Chapter Text
“It’s okay,” you pet your little mechanism softly on the back and it preens, the gold core at it’s center flickering a little, “I think you have a right to exist.” It hops around the table before resting in your palm, curling up there. Though mechanical lifeforms were banned as a subject of study, there weren’t any rules about building yourself a little friend. Maybe if the other scholars had been kinder, and more welcoming, you wouldn’t have had to resort to such measures. You sip your drink with your free hand, looking out over the tavern. Many are gathered, other researchers from the Akademya, other brilliant minds, those with funding, those with projects that mattered, and those who could stand in the sunlight and proclaim their knowledge.
Your work existed at the intersection of several troves of knowledge, the study of consciousness, and the theory of consciousness. Humanity had been proven to be aware, but the awareness exhibited by other creatures, from Hilichurls, Adepti, Abyss Mages, and the Archons themselves varied. You measured the degree of awakeness, and how each creature's neurology and psychopathological nuances influenced their morals, behavior, and socialization. The little bird you’d built yourself snuggles in your palm. It was simple, just a few scraps of metal and some magic ores, but it feltlike she had a personality, has likes and dislikes and would converse with you in the limited ways she could.
“Do you think you’re alive?” You murmur, feeling warm and pleasantly drunk, hunkered in your favorite corner. The little machine doesn’t move, or make any indication it heard you. The door to the tavern opens and in strides a tall man with auburn hair and broad shoulders. His smile is easy, but he’s made no attempt to fit in with the locals in his dress, his grey and red attire marking him clearly as a Sneznayhan tourist. His vision is tucked against his belt, and most of the tavern awkwardly turns away from him. Fatui diplomat's reputation currently was at an all-time low, after scuffles in both Mondstadt and Liyue, and the young man makes his way to the only open seat at the bar, next to you. You tuck your little bird into your pocket and scoot over to make room for him, he glances at you.
“Bad day?” He asks, noting the empty glasses near you.
“How alive do you think you are,” You ask him, resting your face on the palm of your hand. “On a scale of one to ten?” He’s somehow not caught off guard by your question, and he answers quickly.
“Oh, today? Soft four.”
“Do you think on some days we’re more or less alive?” Your brow wrinkles. “That variable would complicate my research for sure.” You sigh deeply and he orders a drink, downing half of it the second it arrives. “How about you, bad day?”
“Ah,” He shrugs, “They’re all sort of a compounding of experiences neither negative nor positive, I think,” he pauses, considering, “I think I might have done something either monstrously clever or deeply and truly idiotic and I’m not positive which but I’d rather not find out at this moment, I’m enjoying the drink,” his eyes flick to you, your warm face, easy smile, to the cleavage he can see pushing out of your dress, “And the company.”
“Ahhh,” You lean back, nodding like he’s confirmed something excellent. “Schrodingers Cat.” He cocks his head at you. “The cat, goes in the box,” He grins, wildly enjoying your animated speech, “Cat goes in the box, and then, once it’s in there, you have no way of knowing if the cat is alive or dead.”
“Oh oh,” He takes another sip of his drink, “Yes, and I will not be opening the box tonight.” You nod, and he watches your consciousness stray from him. “Hey,” He nudges you, “Could you pay attention, I’m trying to flirt.” You giggle, shaking your head.
“No.” You turn your nose up at him, taking your drink and finishing it. “Try harder.” He hums softly.
“I do love a challenge.” He considers something. “I’m at a 6 six now.”
“Out of ten?” Your eyes light up, you manage to produce a notebook from somewhere, taking notes. “I’m trying,” you look up at him then go back to the notes, “I want to map a spectrum of consciousness, so that we can calculate against it, like how conscious is a human compared to an archon compared to a honeybee.”
“Have you ever met an archon?” He asks you, and you shake your head. “I have.” You raise your eyebrows. “I’m honestly a little hurt you don’t recognize me,” his hand flies to his heart with mock offense, “I’m Childe, eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers.”
“Oh!” You recoil from him, eyes wide, loud enough so that a few people around look, “Oh, you, this, I,” he watches you make several connections, intelligence dancing behind your drunken glassy eyes, you cock your head, studying him, “So you’re dangerous.”
“Very.” He leans forward. “Extremely dangerous.”
“Oh dear,” You sigh again, face back in your palm, leaning over the bar and looking up at him. “I am unfortunately visionless.” You shrug. “Unimportant, and therefore not worth your trouble.” He takes in that admission slowly, you watch him chew and swallow the information.
