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Kaeya knows the moment Jean comes in the door that there would be no point in opening up the wine he'd brought home from Liyue tonight. He'll be lucky if he can get dinner into her; she loses her appetite when she's this tired, and the eight-treasure duck he'd bought at Wangshu Inn is going to be way too heavy for her to eat more than a few bites. So much for the romantic evening he'd planned for her.
"I'm sorry I'm late," she says, smiling apologetically. The shadows under her eyes are nearly deep enough to look like bruises. "Varka sent us a number of urgent documents that Lisa and I had to handle personally, and Lisa was feeling unwell, so I wanted to finish them myself before tomorrow. I've arranged for Albedo to handle administrative concerns for the next two days, since Lisa cannot, so since they're done we can still have the time off I promised you."
Unless an emergency arises, but that was always part of the plan. Kaeya can't blame Lisa for the state Jean's in, either. He would lay even odds she'd told Jean to leave them for her to do later; it's simply not in Jean to leave work she could do undone.
At least Jean won't be worrying about that undone work for the next two days, and he has something to hold over her head now if she does get distracted by thought of her duties. There are upsides here.
"I'll forgive you for your tardiness," he tells her, stepping close, "if I can steal a kiss."
Jean smiles more brightly, tired eyes laughing, and tilts her head up so that Kaeya can press his lips to hers. He puts an arm around her waist, pulling her close, and feels the rigidly tight muscles in her lower back. He knows what he's doing in lieu of his original plans once he gets her into bed. The new plans can wait, though; for now he loses himself in the kiss, the taste of her mouth, the softness of her lips, the familiar strength holding him tight as she returns the embrace.
He holds the kiss until she loosens her spine and leans into him, finally letting him take just a little of her weight, and then a minute longer. Jean's Anemo flows sweetly between them. They could do this forever, if they wanted, and never run out of breath. Except for little details like duties, and hunger, and Jean nearly asleep on her feet.
Pulling reluctantly away, Kaeya keeps his arm around her waist even as he steps back and makes a dramatic sweeping gesture to conduct her into the parlor. "I thought we might have a more intimate meal in here, though you'll have to give me a few minutes. I did have to put dinner back in the icebox."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It gave me time to unpack. That way I won't have anything occupying me tomorrow, either."
Fortunately, he'd already laid out some extra pillows and a favored blanket on the couch in the hopes of bringing the wine in here after dinner, so it does look reasonably like he'd set it up to eat in here in the first place. Ducking into the kitchen, he closes the door before Jean can catch sight of the spread on the table and begins packing the duck back up. He'll need something else that she'll actually eat--ah, good, he has enough cold cuts for a quick platter, and that's exactly the sort of meal he'd have in the parlor. A little extra tomato and a chopped pepper and it's ready to go.
When he returns, Jean has gotten as far as unfastening the brooch that holds her cape on and is sitting on the couch with it in her hand, looking in its direction but clearly not seeing it at all. Kaeya wonders if he should be calling Barbara. He'll see how she is once she's eaten; often Barbara's only answer is rest, and if her heart's not acting up, she can do that just as easily in his bed as in the Cathedral infirmary. More easily, even, for he has far more tricks than Barbara for keeping her there.
Setting the platter aside, Kaeya takes the brooch from her and puts it on the side table. Jean looks up as he reaches for her cape, sweeping it off her shoulders and draping it over the back of the nearest chair. "I'm sorry-"
"For giving me a chance to undress you? I think I can forgive you that, too."
Kaeya smirks at her until she smiles back, then goes down to one knee beside the couch. Jean makes a little noise when he lifts her foot up and props it over his bent leg, running his hand up the shin of her boot from the ankle to the knee. Then he reaches around and carefully starts to unknot the laces holding it on. Jean ties them tight enough that she herself struggles sometimes to get them back off.
If Kaeya was a more poetic person, he could probably find a metaphor in that.
He's not interested in chasing that thought down. Instead he applies himself to the knot, picking at it with his fingernails until it starts to come loose. Once it does, a simple tug on the dangling laces unravels it entirely. They're still bent with the impressions of the knot as they fall free, but they are free, and Kaeya is able to work a finger under the first criss-cross and tug them through.
