( childe eases away from zhongli, flushed but far from sated, expression rippling like armored snakeskin to conceal his smoothest, softest edges, as if this is another friendly match lost and he hadn't just begged to be fucked raw and senseless. his invitation lances through him, warm and promising, and electrifies the blood still thumping in his veins. for a second, he hesitates, orbiting between zhongli's magnetic gravity and his still-wounded pride, red and seething. he should say no. he'd gotten carried away.
his lips sweep the sleek curve of zhongli's jaw as he turns his head. )
I was taught never to go home with strange men.
( but it's not a no.
he tucks a loose strand of zhongli's hair behind his ear, then trails his fingertips down his chest to the hem of his open shirt, tracing planes of clenching, touch-sensitive muscle along the way. his throat and collar are a scattered constellation of pink bruises, not yet mottled purple, and marks from childe's unforgiving teeth. childe touches each one with a deliberate brush of his knuckle as he buttons his shirt, pausing when he reaches a deep indent near his clavicle. )
What a mess I've made of you.
( soft but unapologetic, his eyes dewy-wet and shuttered low. there's a name for the feeling that seizes his insides in an icy clench, hard iron twining his ribs and lungs like thorny vines from an untended garden. not regret, or boyish guilt riding the coattails of a thoughtless fuck because childe means everything he says and does, including this. not fear, either. he carved his nightmares out of the rotten marrow of a dark abyss and gave them a new home inside him. he's not afraid of anything anymore.
this is worse.
his next touch is a greedy indulgence, open mouth over his clavicle, tongue curling up the slope of his throat and adam's apple. he ends on his mouth, in a lazy, stroking kiss, and his hand cupping his skull above his nape. )
[ a laugh simmers in his teeth, nothing but intent and heat. in the aftermath, the world seems to turn on an axis of instinct. he takes the kiss, languid and open, sucking at the bruisy, pretty flush of childe's lip, tongue rolling against tongue, chasing every murmur of breath with the kind of slow hunger that allows for nothing but drowning. the taste curls on his tongue, iron and bitter salt -- but the prize's more than worth its price: the spread of childe's body against him, bowed to a single unyielding purpose, the burn of exhausted adrenaline sparking to new life in his veins.
(how long has it been, that a single touch can make him this greedy? but time seems suspended under the curve of childe's hand -- nothing to measure but the mazy scattering of marks across his skin, the wardrum of childe's pulse between his ribs, sharp enough to call any god to war.)
somewhere in the haze, order's restored. a handkerchief's produced out of some pocket or another; his coat's smudged dry, his fingers polished to passable cleanliness. only his gaze holds, eyes lidded, all unyielding golden attention; his palm's curving beneath childe's jacket, bracketing the arch of a hipbone, thumb tracing slow spirals over bare skin, thoroughly possessive and thoroughly possessed. ]
You are capable of worse.
[ it's barely a murmur, smearing hot between their mouths. it doesn't take a glance to pull childe's clothes together -- fingers snagging in his waistband to haul him close, nearly flush, buttoning him up even as his teeth scrape over childe's lip, an easy goad. ]
( it's a deliberate challenge where anyone else would politely recoil and deescalate so as not to feed the flickering spark that spreads to everything like dry rot. but zhongli is a god made mostly human, not bound by pitiful mortal fears, and childe is a rogue wave licking up the shores of a boy, blue-eyed and freckled, all summertime sweetness under an umbrella of black thundercloud. he yields to the solid press of zhongli's body, his hands heavy where they touch him, like it's an inevitability, and chases his own airy laugh into zhongli's soft mouth with a stroke of his tongue.
he could stay here longer, leeching off zhongli's heat. kissing him, slow and exploratory. touching him more, until he's gorged on his skin and tongue and body, until he can taste him in his sleep. )
I'll give you worse when you stop holding back.
( childe steps away, a receding tide of tightly coiled energy. he gives a dismissive twirl of two fingers, and a small wave arcs from the floor, foamy water rolling around the blockade of zhongli's boots, over the edges of the pillar, washing everything left behind away. the polearm still struck in the ground is hauled loose in a single gripping tug, then flipped down, spearpoint gleaming against zhongli's throat.
after a second, he retracts the blade and lifts it again, extended toward zhongli in silent offering. )
Shall we leave before the Millelith come knocking?