“I doubt very much that you are unimportant.” He says eventually. “Whatcha hiding in your pocket, sweetheart?” It’s funny, you’re so drunk all of your thoughts play right on your face. This was easier than he’d expected. “You can show me,” he says, leaning further into your personal space, “I’m not gonna run off and report you.” You give him a cheeky half-smile.
“Her name is Bertie.” You whisper, pulling the little mechanical creature out of your pocket and holding her in your palms, she’s still sleeping, her crystal core glowing dimly.
“Hello Bertie,” he coos, “What a pretty thing.” You laugh, tucking her away immediately, to Childe’s immediate dismay. “Oh, we were just getting to know each other,” he protests, “You can’t separate us so fast,” he says, but you shake your head.
“She’s resting, I can’t recharge her until the sun is out again, anyway.” You shrug and sense a change in Childe’s demeanor.
“She’s solar-powered?” He asks, and when you nod he rubs his chin, realizing he’s given something away and pivoting. “So you’re a real nerd huh?”
“Excuse me,” You feign offense, “I happen to be not at all addicted to my work, and I wasn’t drinking alone when you came in here.”
“Oh yeah?” He grins, “Your boyfriend gonna come beat me up?”
“He might.” You sniff haughtily and go to order another drink, the bartender shakes his head, placing a glass of water in front of you.
“After you finish that I’ll serve you.” He says, and you groan. Childe takes a calculated risk, and reaches out, resting a large hand on your thigh. You react not at all as he expects, no longer trading barbs, you retreat into yourself, smiling shyly.
“What?” He says softly, deepening his voice a little. He knows, you think, he knows what.
“I um,” you search for words, fuck you’re inebriated, “I dunno.”
“Can’t imagine that’s something a scholar like yourself says often,” He says, speaking lowly, forcing you to lean into him so that you can hear, his breath fanning over your face. “You don’t know.”
“Not often.” You manage, and he squeezes your thigh. “How did you know I’m a scholar?” You ask, and he rolls his eyes.
“It’s obvious.” He reaches out and tucks some hair behind one of your ears, “C’mon, you’re smarter than that. Girl with a notebook at the bar in Sumeru, she’s a scholar.” He shakes his head. “I’ve got something else you don’t know.”
“Oh really?” You lean into the warmth of his hand, almost nuzzling him like a cat.
“I’d really like to kiss you, at some point,” He says, speaking quietly again so that you have to lean in, “So why don’t you finish that water for me, you can do it.” You pout visibly but obey downing the water in a matter of minutes. He orders some snacks that you pick at, and the two of you make conversation. He learns what makes you erupt in a peal of bell- giggles and spends the next few hours stabbing at that button, desperate to hear the sound over and over again. You’re covering your mouth laughing after a direct hit, he’d made some joke about how he’d been sent here to see the scribe, Alhaitham but he was absolutely never in his office. He catches a strange look pass over your face at the mention of the name, but you ask a question before he can push the issue.
“Childe is an interesting name,” you murmur, “An interesting pseudonym.” He shrugs.
“I have a few of them,” He says. “It’s necessary to do business on behalf of the Fatui.” A cloud passes over your face again and he curses himself. “What, our reputation can’t be that bad?” He aims for playfulness and almost misses.
“Oh,” you laugh again and it hits him like a tidal wave, “Of course, it can be and it is, lucky for you I have absolutely no self-respect.”
“None at all?” He smiles, bringing his own drink to his lips.
“Um,” you look concerned for a moment, and feign checking your purse, “Yes, none at all I just confirmed.”
“If I believed in luck I’d feel that way right now.” He says, slipping an arm around your waist and sliding enough Mora to pay your bill and then some across the counter.
“Oooh,” you lean into his touch, “Should have told me you were rich, Childe, that might have made this faster.” He laughs, genuinely.
“This would have been faster if you weren’t halfway into a drunken stupor when I walked in.” He says, booping your nose with a gloved finger. “Come along now.” He whisks you from the Tavern. “Your place?” He says casually, itching, he’s close, he’s so close, he can smell it, he’s almost there. You fidget.
“It’s messy.” You say, petulance invading your tone.
“Don’t worry about it.” He says, tugging you closer to him, the alcohol bolstering his confidence. His hand floats lower, resting on your ass in your tiny little skirt rather than on the small of your back. You giggle.
