[ it doesn't take much longer. no man could last under a siege like this one: the way that childe looks, stark-eyed and wholly pliant, more patient with this than he's ever been with any other thing; the ragged stutter of drunken, wanting sound vibrating around his cock; every touch that seems to race through his veins like a prayer, like childe's asking, pleading to be used -- as if he could take this, and more -
he has grace enough, at least, to ease his grip. his palm curves against childe's nape, a brace more than a shackle, even as his hips cant up, sinking down to the hilt -- and even now there's a faint shock to how much childe can take, the kind of revelation that lashes through his veins like hunger. he comes with barely a gasp, cock working in rough, striping shots, hips rolling until the last bolt of adrenaline unravels into empty static, until even the hot, seething pulse of childe's mouth around him's yielded and gone still.
even in the aftermath, his heartbeat's a tectonic roar in his ears.
his cock's softening; he can feel the reflexive flicker of childe's tongue against skin, an ache on the brink of crystallising. it prickles at the back of his mind like something abstract. his weight barely shifts; his thumb sweeps the blade of childe's unresisting jaw as zhongli considers him, tears studding his lashes and colour scalded across his cheek, savouring the sight before he pulls out at last.
what a gorgeous mess. ]
Well, then.
[ his voice's rust in his teeth. dusk's sifting through the high windows in rays of ash and gold. he's more than a bit dishevelled himself -- hair tumbling loose, shirt trailing open around his chest. his veins thrum with the languor of a good fuck -- and a little more: all the points where they aren't touching, everything he hasn't done drifting in his veins like premonition.
it's barely evening, and he's hardly touched childe yet. ]
no subject
he has grace enough, at least, to ease his grip. his palm curves against childe's nape, a brace more than a shackle, even as his hips cant up, sinking down to the hilt -- and even now there's a faint shock to how much childe can take, the kind of revelation that lashes through his veins like hunger. he comes with barely a gasp, cock working in rough, striping shots, hips rolling until the last bolt of adrenaline unravels into empty static, until even the hot, seething pulse of childe's mouth around him's yielded and gone still.
even in the aftermath, his heartbeat's a tectonic roar in his ears.
his cock's softening; he can feel the reflexive flicker of childe's tongue against skin, an ache on the brink of crystallising. it prickles at the back of his mind like something abstract. his weight barely shifts; his thumb sweeps the blade of childe's unresisting jaw as zhongli considers him, tears studding his lashes and colour scalded across his cheek, savouring the sight before he pulls out at last.
what a gorgeous mess. ]
Well, then.
[ his voice's rust in his teeth. dusk's sifting through the high windows in rays of ash and gold. he's more than a bit dishevelled himself -- hair tumbling loose, shirt trailing open around his chest. his veins thrum with the languor of a good fuck -- and a little more: all the points where they aren't touching, everything he hasn't done drifting in his veins like premonition.
it's barely evening, and he's hardly touched childe yet. ]
Was that sacrilege enough?