[ it's an unexpected grace note -- and if the effect's a little lost in translation with the way his gaze lingers on the wet gleam of childe's mouth, well. he can hardly be blamed for that.
but the polearm was forged of the same substance as all of his weapons: stone, steel, and delicate metallic scrollwork. he reaches out; his thumb trails down the blade of it, as if testing its jaded edge. at once the polearm collapses into a little storm of geo particles, sifting through childe's hands like dust.
by ancient habit, he smoothes back his hair, touches each of his cuffs, then turns to fasten his coat. the long sweep of it disguises any lingering stains. with the last of the clasps fastened into place, he looks nearly intact, polished, as though nothing in the world had ever touched him. ]
Have you had any difficulty with the Millelith recently?
[ his tone's courteous, sedate, as if they'd been discussing the topic all along over dinner in some discreet, gold-lit teahouse. there's no faltering about his steps as he heads towards the latticed doors, drawing them open for his guest. ]
I understand that the Qixing are in the process of evaluating their next steps with regard to the Fatui. The guard should not be acting outside the parameters of their command, except in cases of emergency.
[ such as, for instance, any suspicious activity on the part of their last ranking harbinger stationed in the port.
it's been made transparent that the tsaritsa's left no further decrees to carry out in liyue -- but that doesn't mean that childe wouldn't be inclined to make trouble on his own whim and time. ]
( zhongli erases all the hard work childe spent undoing him in less than a few moments, and the urge to run his fingers through his hair and rumple his clothes beyond repair carves a momentary snag in his long stride before he steps through the door. dusk blossoms on the horizon; shades of gold and red twinkle into a pool of inky darkness, daylight's last dwindling breath. how long had they been in there? he'd lost track of time entirely. )
No more than usual. ( maybe a little more than usual. his unfettered, fresh-faced charisma is understandably far less effective following his stunt with osial, and security has been significantly tightened in places he would've otherwise been mostly welcome. ) While I can't guarantee that they're not spitting at my turned back, they've been cordial enough considering the circumstances.
( if he's using cordial in the loosest definition possible.
he'd half expected to be thrown into the ocean, or barred entry from liyue. that he wasn't was an enormously generous courtesy, more to the tsaritsa than himself, and while his extended stay in liyue hasn't been pleasant since the incident, he'd rather gut himself at the feet of the qixing than admit to any quote-unquote difficulty aloud. in due time, he'll be called back to snezhnaya on orders from the tsaritsa, cut down into little more than a scathing sentence in liyue's future history books. the northern foreigner who fancied himself a god-killer and then failed to kill a god, end of chapter.
childe maintains his pace side-by-side with zhongli, down the many steps past the millelith dutifully holding guard, and tips two fingers to his temple in salute. neither of them look at him, though one of them blinks a little harder than necessary. )
How are you settling into your new role? Or โ ( he hums, thoughtful. ) I suppose it's more of a return to an old normal than anything new, isn't it?
[ into the city they go, winding through streets resounding with footsteps and lamps glowing like match-lights. the city murmurs around them -- dusty, chattering, citizens drifting through their ordinary routines, faraway stallkeepers bawling out their mottos like seabirds.
it is, for the moment, the only sound worth hearing. ]
It is as you might expect. The funeral parlour is as selective in its rituals as ever. [ reading between the lines: hu tao's still stewing over her next marketing scheme. ] But there is more than enough to occupy me, even so. The city is remaking itself. You will likely see menus from the teahouses to the taverns shift to more traditional dishes over the next few months. There may even be a queue for loans at Northland Bank -- despite the circumstances.
[ he glances over, sidelong. the lightness of his voice is a habit by now -- learned and kept against his better judgment. he's gathered more than a few such quirks over the months: leaving the parlour at that golden hour of the evening just after the banks close; reserving pieces at mingxing jewellery that might suit a pair of sharp blue eyes; turning back in a crowd at the sound of an unfamiliar accent. in a handful of seasons, childe's worn into him like rain drawing patterns into stone.
perhaps it's better, after all, that he's leaving soon.
they cross the bridge, matched in stride, steering out of the commercial district and into the quiet, lacquered gardens that wreath the residential areas. the sudden hush draws at him; his smile crooks a little, unstintingly thoughtful. ]
But I suppose that I should clarify. Are you curious about my health, or whether I have retained my old strength?