“Don’t-”
“Shhhh,” He says, grinning, “No one can see.” It’s true, it’s so late that the streets are deserted, “I could push you up against a wall in that alley,” he murmurs, leaning down to speak in your ear, “Wake up the neighbors.” You laugh again, and he gives your ass a squeeze.
“We’re almost there,” you swat his hands away. “Keep it together.”
“Can I help it if I think you’re intoxicating?” He says, oozing charm. You laugh again, leading him through the streets and up the stairs to your apartment. He watches you fumble with the keys, for someone letting a strange man into her apartment, you’ve got at least four locks, each with some kind of complicated mechanism. You sigh and push the door open. He sees what you mean by mess, piles of manuscripts cover every surface, and there are ink stains on the wood floor. Moonlight pours in as the only light source besides the glowing crystal cores that litter your desk and workspace, and it’s a studio apartment, all one room except for the small door he assumes is a restroom. A little more excitement flares in his chest, it might actually be a challenge to find the research he was supposed to steal, and you, he turns to face you, standing nervously in a pool of silver light, you’d been an unexpected delight.
“What’s the matter,” He says, striding over to you like a cat stalking it’s prey. “Suddenly shy?”
“Not a chance,” you breathe, and he leans down, he can feel your pulse racing beneath your skin, he tips your chin up, forcing eye contact. “Maybe a little.” You confess, and he chuckles softly.
“Can you do something for me?” He asks, and you nod, squirming a little. “In a second,” he says, “In a second I’m going to kiss you. And you,” he presses his forehead softly against yours, “I want you to fight me with everything you have, I want you to hit me, I want you to scratch me, I want it to hurt, can you do that for me?” You nod, he searches your face for any indication of reluctance. “Are you ready?” You nod. “I wanna hear you say it.” He says, tone still light, and teasing. “I want to hear you say you trust me.”
“You won’t hurt me?” You whisper.
“Pretty thing like you?” he kisses your cheek. “Never.” You take a deep breath.
“I understand.” He takes you roughly the moment the words leave your body, pushing you up against the table in your kitchen, and the wind is knocked from his body when pain flashes against his cheek, you backhand him so hard he sees stars. He senses it, your moment of hesitation, if this were a real fight, he’d go for your throat, this would be the chance. Instead, he confirms you haven’t done anything wrong, responding by spitting on the ground and snatching your wrist, slamming you against the wall.
“Hm,” he kisses you, biting down on your lower lip as you try to get away, “Kitten’s got claws huh,” he kisses down your jaw as you squirm, biting your neck so hard you let out a yelp, “Lemme see ‘em, c’mon.” He growls, “I wanna feel it,” your nails scratch down his chest with your free hand and he groans into your skin, a broken stuttering sound, “That’s it,” he presses his body flush against yours, kissing you again as you yank on the hand he has pinned, grabbing at his arm with your free hand but finding his strength to be iron. You gasp, his free hand slips underneath your skirt and you lock your thighs together, then find yourself flying through the air. It takes a second for you to grasp what happened, that he grabbed you by the waist and physically threw you across your apartment. You hit your mattress hard, the air gushing from your lungs.
“Ah,” you gasp, tears forming, but he’s on top of you again nearly instantaneously, reluctant concern in his eyes,
“Wanna stop?” he says and finds that he means it, that he cares if he’s hurt you, but he doesn’t have time to be reassured by the fact that he’s still capable of minute empathy because you go to slap him again but this time he’s got your number, catching your wrist and pressing his knee hard between your legs. He rips his shirt off, tossing it onto the ground, before taking two fistfuls of your tiny little shirt and tearing it down the middle, burying his face between your breasts before kissing you hungrily, groaning into your mouth as you rake your nails down his back, he presses his knee harder, pulling a little moan from your lips, kissing and biting at the softness of your chest, living for your little gasps of pain, and the way you hold him closer. He finally reaches between your legs, pushing your soaked panties to the side and starts rubbing at your clit. “C’mere,” He grunts, hearing you start to moan softly, taking your hand with his free one and pressing it to the bulge in his pants, “Feel how big it is, baby, I’m gonna fuck you so hard,” he promises, and your back arches up off your mattress, “Just like that, I wanna hear you scream when I put it in, and I’m gonna push it all inside you all at once, are you gonna scream for me?” You shake your head, and he laughs, genuinely, you’re falling apart in his hands, adrenaline pumping, grinding against his fingers, “I think you are,” he teases, “You sound fucking desperate.” You shake your head again and open your mouth to respond, but he grinds the heel of his palm against your clit and you keen instead.
