become mortal flesh, and even his sumptuous silken robes become the uniform of Liyue's high general, Zhongli.
Tartaglia stares in something akin to shock but his captor merely chuckles in amusement. "You see," the god says with the voice of a man, "I have been on every battlefield. You never had any hope of standing against me, in the end."
"Well," Tartaglia manages to quip when he finds his voice again, "it seems you are standing against me." Very, very closely, in fact. A stone wall behind him and the body of a god that might as well be stone standing before him holding him in place. He does his best to ignore the sudden thought of is that so bad? that rises from the back of his mind.
Rex Lapis asks in a casual tone, "does your Tsaritsa tolerate such insolence?"
Tartaglia's answering smile is crooked, "I wouldn't dare."
"Ah. I see." The god sighs, "I suppose I should have known better than to expect even a little submission from you despite so many lost battles. Even now after your latest failure." He lifts one shoulder in a small shrug before he raises one of his hands to encircle Tartaglia's throat, "be that as it may, I do not mind taking a…firmer approach."
Just as Tartaglia opens his mouth to retort, Rex Lapis shakes his head and hushes him "shhhh." In unison with the sound, there comes a warm golden glow from below Tartaglia's chin and where he'd felt the god's hand moments before he senses instead a new collar, smooth and unblemished and utterly unbreakable. Dropping his hand from Tartaglia's neck, Rex Lapis gestures toward his prisoner's hands and another glow emanates from the formation of two perfectly solid cuffs that encircle Tartaglia's wrists. A deceptively delicate chain connects all three items together, not so short as to completely impede his movements but enough to get in his way.
Rex Lapis steps back a short distance as if to admire his handiwork and Tartaglia watches him with suspicion while he tests the strength of the chain, tugging on each end in turn. "If you wanted me in chains," he says slowly, "you didn't have to break the first set."
"Hmph." The god reaches out to grasp the chain that leads to Tartaglia's collar and pulls to drag him closer. "They weren't very becoming on you. I prefer these. Should you wish to attack me again," his smile when he speaks becomes sardonic while his tone of voice remains perfectly polite, "I thought I should allow you a fighting chance."
Tartaglia scowls, "how magnanimous." They both know now that he stands little chance against the god even were he to be unbound. They also both know that that knowledge won't stop him from trying again despite his new shackles.
"I thought so," Rex Lapis doesn't let go of his grip on the chain but he does use his free hand to brush a stray strand of hair from Tartaglia's face. "You ought to thank me."
"Thank you?" That prompts a bark of disbelieving laughter. "For your condescension?"
"For your life," Rex Lapis corrects him. "My people would prefer you dead after the havoc you have wrought in this war. I prefer you alive for…a similar reason."
A few moments pass while Tartaglia parses that against other things the emperor has said since their 'audience' began, then his eyes widen. "If you think I'm going to turn around and serve you, that's…ridiculous."
Rex Lapis shakes his head, "that's where you're mistaken. I know you have pledged yourself to your Tsaritsa but what I also know, intimately," his voice drops, "is what you desire is to have a powerful opponent to test yourself against and have I not given you that? I do not expect unthinking obedience out of you, Tartaglia, I do not want you broken but…tamed may be a better word." He smiles, "you can consider that my desire, if you like."
Letting go of the chain, Rex Lapis steps back once again, still smiling. "Test yourself again, then. I will not use your fetters against you. In fact, feel free to use them against me if you believe that will help. Should you succeed, I will happily free you for you'll deserve it. But if you do not…I will bring you to heel."
Another obvious trap. Even if the god didn't use the chains to jerk him around they still slowed his movements and limited his range. But…he hadn't been wrong about Tartaglia's desire, would have seen it on the battlefield already. Standing before him is the one opponent he'd never managed to best. There was no way he'd let the opportunity pass. And if he failed once again, well…there was that little, traitorous voice in the back of his mind asking again would that be so bad? What would 'bringing him to heel' entail? The leap from that thought to the memory of Rex Lapis' firm body pressed against his is a short one indeed. Tartaglia shakes his head with a jerk as if to hid himself of the image but such a thing was not so easily banished.