( it isn't exactly a non-answer, but it is a sidestep to a branching direction, deliberately misleading. one of zhongli's many habits, painstakingly learned through walks along the harbor docks or evening dinners on teahouse balconies: he interprets questions how he likes.
childe doesn't call him on it, courteously quiet and attentive as he listens to zhongli speak. )
You felt robust enough to me.
( he slants a short, flickering glance at zhongli's profile, rays of honey-gold light dappling his hair like a burnished crown. childe is an unkempt, partially unbuttoned mess next to zhongli's polished exterior; they make a strange shoulder-to-shoulder pair as they walk the streets of liyue, from the bustling noise of the harbor into a lingering, intimate quiet that's both familiar and unknown.
they move in unison over a footbridge overarching a shallow pond, slats of sealed redwood groaning underfoot, and follow a stonework pathway that winds through a pavilion twined in blooming flowers. childe stops under the shade of the pavilion, snagging zhongli by the wrist. )
I'm poorly versed on the nature of the adepti, admittedly, but I've heard faraway tales of an adeptus' strength. ( mostly in passing, or in dusty books he pored over within his first few days in liyue. he turns into him, pulling his arm diagonal across his chest to force him a step closer. ) Your strength, especially. Are you afraid you'll hurt me?
[ childe's grip startles him -- but quite enough. he turns a little, and leans in a little more, head tilted, eyes bright -- stops with just enough space between them to taste the static of every breath. ]
Contrary to what my recent behaviour might suggest, I do have some self-restraint.
[ the remark's barely touched with rue. live long enough, and anyone learns the practice of selective memory: to keep those experiences that brought something of value, to leave everything else in the dust. but it's difficult to bury the fact that every instinct seems to reorient him, compass-like, in childe's direction -- that he breathes, and feels every mark of their hasty tryst in the golden house stark across his skin, teeth and salt and the ghost of heat where childe's palm had folded against his hip, urging him down his throat.
his fingers tug at childe's collar, drawing it straight to no real effect. it isn't particularly meant to restore any form of order. he knows better than to imagine that it might. at best, it might be a kind of proof: that he's still capable of these ordinary gestures, chaste and unhurried. ]
You, on the other hand, [ light and low, an invitation to a shared joke of sorts - ] seem to have few limits in your appetites. Should I be concerned on your behalf?
( even the pavilion's stretching shade isn't enough to diminish the intensity of zhongli's gaze, as heavy and bright as gold brick. no mortal man or woman could withstand a single look from him without splintering under the weight of it, but childe lifts his chin and holds his stare, steady. )
You wouldn't be the first to be concerned.
( or the last, most likely.
his hand slips down his wrist, skittering across his elbow and bicep until he's shifting into zhongli's space and loosely hooking his arm over his shoulder. it feels as natural as breathing, or wielding a blade with practiced finesse, the rising tide of zhongli's warm body drawing him close. he knows this part, has bruises on his knees now as evidence. it's everything else, all the things deeper than physical, that he can't touch or dissect into bite-sized pieces able to digested and understood as intimately as he understood his cock in his mouth. )
Surely you've heard the rumors by now, xiansheng. ( the honorific rolls off his tongue like he's been saying it all his life, dense like water-logged silk. it's easier to control every unruly syllable when he's not falling apart in zhongli's clenched, slick fist. he tucks his fingers beneath his collar, down the knot of his tie that he tightens snug against his throat, returning the gesture. ) It's why I'm the Tsaritsa's favorite. I'm insatiable.
[ there's nothing familiar about this -- but he knows it all the same. childe presses in, and he sinks back against the pillar, drawing him into shadow with his fingers splaying in a possessive star over the dip of childe's spine. there's a kind of appetite that turns everything it touches into a memory. he feels the burn of it in the snap of childe's breath, the purposeful weight of his hand just at the base of zhongli's throat.
it's been some time since he'd even considered it. the effect's almost dizzying.
his head tips towards childe's; a laugh glints between their mouths like gold. heat's kindling in the pit of his stomach as his hand skims beneath the open cut of childe's jacket where the jut of his hip gleams like an invitation. ]
Rumour has little bearing on my judgment.
[ - which explains the fact that his fingertips are, in fact, fastening the latches of childe's jacket with unseeing rigour, straightening the corner where the cloth hangs crooked, sealing away every centimeter of skin with their bodies suspended mere heartbeats apart and his lips all curving warmth. ]
I believe you can bear to wait a little longer. We are no more than a few minutes away from our destination.