“Oh, gods,” you manage, as he yanks his pants down and frees his cock, a tuft of auburn hair at the base, it’s long and hooked upwards. He stops fingering you and then reaches up, pushing his fingers between your lips.
“Suck, sweetheart, go ahead,” He coos, relishing in his victory, despite his orders earlier you’re too turned on to put up any more of a fight, “That’s a good girl,” he exclaimed, oozing condescension as he withdraws his hand, pumping his cock once, “You ready?” It's at that moment when you realize he hasn’t really prepped you at all, and you wonder if that’s the source of the wicked grin on his face as he thrusts roughly inside you.
Stars break across your vision as you cum, you’re not sure what kind of sound leaves your lips, and he must be feeling it too, because he lets out an uncontrolled groan, swearing violently as he fucks you hard, seeing the mix of pain and pleasure on your face, feeling your nails dig into his back, his teeth on your neck, his arms hooked under your shoulders for leverage as he presses your knees further into your chest.
“Came the second I put it in didn’t you,” He grunts, but it doesn’t sound calm or controlled or teasing, “Fuck, I knew it, fuckin’ knew you would.” He groans again, evidently having trouble controlling himself, “You feel perfect,” he manages, his hair flopping in his eyes, “So fucking soft, baby, so soft for me,” he kisses you and it’s almost tender, almost sweet, but you can taste the bitterness, taste the rust from the blood where he bit you, or you bit him, your head is swimming. By contrast to earlier, he’s all praise while he’s inside you, astoundingly incredibly vocal, deep moans and hitched gaps, you were soft, you pretty, you were his, you were his, you were his, you were his.
“That’s my girl,” he kisses you again, “Cum again for me, you’re close, I can feel it, c’mon sweetheart, just stay still and take it, cum on my cock, I wanna feel it, I wanna feel you cum again,”
“So close,” you whisper, and he kisses a tear off your cheek.
“Cum with me,” he picks up the pace a little, astoundingly athletic as he slams his hips against yours, “Cum with me while I knock you up, you want that, want me to cum inside?” Your eyes shoot open, momentarily sobered.
“N-no,” You try to sit up but he pushes you back down, “You have to pull out, Childe I-” He frowns, his pseudonym on your lips feels so wrong.
“Mmmm,” he kisses you again, reaching down and rubbing at your clit, pulling a fresh set of mewls from your swollen lips, “I don’t pull out sweetheart, c’mon, lemme make you mine all the way, I’m gonna cum inside, wanna breed you-”
“You have to pull-” you manage, but then he slams against that one spot inside you that knocks the breath from your lungs. “Oh gods,” you get out, as you cum again and he joins you, collapsing on top of you as his hips twitch. He’s loud, taking two fistfuls of your hair and holding you firmly in place as he empties himself inside you. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of the two of you breathing heavily, as you stare up into his blue eyes, and feel the abyss staring back into you. “You um,” you manage, speaking first.
“Give me one second.” He murmurs, “Maybe two,” he rolls onto his side and props his head up, staring down at you lovingly, stroking your cheek. “So pretty.” He murmurs. “So pretty, you really shouldn’t be drinking alone when you’re this pretty. There are bad, bad men out there, you know” You swallow. He sighs deeply, allowing himself one more moment of peace before springing into action. He stands quickly, yanking his boxers on before leaping back on top of you, drawing his belt from the floor, and pushing you back up on the bed. Before you can blink, he’s tied your wrists tightly to the headboard. “Now,” He grins. “Business.”
“What?” Your head spins, and you pull on the leather but there’s no give, “What’s-”
“I was just supposed to follow you home and investigate,” He explains, “The Fatui are very, very interested in your research, and not the research you’re doing in the daytime.” You try to sit up a bit as he opens the drawers of your desk and lets out a low whistle, little creatures scuttle out, climbing up the side of your desk, their tiny crystal cores glowing brightly. “Bad girl, what would the sages say about studying mechanical creatures,” He turns back to you, “Naughty, naughty!” He’s smiling widely, you can see his sharp canines. He watches fear flood your face.