Then the next, and the next, easing the laces through, the boot's seam slowly parting beneath. Kaeya takes his time. Not out of any particular care for the cord; Jean replaces it meticulously on a regular schedule, or more often if weather or battle dulls it beforehand. The Acting Grand Master, after all, can't be seen in less than pristine attire unless she has only just come from the field. There's a reason Kaeya's own boots are black and not her polished white.
No, he takes his time because of the way Jean sighs as he pulls the first crossed laces loose, then sinks back just a little into the couch. He can feel the incremental release of tension on each pair of eyelets that follows, her tight calf softening under his hand where he's reached between the leather edges. Not entirely; he'll have to give her calves some extra attention once he has her in bed later. By the time he reaches the bottom and pulls the last laces loose, her eyes have gone half-lidded, though this time she's looking not into the middle distance, but at him.
Gently cupping the heel, Kaeya pulls the boot free and sets it aside on the floor. Another sound, not a sigh but a soft intake of breath, as he runs a hand up her stocking foot to squeeze gently at her ankle, a few seconds of kneading as promise for the rest. Then Kaeya carefully lowers her foot to the floor and shifts to lift up the second one.
"You don't have to," Jean says, not really protesting. She doesn't like it as much as he does when Kaeya goes to his knees for her, or for the same reasons--but it's close enough to the tender romance of her books that she's touched by it nonetheless, when he clothes it in those trappings.
"Oh, but I want to," he tells her, and, drawing on those very trappings, leans in with a smile to touch his lips to the gilded peak of her boot where it rises over her knee. "Isn't a knight safely home from the field supposed to fall to his knees at his beloved's feet?"
Jean giggles, pink coming into her cheeks. "If you insist," she tells him, folding her hands in her lap and making no more dutiful objection as he reaches around to work at this knot.
He takes his time with this boot, too, tracing the softening muscle all the way down, then pulling it carefully free. Then he stays there, hand looped around Jean's ankle. There's something wound-tight in him that's easing in answer, his own shoulders coming down as he watches Jean's do the same.
But his work isn't done. Setting this foot down, Kaeya reaches out for her folded hands, still in their gauntlets, and draws one towards him. These buckles he doesn't linger on; he simply unfastens the gauntlets, one after the other, and sets them aside on the arm of the couch, pausing only to run a finger over each bared wrist. Jean pulls her hands back to strip off her own gloves, forcing him to rise and catch one again once bared to kiss its back.
"Ready for dinner?" he asks, grinning to see her blush renewed. He takes up the platter and wheels to sit beside her, sidling up close and setting it across their pressed-together thighs.
"It looks lovely," Jean tells him, sincere as if it wasn't just a few things thrown together from the ice box.
Kaeya is pleased, all the same. He had put a couple minutes' work into the presentation. He makes sure to get a few shreds of mint with the ham he starts on, while Jean reaches immediately for the sausage. They trade off, a bit of each, though Jean lets him have most of the bacon, and he leaves her the lion's share of the ham. As he'd guessed, she has little appetite, slowly working her way through barely a third of the platter.
Sometimes he can tease or coax her into more, but Kaeya doesn't want to risk having her set her shoulders against it and end up going to bed stiff and put-upon. If she sleeps well enough, she'll devour a hearty spread to make up for it in the morning, so that's where he'll set his sights instead.
"I'll put this away," he tells her, rising with the empty platter, "and then I'd like to ask if I could finish undressing you."
Jean smiles at that, then sobers and shakes her head. "I would like to say yes, but I am not sure how well I could perform tonight."
"Did I say anything about performing? Honestly, I'm a little too worn from the road to carry off any kind of performance myself. All I want is a chance to admire you."
"Ah, well, if that's what you want...."
It's not all he wants, but Kaeya does like to enjoy the journey. With a wink, he whisks the plate away, dumping it in the sink to clean later, and takes a moment to wash his hands. The last thing Jean would want is grease all over her clothes.