[ as his hand slides down childe's chest, pressing them apart again. ]
( he stitches his jacket back together with crisp, elegant tugs and silver buttons, walling perilous temptation away, and it's such a surprise that childe moves easily when he's guided back, booted steps scuffling over stone. )
Of course.
( somehow, fully buttoned in his jacket, he feels more exposed than when he's outright naked, like ajax the schoolboy writing mantras on a chalkboard for naughty behavior or tartaglia the eleventh knelt in front of the tsaritsa's crystal throne awaiting orders, head bowed in reverence. it's paralyzing. he pops the bottom button on his jacket one-handed, more reflex than a pouty rebuff of zhongli's focused attention, then turns to graciously sweep his arm toward the path ahead. )
Far be it from me to lead you astray a second time.
( his tone is pleasant, paired with a dimpled smile crinkling across the bridge of his nose. it's one of many sincere smiles he's given zhongli in their time together, over a teahouse table or while bartering a merchant for a fairer price on whatever priceless trinket's caught his eye. strange how effortlessly zhongli finesses his possesions from him, time and time again. strange how much he'll miss it, this, him.
they exit the shelter of the pavilion, back on the stone pathway that circles through the entire city. childe pops another button on his jacket as they walk, his vision glowing vividly in the setting sun. )
[ true to his word, the trip doesn't take much longer. the gardens curl to an end; they pass between a pair of star magnolia trees, two shadows adrift in the dusk, and then they're through.
zhongli lives, apparently, at the end of an older block, where the balconies are flush with faded scrollwork and the stairs curve with the studied red gleam of retouched paint. his door opens to a perfectly ordinary set of sprawling, modern quarters: a parlour; a distant study bricked with silk-bound books; two doors standing half-open, inviting. it's the kind of layout that any merchant might rent for a week or two in the city. but in the parlour, there rests more than a few trinkets that childe might recognise from the last few seasons of rampant spending: lacquerware boxes on the mantel, a bamboo palm in a jade-rimmed pot, a glossy black cabinet with designs drawn in gold foil, filigree-winged cranes peering up through a cloud of greenery.
not that childe's getting much of an opportunity to admire the decor. the door clicks shut, and zhongli stops in the narrow foyer, half-turned, mouth curving with a thought that needs no translation. ]
You have my thanks for permitting me to take you so far out of your way.
[ one step, another. he closes the little distance without hurry, pressing childe back against the door. ]
Now - [ with the gentle, bright-eyed irony of a man indulging in a comfortable cliche. ] Where were we?
( it's the kind of quiet elegance that childe has come to expect from zhongli, refined and luxurious without being ostentatious. he feels wrong even setting foot past the door, like he's crossed a threshold to a private world he was never supposed to witness. part of him would have sooner been sloppily fucked over the marble floor in the golden house; he's as out of place in zhongli's airy foyer as he is anywhere else in liyue, a bizarre stranger who doesn't belong.
but then zhongli fills his empty spaces with his warmth, and any sense of lingering strangeness disappears, gone with the ghost of his breath across his mouth. )
You should never interrupt a man when he's deep in study. How am I supposed to remember where I left off?
( his voice curls like smoke between them, past a flicker of his tongue over zhongli's jaw. he unfolds into him, knees bumping knees and arms circling his shoulders, and sets his heel against the door, pushing their linked bodies several steps forward. lesson one, drilled into him at a tenderly impressionable age: never let yourself be cornered, even when you want it. maybe especially when you want it, and he wants it now more than anything.
he loosens zhongli's tie with a squeeze of his fist near his throat, licking down the juncture where his jaw meets his ear. his body hovers close, pressed flush, rippling muscle held back in knots, barely restrained. he bites zhongli's pulse, swallowing around salt and skin and the hot, prickling desire to take his cock into his mouth for a second time. )
I believe I was asking you politely to fuck me, please. Pretty please.
[ it isn't messy, but it's close -- more reckless than he ought to be when it's childe, who knows no limits and no law but his own appetite. the trouble's that the thought comes after -- after they've gone stumbling down the hall, childe's body stretched hot against his, fingers raking through the last few buttons of his jacket as childe's teeth scathe over skin, shuddering all over with laughter and inexorable wanting. ]
Ah -- thank you for your reminder.