“Please.” you say quickly, “I was just bored, just bored and lonely, I-”
“Mmm,” He picks up one of the creatures, it settles in his palm. “Does this have a name?”
“That’s um,” you’re struck by the absurdity of the situation, wishing you weren’t almost naked. “Cyrus.”
“Cyrus!” He crows, petting it softly before turning back to you. “Here’s what’s going to happen, I’m making an executive decision that I don’t think we’ll be able to interpret your work with you personally being present.” He keeps rooting through your things. “I have all night, the transport back to Sneznayha arrives just before dawn.” He yawns and stretches. “Not that I don’t wanna lie down with you and just cuddle.”
“Childe.” You blink a few times, sitting up. “I, I mean, I can’t go to Sneznayha, I have to graduate, and I um, the other thing, I,” He follows your eyes, down between your legs and then smirks. He hums softly, and delicately removes his gloves, setting them on the table. He gets back on your bed, kneeling between your legs in his boxers, pushing them apart so that he can watch his cum dribbling out of you.
“So pretty,” he coos, pushing it back in with two of his fingers before sighing deeply. “I can get you an herb. But uh,” he winks at you, “Give it 24 hours first, you’d look so good all knocked up.” You swallow. “You also don’t really have a choice about going back to Sneznayha, but the more you fight the more reason I have to pin you to the wall and,” he shivers, “Archons, did I enjoy that so go ahead.” You feel a draft and as your skin pricks into goosebumps, his face paints with concern. “Aw,” He goes to you, wrapping a blanket around your body, your clothes in shreds, “Lemme pack up what I need from here and then I’ll lie down with you.”
“I have to graduate,” You say, eyes wide, suddenly violently sober, “I have to-”
“Shhhh,” he says, “Do you need me to gag you, I can, but I like conversation. And I like conversation with you.”
“I,” you stop yourself from saying the same thing, “Childe I have worked so hard, I’m so close, they accepted my thesis, I’m so close.”
“I know,” He coos, “I know, and I’m sorry that I have to do this, but the Tsaritsa wills it,” he smoothes your hair, leaning down and kissing your forehead. “You’ll like Sneznayha, the food is great, the palaces can get drafty but there are ways of keeping them warm.” He gives you a squeeze before getting up and staring to box up your writing, curling the scrolls into protective containers, and gently coaxing each of your little metal creatures into a soft leather bag. He spends about an hour investigating your desk before raising a leg and bringing it down hard, shattering the dark wood and making you gasp. “Sorry, sorry,” He grins at you sheepishly, “Can’t risk any secret compartments.” He squats down, ripping two of the joints apart with his bare hands, “And look what we have here!” He pulls out another set of schematics. “Very naughty.” He mutters, putting them away, before going back to ransacking your apartment while you watch.
“Is there anything I can say, I mean,” you rack your mind, actively struggling against the leather, “I need to stay, my research is important, and graduating is-”
“It’s really not an option,” He says, without turning around, he rocks up onto his tiptoes,
Taking a ceramic jar down from a top shelf and pulling a scroll from it while he tuts at you under his breath. There’s more desperation in your tone as you yank on the belt, gaining some ground, but you’re free only momentarily, getting to your feet just as he pounces on you again. “Alright,” He grunts, taking a second to pin you, kneeling on your waist and holding your hands tightly on the mattress. “I didn’t want to have to do this, by the way, just for the record,” he stands, taking you with him and holding roughly onto your upper arm, you feel the cool of a metal blade at your throat. “Get dressed. In the warmest thing you have. Please.” For the first time, fear really builds in your chest, and you obey, pulling your warmest socks up to your thighs, your thickest skirt and tight black top.
“Good girl,” he hums, watching you, still mostly naked. “Hands behind your back, please.” You stretch them behind you and let out a little gasp when you feel him fold them, tying your forearms together with some rope he’d found in one of your cabinets. His hands wander for a moment after your arms are secured, resting on your hips before you feel him wrap the rope around your waist and then loop it back. He tugs on it and you realize he’s effectively put you on a leash. He digs in one of your drawers until he finds it, a silk scarf in a deep red, and you feel him gently tie it around your head, covering your mouth.