He's back in time to take her boots from her before she can carry them into the bedroom, though she keeps possession of her gauntlets, setting them carefully on the little table in the corner. For his own part, Kaeya strips off his cape and jacket and tosses them aside in the armchair beside it, following it with his belt, sword and Vision and all, as he pries his way out of his boots. Jean does take her own belt off, hanging it over the edge of the chair. Their Visions clink gently together, and he sees her smile.
"Let's get off our feet," Kaeya says, taking her bare shoulders and ushering her over to the bed. Jean is careful with her steps, but she isn't wobbling like she's lightheaded; this is just exhaustion and not her heart, so there's no need to call Barbara. Just to get her to bed, and relaxed enough that she might, just might, sleep through dawn.
"How was your trip?" Jean asks as he sits her on a pillow and kneels at her back. She says it in a startled sort of way, as if she's only just realized that she hasn't asked. "Did the Millelith-"
"My report will be on your desk three days from now. The osmanthus wine was excellent, though. And the view from the Harbor is as lovely as ever. They were just starting to set up for the Lantern Rite when I left, but sadly, none of the vendors had opened yet, so I can't bring you a souvenir."
"Next year, if Grand Master Varka has returned by then, we can go together."
"The Grand Master thinks he'll be back by then, huh? If he is, I'll hold you to that."
It's a nice thought. Kaeya and Jean haven't been able to attend that festival together for years now. The last time they'd both gone, they hadn't been a couple yet. Though in retrospect, he has to suspect the Grand Master of ulterior motives when he'd insisted that they both take the chance to go before the expedition departed, before they were needed to hold down the fort. He's not sure Mika had dared to tell Jean that money has apparently changed hands up in Nod-Krai about them, to Varka's benefit.
"I do hope we can," Jean says, with a wistfulness that makes something tender ball up for a second in Kaeya's throat.
With her cape set aside, there's a second set of laces down the back of her uniform jacket. Their ends are tucked inside, and he has to hook a finger in to pull the hidden toggles loose. These laces don't need to be worked so carefully free; they're already loosening as Kaeya tugs at them. He does it anyway, pulling them a little wider, just so that he can run his fingers over the bared muscles of Jean's upper back as he goes.
She's reaching for her wrists, but he beats her to it, unbuttoning each sleeve and pulling it off of her. "Arms up," he tells her, setting the bundled fabric aside, as if she needs to be told.
But she doesn't object, just holds her arms up so that he can gather up the bottom hem of her loosened jacket, tugging one tail out from under her, and pull it up over her head. It comes off inside-out, but he sets it down with the sleeves, out of her sight. She'll insist on washing and ironing it later whether or not he straightens it out tonight.
When he leans in and reaches around her to unbutton the blouse beneath it, pressing up close against her back, Jean leans into his chest. Her breasts are soft under his hands as he bares them, and he pauses to cup them, just to enjoy their familiar weight, before he reaches for the button below them and carries on. Jean sighs and shifts against him.
"I truly am not capable tonight, but if you want, you could-"
"I thought I told you that all I want is to admire you. Now, if you want more...." Kaeya undoes the last button of her blouse and slides his hand a little further down to hook his fingers into the waistband of her pants. "Neither of us may be up to a full performance, but I could manage a little sleight-of-hand."
The tips of Jean's ears go red, but the sound she makes isn't just embarrassment. He holds his breath as she shifts against him again, obviously considering. Then she sets her hand over his and shakes his head.
"I don't know that I would be as receptive as you'd deserve."
It isn't a matter of deserving, but Kaeya knows how that argument goes. There is a limit to what he can offer up under cover of Jean's romantic ideals before she starts to insist on reciprocation. Her own, at least; if he had taken her up on whatever offer she was trying to make, he doubts she would have demanded any return.
"Then I'll just have to save the show for tomorrow." Kaeya pulls his hand free. Now would be an awkward time to try and strip her pants off her, but he meant to start somewhere higher, anyway.
Shifting back, he squeezes her shoulders affectionately, then starts to knead. Jean shudders under his hands, giving way almost at once with a little groan as he digs his fingers in on either side of her spine.