[ the interim between the foyer and the bedroom's a jumble of greed and heat. the world flashes by in sensation and ghostly impressions -- the slow charring friction of body against body, the obscene salt curve of childe's mouth under his, kissing him in slow, relentless pulses as they cross the floor in strides. he's half-undone by the time they're at the threshold of his room -- shoes kicked off, jacket rumpled, the tie trailing loose around his throat.
the rest takes no thought at all.
he turns on the carpet and sinks back onto the bed, drawing childe down with him. daylight's fading across the walls, red and gold; in the evening flush of the room, childe looks nothing less than ornamental -- sunlight dazzling through his bright hair, the foxish set of his jaw burning like ivory. like something to be caught, kept, thoroughly possessed.
he sinks back a little, one hand bracing against the bed, thighs tilting apart; his gaze sweeps over childe's face for a moment's consideration before his fingertips snag in the loop of childe's belt, tugging him forward into his lap. reckless, careless -- but none of that feels like a reason to stop now. ]
Would you undress yourself for me?
[ notably, he's got other priorities -- chief among them, sucking a kiss into the soft stretch just beneath childe's jaw. ]
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no subject
his lips sweep the sleek curve of zhongli's jaw as he turns his head. )
I was taught never to go home with strange men.
( but it's not a no.
he tucks a loose strand of zhongli's hair behind his ear, then trails his fingertips down his chest to the hem of his open shirt, tracing planes of clenching, touch-sensitive muscle along the way. his throat and collar are a scattered constellation of pink bruises, not yet mottled purple, and marks from childe's unforgiving teeth. childe touches each one with a deliberate brush of his knuckle as he buttons his shirt, pausing when he reaches a deep indent near his clavicle. )
What a mess I've made of you.
( soft but unapologetic, his eyes dewy-wet and shuttered low. there's a name for the feeling that seizes his insides in an icy clench, hard iron twining his ribs and lungs like thorny vines from an untended garden. not regret, or boyish guilt riding the coattails of a thoughtless fuck because childe means everything he says and does, including this. not fear, either. he carved his nightmares out of the rotten marrow of a dark abyss and gave them a new home inside him. he's not afraid of anything anymore.
this is worse.
his next touch is a greedy indulgence, open mouth over his clavicle, tongue curling up the slope of his throat and adam's apple. he ends on his mouth, in a lazy, stroking kiss, and his hand cupping his skull above his nape. )
no subject
(how long has it been, that a single touch can make him this greedy? but time seems suspended under the curve of childe's hand -- nothing to measure but the mazy scattering of marks across his skin, the wardrum of childe's pulse between his ribs, sharp enough to call any god to war.)
somewhere in the haze, order's restored. a handkerchief's produced out of some pocket or another; his coat's smudged dry, his fingers polished to passable cleanliness. only his gaze holds, eyes lidded, all unyielding golden attention; his palm's curving beneath childe's jacket, bracketing the arch of a hipbone, thumb tracing slow spirals over bare skin, thoroughly possessive and thoroughly possessed. ]
You are capable of worse.
[ it's barely a murmur, smearing hot between their mouths. it doesn't take a glance to pull childe's clothes together -- fingers snagging in his waistband to haul him close, nearly flush, buttoning him up even as his teeth scrape over childe's lip, an easy goad. ]
And I confess -- I am curious to see you try.
no subject
he could stay here longer, leeching off zhongli's heat. kissing him, slow and exploratory. touching him more, until he's gorged on his skin and tongue and body, until he can taste him in his sleep. )
I'll give you worse when you stop holding back.
( childe steps away, a receding tide of tightly coiled energy. he gives a dismissive twirl of two fingers, and a small wave arcs from the floor, foamy water rolling around the blockade of zhongli's boots, over the edges of the pillar, washing everything left behind away. the polearm still struck in the ground is hauled loose in a single gripping tug, then flipped down, spearpoint gleaming against zhongli's throat.
after a second, he retracts the blade and lifts it again, extended toward zhongli in silent offering. )
Shall we leave before the Millelith come knocking?
no subject
but the polearm was forged of the same substance as all of his weapons: stone, steel, and delicate metallic scrollwork. he reaches out; his thumb trails down the blade of it, as if testing its jaded edge. at once the polearm collapses into a little storm of geo particles, sifting through childe's hands like dust.
by ancient habit, he smoothes back his hair, touches each of his cuffs, then turns to fasten his coat. the long sweep of it disguises any lingering stains. with the last of the clasps fastened into place, he looks nearly intact, polished, as though nothing in the world had ever touched him. ]
Have you had any difficulty with the Millelith recently?
