( with a sharp twist of his wrist, the glass shatters, and childe falls.
there's no bottoming out as zhongli's hand fists his hair, or his mouth descends on his mouth, swallowing his wispy laugh. zhongli pours over him unabated, a lit match to oil spreading flame, and childe is only allowed a brief moment to feel insufferably smug before he has bare skin on his cock, hot and deliciously soft for a man who has spent so many of his centuries waging divine wars.
it's good, better than even his most sordid fantasies. better than blood in his mouth. better than zhongli's spear to his throat. )
Not at all, ( is his answer, hissed through his teeth and punctuated on a breathy fuck and imploring jerk of his hips. ) But it certainly doesn't hurt.
( all youthful enthusiasm untainted by time as he rocks into the hollow of zhongli's palm, wholly unfettered. he spreads a hand across his nape, clenching his shirt by the collar and wresting down to strip zhongli half-naked against him so he can get his mouth on his clavicle; his tongue lays flat, teeth raking bone. zhongli unravels so prettily, hard in childe's stroking hand, and he commits the cadence of his breathing to memory, one breath for every slick squeeze around his flushed cockhead.
like this, stripped of his gnosis and all its accompanying celestial grace, fucking into childe's snug fist, he's a painted forgery of a human being. it's a dangerous indulgence he can't resist. he bites his collar, licking into the angry grooves he leaves behind, then drags his hand from his trousers and folds neatly to zhongli's feet. )
I think you'll find ( — a pull on his trousers, fabric rucking along the spread of his thighs; childe's hand fixes back on his cock, gentler now — ) that I'm excessively flexible in many ways.
( his voice is soft, pliant intimacy slivered into shards and ghosted on a breath near zhongli's cock. old habits die hard: he's still a knife's edge threat even here, bloomy pink and yielding on his knees. he pumps his hand loosely, tongue winding a hot path up the underside of his cock, over his own curled knuckle. )
i will wait forever for filth
there's no bottoming out as zhongli's hand fists his hair, or his mouth descends on his mouth, swallowing his wispy laugh. zhongli pours over him unabated, a lit match to oil spreading flame, and childe is only allowed a brief moment to feel insufferably smug before he has bare skin on his cock, hot and deliciously soft for a man who has spent so many of his centuries waging divine wars.
it's good, better than even his most sordid fantasies. better than blood in his mouth. better than zhongli's spear to his throat. )
Not at all, ( is his answer, hissed through his teeth and punctuated on a breathy fuck and imploring jerk of his hips. ) But it certainly doesn't hurt.
( all youthful enthusiasm untainted by time as he rocks into the hollow of zhongli's palm, wholly unfettered. he spreads a hand across his nape, clenching his shirt by the collar and wresting down to strip zhongli half-naked against him so he can get his mouth on his clavicle; his tongue lays flat, teeth raking bone. zhongli unravels so prettily, hard in childe's stroking hand, and he commits the cadence of his breathing to memory, one breath for every slick squeeze around his flushed cockhead.
like this, stripped of his gnosis and all its accompanying celestial grace, fucking into childe's snug fist, he's a painted forgery of a human being. it's a dangerous indulgence he can't resist. he bites his collar, licking into the angry grooves he leaves behind, then drags his hand from his trousers and folds neatly to zhongli's feet. )
I think you'll find ( — a pull on his trousers, fabric rucking along the spread of his thighs; childe's hand fixes back on his cock, gentler now — ) that I'm excessively flexible in many ways.
( his voice is soft, pliant intimacy slivered into shards and ghosted on a breath near zhongli's cock. old habits die hard: he's still a knife's edge threat even here, bloomy pink and yielding on his knees. he pumps his hand loosely, tongue winding a hot path up the underside of his cock, over his own curled knuckle. )