Trap it may be, but Tartaglia would be damned if he just submitted quietly and did nothing. So he leaps into action, choosing to kite around his opponent instead of lunging directly forward. Approval lights in Rex Lapis' eyes as he turns to meet the attack, smoothly avoiding tangling himself in his prisoner's chains. True to his word, he doesn't seek to use the chains against Tartaglia—at least not anymore than they hamper him simply by their very existence. Which makes the fact that Tartaglia's every attempt to gain an advantage is rebuffed all the more frustrating.
Frustrating in more ways than one, if he were honest with himself. He knows it's not anger that's heating his blood as their fight continues. And it's neither anger nor fear that has him continue to struggle when Rex Lapis finally pins him once again, panting, this time pushed over the arm of some gilded piece of furniture. Not just any furniture, he realizes after a moment's consideration.
"You've failed," Rex Lapis croons softly in his ear as the god leans over him and presses him harder against the throne. "You're mine."
"Isn't this-…" Tartaglia tries to look over his shoulder when he responds, "…some kind of sacrilege?"
Rex Lapis' low chuckle seems to reverberate straight from deep his chest and into Tartaglia, somehow further stoking the heat that had already been kindled in his core. "It is my throne to do with as I wish. As are you. I should think, then," he nips the curve of Tartaglia's ear, prompting a surprised gasp from him, "that I may call this a divine act and no one can tell me otherwise. Am I not a god?"
"I can't disagree," Tartaglia says, "but I never heard of a god taking his offerings like this."
Chuckling once more, Rex Lapis twines his fingers in Tartaglia's hair and tugs his head back, "are you offering yourself to me? That's rather sooner than I expected."
Eyes widening, Tartaglia takes a ragged breath, "no. No, I'm not."
"No? Well then, taking is still an operative word in this situation. And I am certain you'll thank me for it later." He loosens his grip on Tartaglia's hair and lets his talons reappear as he slides his hand down the young man's back, the motion accompanied by a unmistakable ripping sound when their wickedly sharp tips tear his shirt to ribbons. His flesh could be just as easily shredded, Tartaglia realizes, and the god's light touch on his skin is a warning to that effect despite its gentleness.
Gentle it might be but Tartaglia can still imagine the long reddish lines being left on his body even so and can't suppress the shiver the thought elicits. "I liked that shirt," he mutters.
"You'll get another one," Rex Lapis says as he beings to give Tartaglia's pants similar treatment. "I will find something that suits you better than a Snezhnayan uniform." Tattered cloth pools around his ankles and Rex Lapis adds, "which may simply be those chains."
Tartaglia closes his eyes and tests pushing himself back against the body holding him in place, "put me on display like some obscene toy? Even her Majesty-" his words are cut off when a sharp pain lances through his hip followed by a warm trickle of what he assumes to be blood down his leg.
"I had not thought to share you in that way," Rex Lapis says in a deceptively idle tone as he loosens his grasp on his captive's hip, "but since your mind went there, who am I to deprive you? So yes, perhaps I will."
With one hand the god-king once more twines his fingers in Tartaglia's hair, this time pressing his face into the royal seat cushion. It's the work of only a moment for him to remove his own clothing. "My most beautiful war prize," he says, grinding his hips into Tartaglia's rear and making his arousal more than obvious. "On display for all to see that I own you. Don't worry, the marks will make it clear. Imagine," he slides his free hand under Tartaglia and curls his fingers around his cock, "you may have a cushion on the floor beside this throne." He leans down and mouths at the back of Tartaglia's shoulder then nips at his skin, "my marks on you. Everywhere that I wish. You'll know that I will never allow you to be taken from me. Unlike others who don't deserve you." He stroke his thumb along Tartaglia's length, drawing a shuddery groan from the young man, and smiles, "I thought you'd like that idea."
Tartaglia starts to protest but between the physical pleasure Rex Lapis is drawing out of him and how he can't quite draw deep enough breaths, he's feeling so lightheaded that the words slip out of his grasp. Besides. It feels good. Why stop?
Seeming to be satisfied his captive won't try to move from the position in which he's been placed, Rex Lapis frees his head. A moment later, Tartaglia can feel the god stroking his own cock, coaxing it to greater fullness and, he realizes, smearing it both with his own precum and that which he's milked from Tartaglia. On the heels of that realization are Rex Lapis' fingers—sans talons, thankfully—pressing at his entrance, sliding into him.