[ his tone's courteous, sedate, as if they'd been discussing the topic all along over dinner in some discreet, gold-lit teahouse. there's no faltering about his steps as he heads towards the latticed doors, drawing them open for his guest. ]
I understand that the Qixing are in the process of evaluating their next steps with regard to the Fatui. The guard should not be acting outside the parameters of their command, except in cases of emergency.
[ such as, for instance, any suspicious activity on the part of their last ranking harbinger stationed in the port.
it's been made transparent that the tsaritsa's left no further decrees to carry out in liyue -- but that doesn't mean that childe wouldn't be inclined to make trouble on his own whim and time. ]
no subject
No more than usual. ( maybe a little more than usual. his unfettered, fresh-faced charisma is understandably far less effective following his stunt with osial, and security has been significantly tightened in places he would've otherwise been mostly welcome. ) While I can't guarantee that they're not spitting at my turned back, they've been cordial enough considering the circumstances.
( if he's using cordial in the loosest definition possible.
he'd half expected to be thrown into the ocean, or barred entry from liyue. that he wasn't was an enormously generous courtesy, more to the tsaritsa than himself, and while his extended stay in liyue hasn't been pleasant since the incident, he'd rather gut himself at the feet of the qixing than admit to any quote-unquote difficulty aloud. in due time, he'll be called back to snezhnaya on orders from the tsaritsa, cut down into little more than a scathing sentence in liyue's future history books. the northern foreigner who fancied himself a god-killer and then failed to kill a god, end of chapter.
childe maintains his pace side-by-side with zhongli, down the many steps past the millelith dutifully holding guard, and tips two fingers to his temple in salute. neither of them look at him, though one of them blinks a little harder than necessary. )
How are you settling into your new role? Or โ ( he hums, thoughtful. ) I suppose it's more of a return to an old normal than anything new, isn't it?
no subject
it is, for the moment, the only sound worth hearing. ]
It is as you might expect. The funeral parlour is as selective in its rituals as ever. [ reading between the lines: hu tao's still stewing over her next marketing scheme. ] But there is more than enough to occupy me, even so. The city is remaking itself. You will likely see menus from the teahouses to the taverns shift to more traditional dishes over the next few months. There may even be a queue for loans at Northland Bank -- despite the circumstances.
[ he glances over, sidelong. the lightness of his voice is a habit by now -- learned and kept against his better judgment. he's gathered more than a few such quirks over the months: leaving the parlour at that golden hour of the evening just after the banks close; reserving pieces at mingxing jewellery that might suit a pair of sharp blue eyes; turning back in a crowd at the sound of an unfamiliar accent. in a handful of seasons, childe's worn into him like rain drawing patterns into stone.
perhaps it's better, after all, that he's leaving soon.
they cross the bridge, matched in stride, steering out of the commercial district and into the quiet, lacquered gardens that wreath the residential areas. the sudden hush draws at him; his smile crooks a little, unstintingly thoughtful. ]
But I suppose that I should clarify. Are you curious about my health, or whether I have retained my old strength?
no subject
childe doesn't call him on it, courteously quiet and attentive as he listens to zhongli speak. )
You felt robust enough to me.
( he slants a short, flickering glance at zhongli's profile, rays of honey-gold light dappling his hair like a burnished crown. childe is an unkempt, partially unbuttoned mess next to zhongli's polished exterior; they make a strange shoulder-to-shoulder pair as they walk the streets of liyue, from the bustling noise of the harbor into a lingering, intimate quiet that's both familiar and unknown.
they move in unison over a footbridge overarching a shallow pond, slats of sealed redwood groaning underfoot, and follow a stonework pathway that winds through a pavilion twined in blooming flowers. childe stops under the shade of the pavilion, snagging zhongli by the wrist. )
I'm poorly versed on the nature of the adepti, admittedly, but I've heard faraway tales of an adeptus' strength. ( mostly in passing, or in dusty books he pored over within his first few days in liyue. he turns into him, pulling his arm diagonal across his chest to force him a step closer. ) Your strength, especially. Are you afraid you'll hurt me?
no subject
Contrary to what my recent behaviour might suggest, I do have some self-restraint.