“Shhhh,” he breathes, feeling you start to genuinely be afraid. “I’m gonna take good care of you,” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Sit here.” He guides you to one of the chairs in your kitchen, and starts to get dressed, keeping one hand on the rope leash he’s created. Bertie crawls out of your pocket onto the floor, and Childe scoops her up, cooing softly. He slips her into the leather bag he’d placed the rest of your small mechanical animals in, before gathering your things. The cold fear is spreading across your chest, tears welling in your eyes, and it takes him a few minutes of tidying up to notice.
“Oh,” He says softly, “Oh no,” he comes back over to you, cupping your face and wiping the tears away. “I know, I know change is hard.” You nod. “Are you upset with me?” He asks and you nod. “You don’t have to be cruel to yourself,” he says softly, “If you hadn’t gone home with me, I would have just broken in.” He kisses your cheek, “And that would have had the same result, so this way I see it at least you and I got to have a little fun before the unpleasantness.” You don’t react to his word, some part of you that you can’t reach right now is aching. “You’re in pain?” He asks, and you nod. “Physical and emotional I assume, but the physical I can do something about.” He turns away from you, rummaging in his coat pockets and getting out a tiny blue jar.
“I threw you pretty hard,” He smiles at the memory, “You took it so well though,” he peels back the collar of your shirt to get to raw purpled bite marks on your chest, dipping two fingers into the salve and spreading it across the affected areas. “I didn’t want to choke you without asking,” He muses, “Next time, I suppose, but I think you’ll like it.” You swallow. “See, I’d prefer not to gag you,” he says, “I like talking with you not talking at you, but I can’t do the begging,” he shrugs, “It’s all been decided. It was decided when I got the order, anyway.” He laughs. “I can’t believe you slapped me,” he puts the jar on the table, closing it carefully. The effect is immediate, you’re unsure if it’s numbing or healing but you do feel better right away. “Have you ever done that with someone before?” You shake your head. “Sheesh.” He reaches out and squeezes your hip, pulling on the rope leash to force you into a standing position in front of him. He hugs you, tucking your head under his chin.
“It’s a long trip.” He says softly. “I’ll make sure to entertain you.” He stands there with you for a long time, rubbing your back, until he feels your breathing even out. “Is there anything here that you’d be devastated to leave behind?” He asks, finally pulling away and smoothing your hair. You nod. He looks around. “Is it that picture, of your family back there?” You nod again, surprised that he guessed. “Gotcha.” He winks at you, moving so quickly that you almost don’t see it, plucking it from the wall and tucking it in with your research. He hums while packing everything up, draping a long, thick cloak over your form that covers his rope work, helping you into a pair of warm thigh-high boots, stopping only momentarily to admire the network of bruises that were already beginning to form. He shoulders your research, somehow not struggling at all the weight. He turns to you, one hand on the doorknob, one hand on the leash.
“Here’s the unpleasantness,” He says, as if that hadn’t begun yet, “If you cry out for help, If you try to escape and anyone sees you, I’ll have to kill them. I won’t kill you, you’re valuable, but I am happy to do what I need to do to bring your mind to Sneznayha, and that means no one can see us.” He watches your eyes go wide with fear. “You know I’m capable of this.” You nod. “Good. So, best behavior, yeah?” You nod again. He kisses your forehead, and then slips the gag down around your neck, pulling the hood of the cloak over your head. He leads you out into the desert night, and the air is dry and cold. You walk the streets of the city that had been your home for a long time. You walk for about half an hour before you meet a group of men, similarly dressed in masks and grey coats. They unburden Childe of your research, but he doesn’t let go of your little leash, reaching out and rubbing a circle in your hip.
“We should return to Snezneyha immediately.” He instructs them, helping you into a carriage and following suit. “She’ll need to eat when we arrive.” The men scurry to obey, and in a few minutes, you’re rolling through the desert. You’re alone in the carriage, and you still haven’t spoken, exhaustion creeping in.
“Questions?” He asks eventually, growing tired of the silence.
“Can’t you teleport?” You manage, and he sees in your eyes that you’re nearly asleep, exhausted. He reaches out, and slips an arm around your waist, guiding you into the fetal position with your head on his lap, laying on the bench in the cottage.
“Yes,” He confirms, playing with your hair, and massaging your scalp. “But all the teleportation waypoints in the city are too obvious, we’ll need to go far into the desert to find one that’s inconspicuous.” You nod, and he starts humming an old song, one he hasn’t heard since he was a child. “You can sleep.” He murmurs, “I know it’s uncomfortable to be restrained, but you might as well get used to it.”