Tartaglia bites his lip at the unfamiliar sensation and tightens his fingers around the edge of the throne's seat. Behind him, Red Lapis pauses. "No one has done this?" He doesn't wait for a response, pushing deeper and curling his fingers in a way that sends what feels like a frisson of electricity down Tartaglia's spine and startles a keening breath out of the young man.
"No," he gasps, "not-…it was always the other way around."
A pleased rumble emanates from the god. "Good. This then is mine too. As it should be." He punctuates that statement with another firm push of his fingers before he slips them out and, shamefully, Tartaglia can't help shifting his hips back to seek that contact again.
Rex Lapis chuckles and this time doesn't reprimand him for the movement, "so quick to bend to my touch, mm? You'll soon have more."
Tartaglia feels his cheeks heat in embarrassment even as an answering heat is further stoked deep in his core. He had never imagined this sort of submission, had always desired to demonstrate his own dominance but perhaps if this was how he had to finally experience such a thing, at least it would be a god that finally brings him to heel. Weak he immediately chastises himself but the thought is chased from his mind when Rex Lapis begins to fill the void left by his fingers with his cock and all Tartaglia can think anymore is how he's being stretched farther than he could have imagined. Even with pain that stretch brings, there's an unexpected pleasure in how full the god's cock makes him, how hearing the Rex Lapis' low groan of pleasure as he buries himself in Tartaglia makes his own cock twitch and stiffen even more.
The god curls one of his hands around Tartaglia's hip, pulling him harder against him and digging his fingers in deeply enough to bruise. His other hand he returns to Tartaglia's cock, stroking him in time with the thrust of his hips. "Tell me you want this, my prize," Rex Lapis growls in his ear, "make me believe it."
Feels so good. I do, I want-…wait. No! Why are you letting him break you so easily?
When a response isn't forthcoming, Rex Lapis' grip on him tightens painfully and Tartaglia once again feels the pinprick of talons on his hip. "No matter," he says, "you will. Eventually." From there, he drives himself into the younger man with ruthless thrusts, battering him against the throne's side.
Despite the god's merciless use of his body, Tartaglia can't ignore a heady thread of arousal that remains as he's fucked with unrelenting force. That, he manages to think through all the sensation overwhelming his senses, must be due to Rex Lapis' hand still stroking him with practiced precision. When the understanding that the god can pull such pleasure even as he's being used so harshly, a flare of even stronger arousal jolts through his body and rips a moan from him. Shame floods him but it doesn't stop the way his hips jerk against Rex Lapis above him. "Please," he breathes and buries his face in the seat cushion, "it's too much."
Tartaglia feels the heat of the god's breath on the back of his neck as he lets out a satisfied hiss. "Ah, my prize," he nips at the curve of his ear. "Not yet," Rex Lapis grunts. "Beg me."
Panting, Tartaglia attempts to protest, "I can't-…"
"You will," Rex Lapis growls, forcing himself even deeper and ragged wail is torn from Tartaglia as stars explode behind his eyelids.
Anything. Say anything. Make him finish. "Please," he mumbles into the cushion and tries to clench himself around the god's cock. "I want it. You. Please." The words descend into an unintelligible babble as shame at his defeat, unwilling arousal, bitter pleasure, and pain at his usage all merge into one overwhelming feeling filling his mind and leaving no room for anything else.
Triumphant, Rex Lapis laughs and when he climaxes, he withdraws from Tartaglia to allow hot cum to spatter over his ass and thighs. Dimly, Tartaglia feels an unsatisfying dribble from his own cock and squeezes back sharp tears of humiliation. Rex Lapis makes a disgusted sound before wiping his soiled fingers on Tartaglia's back. Only then does he use the collar to draw Tartaglia up and away from the throne before letting him go. Unsteady and sore and unable to support himself, the young man drops to his knees on the floor, groaning at the impact that judders through his ravaged body.
Exuding an air of satisfaction, Rex Lapis settles himself on the throne's seat and reaches down to pet Tartaglia's hair in a gesture made almost caring. Before he realizes exactly what he's doing, Tartaglia leans into the unexpected gentleness. Above him, the god's lips curve into a slow smile and he reaches further to curl his fingers around the collar that encircles Tartaglia's neck. "Even good dogs must be on a leash, my prize," he says, and gives the collar a tug, "but we both know you are not a good dog. Yet."