Her shoulders aren't really where the problems lie, stiff as days at that desk can make them. Jean is as faithful to her sword exercises as she is to Mondstadt itself, and they keep her arms and upper back largely limber. He lingers over them anyway, but that's for his own pleasure--Jean's shoulders are spectacular, and he's not going to give up any chance to trace the muscles beneath that battle-scarred skin.
Lower down, at the small of her back, is where Kaeya hits real resistance. She gives a little cry when his wandering fingers, pressed into her back, slide down and hit that flat tight plane of muscle. He lightens the pressure immediately. Very gentle kneading here, more stroking the muscles than pressing into them; Kaeya feels them soften, incrementally, but the hard core beneath refuses to give way. He'll only bruise it if he tries raw force.
"Pants up, or pants off?" he asks Jean.
Her eyes are closed, he sees as he sidles on his knees around her, and it takes her a moment to collect herself when she opens them. "Off," she says, and undoes the laces at her waist before he can get a chance to. Perhaps for the best; lingering on those might tempt him into another attempt at sleight-of-hand.
Instead he helps her peel them off, and her stockings after, all of it tossed into the pile behind her. Jean turns enough to see it now, and he sees the fond resignation at the sight of it. She doesn't say anything, though, just leans forward a little and stretches her legs out in front of her.
Kaeya settles one over his knees and starts at the ankle, gradually working his way up. The sounds Jean makes when he digs his fingers into her calves are rewarding; when he reaches out to do the same to the underside of her thigh she outright groans. He lingers on that leg until it's loose and limber in his lap, then shifts to the other, one eye on Jean. Her eyes are closed again, and she's slumped forward, shoulders loose and low, arms curled up against her stomach. The only sign that she's still awake is the little choked-off gasp when he finds a knot and digs his thumb in.
She shouldn't be awake much longer, if he has his way. Finishing up with the second leg, Kaeya moves back behind her again and gently shakes her shoulders.
"Almost done, Jeanie. Lie down for me?"
Jean brings her head up, blinking hard, and scrambles up to her own knees. "I need a nightgown."
"Do you really?"
It's fifty-fifty whether she's going to insist--she can get ridiculously stubborn when she's this tired, at which point his only choice is going to give in--or surrender. Kaeya waits to see which it will be. A nightgown won't actually get in his way. It's just one more thing he can offer her. But to have her nude and trusting in his bed....
"No," Jean admits, giving him a sweet, sleepy smile.
Kaeya has no choice but to smile back. The stirring in his groin is easy to put aside in the face of it, physical desire shredded to pieces by the far fiercer need to reward that trust with care.
She lets him nudge her onto her stomach on the sheets, eyes closing again almost as soon as she rests her cheek on the pillow. He traces his hands again down her bared back, stopping at muscle only half-worked. The hard core of it gives more easily in this position, after its earlier soothing and now that he's worked all the rest of her loose. Kaeya is still careful, gently digging in first with his fingers, then the heel of his hand. He can't ease its stiffness completely, amateur that he is, but he can feel the muscle slacken as the rest of her does, the slow loosening of tension wound tight, the slow shift in her breathing as she falls asleep.
Finally Kaeya raises his hands from her skin. She doesn't like sleeping on her stomach, and will wake up with a crick in her neck if she does, but there's a simple fix to that. He strips off the rest of his own clothing quickly, balling it up with hers to toss on the armchair, then slides in under the covers himself. There needs to be one layer between them; they've found a light wool blanket that works well for this, and Kaeya drags it into the bed and sweeps it over her.
Then he lays his arm over her back, leaving a few inches of space, and waits.
She rolls over into him without hesitation, as smooth a motion as any of her sword-work, though she's not even come half-awake. Kaeya adjusts her a little, nudging her knees up between his to further ease her back, pulling the edge of the pillow out from under her shoulder to better support her neck. The more comfortably she sleeps, the longer, and the longer she sleeps, the more energy she'll have in the morning. They do owe each other a performance, after all.
Though Kaeya can't claim that's his only motive. He runs his hand one more time over her back, unguarded under his palm. Then he presses a kiss to her forehead, which makes her sigh softly in her sleep, and closes his own eyes. This might not have been quite the evening he'd planned, but to have her so relaxed in his arms is enough.