( the warm hand over his cock, a strong thigh splitting his legs wide as zhongli tacks their bodies by the hip — all of it disciplined, maddening, not unlike him in a fight. childe's chest spasms, breath rushing from him on a shivering stutter; he rocks into zhongli's thigh with a tight, involuntary jerk, betrayed by his own reflexes. )
Isn't it? ( his head rolls back, throat bared and lips parting around a peek of his tongue between his teeth, like a willing lamb for the slaughter or a carnivorous trap lying in wait for its next meal. ) I think your understanding of fucking needs a little refresher — respectfully, xiansheng.
( considerably more difficult to sound convincingly haughty while coiled so firmly in zhongli's arms, flushing rosy pink down to his collar, than it would be from a safer, less distracting distance. zhongli's steady control licks like flame to gasoline straight to his nerves, setting him on a knife's point. he'll rut on his thigh like a touch-starved, feral whore easily, with no semblance of shame or regret, but zhongli isn't a lost-at-sea sailor coaxed by childe to a rocky crag death, consumed by unyielding waves: he is the crag, twice as unforgiving, twice as unyielding.
childe's never worried about drowning until now.
this foreign, slithering feeling doesn't slow his hand from twining zhongli's hair again, or his tongue from flickering his thumb, teeth catching his knuckle to draw him into his mouth, suckling wetly. he angles his full weight into him, notching his cock against his thigh in slow, leisurely rolls, leaving enough space for his hand to pop the clasp on his trousers and readily delve inside.
his fingers ripple around his cock, teasing, then close and squeeze, twisting a loose fist once. he arches onto his thigh, thumb planted in his mouth, a picture of lascivious indecency, but his eyes stay riveted to zhongli's face, intently searching for inclusions in the stone. )
no subject
Isn't it? ( his head rolls back, throat bared and lips parting around a peek of his tongue between his teeth, like a willing lamb for the slaughter or a carnivorous trap lying in wait for its next meal. ) I think your understanding of fucking needs a little refresher — respectfully, xiansheng.
( considerably more difficult to sound convincingly haughty while coiled so firmly in zhongli's arms, flushing rosy pink down to his collar, than it would be from a safer, less distracting distance. zhongli's steady control licks like flame to gasoline straight to his nerves, setting him on a knife's point. he'll rut on his thigh like a touch-starved, feral whore easily, with no semblance of shame or regret, but zhongli isn't a lost-at-sea sailor coaxed by childe to a rocky crag death, consumed by unyielding waves: he is the crag, twice as unforgiving, twice as unyielding.
childe's never worried about drowning until now.
this foreign, slithering feeling doesn't slow his hand from twining zhongli's hair again, or his tongue from flickering his thumb, teeth catching his knuckle to draw him into his mouth, suckling wetly. he angles his full weight into him, notching his cock against his thigh in slow, leisurely rolls, leaving enough space for his hand to pop the clasp on his trousers and readily delve inside.
his fingers ripple around his cock, teasing, then close and squeeze, twisting a loose fist once. he arches onto his thigh, thumb planted in his mouth, a picture of lascivious indecency, but his eyes stay riveted to zhongli's face, intently searching for inclusions in the stone. )