Honkai: Star Rail oneshots

[blade/luocha] where you'd like to be

cw: Blade/Luocha, trans (ftm) Blade, gender dysphoria, body-/self-image issues, implied/referenced sex, bathing/washing, tattoos, hurt/comfort, fluff

❕ there's no actual/explicit sex, but this fic is abt the aftercare right after it, so when i say implied/ref sex i mean it heavily.

❕ there is a lot of physical touch in this fic; it's not explicit as in sexual (in intention/nature anw... u can interpret it however u want), but may be explicit as in in your face.

🚂 _ _ _ _ 💫

If asked, people would assume Blade is the one with tattoos. He already has the piercings, the bandages, the near-constant scent of blood on his person. Some ink would really add to whatever 'aesthetic' he has going on, they may even advise—but Blade has never seen his body as something he wants to decorate or flaunt. It feels better to regard it as something to be whittled down until fit for use, the realization that it is flesh and blood, his flesh and blood only coming to him once it has screamed enough to grab his attention, or simply given out, unresponsive to his commands. And anyway, nowadays with the self-healing, the only things that can remain on his body are scars.

Still, of all those he knows, Blade didn't expect Luocha to be the one with tattoos. Adorning most of his calloused fingers, bold while they lead one's gaze along the lines of his body, coy when they slip behind the bends of joints, or into the shadows of curves. Luocha barely reacts, only groans lightly when Blade moves away and pulls out of him. Blade parts wheat-gold tresses to uncover the other's back, and the needle-like sword that spans almost the entire length of Luocha's spine. Vertebrae bump against his fingertips when he trails his hand along it.

"That tickles, love," Luocha mumbles, but lets Blade finish anyway before turning around onto his back, the two of them now facing. Blooms scatter their petals across Luocha's chest; wings and scales flutter and coil around his torso and arms. Symbols that may as well be words or numbers, all foreign to Blade, arrange themselves in star-like clusters or neat lines on Luocha's ribs, across his thighs. His beloved is warm to the touch, from the sharpness of his hipbone to the still-slippery softness in between his legs. Blade stops—he hasn't meant to stray so far. He was simply tracing the path of a thorny vine, which coincidentally has itself wrapped around Luocha's pelvis, creeping down the inside of his leg.

Luocha just smiles. He slips one hand behind Blade's nape, while the other slides further down his body to undo the harnesses around Blade's waist and thighs, touch soothing where the leather has cinched. Then the strap is gone and their bodies are flush against each other, chests, stomachs, knees briefly knocking before their legs intertwine. Blade closes his eyes while Luocha's lips brush his forehead, then his cheeks.

"Tired?"

"Mmn."

"You did amazing. I loved it." Luocha mouths the praise onto his skin, fingers scraping gently against Blade's scalp, making him sigh. Blade feels clearly his own wet unraveling when Luocha slips a thigh in between his legs—but it is not to expose him or demand anything more from him, simply to touch, to hold Blade in a way he couldn't before. Tend to him the way he has tended to Luocha's every need and want earlier. "Anything you'd like? Water? A hot or cold pack?" Blade shakes his head. "Shower?" He nods.

Luocha's bathroom is illuminated by moonlight, just enough for the outlines of things to be visible, still enough for them to navigate around each other and the space. Both decide it's too much of a hassle to wash their hair; Blade pins his up haphazardly but surprisingly securely with a single hairstick, while Luocha just rolls his eyes at the flex and defaults to a claw clip. They cram into the shower together; it's tight, but neither of them are patient enough to wait. The initial blast of water is freezing cold, but just as quickly it heats up, diluting their winces and groans into blissful silence. Blade relaxes into the warmth cascading down his body, the presence of another beside him: Luocha's closeness comforting, their physical contact casual. His eyes are drawn once again to the forms and patterns on the other's skin, entranced by the way they seem to ripple along to the water's flow.