[ the remark's barely touched with rue. live long enough, and anyone learns the practice of selective memory: to keep those experiences that brought something of value, to leave everything else in the dust. but it's difficult to bury the fact that every instinct seems to reorient him, compass-like, in childe's direction -- that he breathes, and feels every mark of their hasty tryst in the golden house stark across his skin, teeth and salt and the ghost of heat where childe's palm had folded against his hip, urging him down his throat.
his fingers tug at childe's collar, drawing it straight to no real effect. it isn't particularly meant to restore any form of order. he knows better than to imagine that it might. at best, it might be a kind of proof: that he's still capable of these ordinary gestures, chaste and unhurried. ]
You, on the other hand, [ light and low, an invitation to a shared joke of sorts - ] seem to have few limits in your appetites. Should I be concerned on your behalf?
no subject
You wouldn't be the first to be concerned.
( or the last, most likely.
his hand slips down his wrist, skittering across his elbow and bicep until he's shifting into zhongli's space and loosely hooking his arm over his shoulder. it feels as natural as breathing, or wielding a blade with practiced finesse, the rising tide of zhongli's warm body drawing him close. he knows this part, has bruises on his knees now as evidence. it's everything else, all the things deeper than physical, that he can't touch or dissect into bite-sized pieces able to digested and understood as intimately as he understood his cock in his mouth. )
Surely you've heard the rumors by now, xiansheng. ( the honorific rolls off his tongue like he's been saying it all his life, dense like water-logged silk. it's easier to control every unruly syllable when he's not falling apart in zhongli's clenched, slick fist. he tucks his fingers beneath his collar, down the knot of his tie that he tightens snug against his throat, returning the gesture. ) It's why I'm the Tsaritsa's favorite. I'm insatiable.
no subject
it's been some time since he'd even considered it. the effect's almost dizzying.
his head tips towards childe's; a laugh glints between their mouths like gold. heat's kindling in the pit of his stomach as his hand skims beneath the open cut of childe's jacket where the jut of his hip gleams like an invitation. ]
Rumour has little bearing on my judgment.
[ - which explains the fact that his fingertips are, in fact, fastening the latches of childe's jacket with unseeing rigour, straightening the corner where the cloth hangs crooked, sealing away every centimeter of skin with their bodies suspended mere heartbeats apart and his lips all curving warmth. ]
I believe you can bear to wait a little longer. We are no more than a few minutes away from our destination.
[ as his hand slides down childe's chest, pressing them apart again. ]
no subject
Of course.
( somehow, fully buttoned in his jacket, he feels more exposed than when he's outright naked, like ajax the schoolboy writing mantras on a chalkboard for naughty behavior or tartaglia the eleventh knelt in front of the tsaritsa's crystal throne awaiting orders, head bowed in reverence. it's paralyzing. he pops the bottom button on his jacket one-handed, more reflex than a pouty rebuff of zhongli's focused attention, then turns to graciously sweep his arm toward the path ahead. )
Far be it from me to lead you astray a second time.
( his tone is pleasant, paired with a dimpled smile crinkling across the bridge of his nose. it's one of many sincere smiles he's given zhongli in their time together, over a teahouse table or while bartering a merchant for a fairer price on whatever priceless trinket's caught his eye. strange how effortlessly zhongli finesses his possesions from him, time and time again. strange how much he'll miss it, this, him.
they exit the shelter of the pavilion, back on the stone pathway that circles through the entire city. childe pops another button on his jacket as they walk, his vision glowing vividly in the setting sun. )
no subject
zhongli lives, apparently, at the end of an older block, where the balconies are flush with faded scrollwork and the stairs curve with the studied red gleam of retouched paint. his door opens to a perfectly ordinary set of sprawling, modern quarters: a parlour; a distant study bricked with silk-bound books; two doors standing half-open, inviting. it's the kind of layout that any merchant might rent for a week or two in the city. but in the parlour, there rests more than a few trinkets that childe might recognise from the last few seasons of rampant spending: lacquerware boxes on the mantel, a bamboo palm in a jade-rimmed pot, a glossy black cabinet with designs drawn in gold foil, filigree-winged cranes peering up through a cloud of greenery.
not that childe's getting much of an opportunity to admire the decor. the door clicks shut, and zhongli stops in the narrow foyer, half-turned, mouth curving with a thought that needs no translation. ]
You have my thanks for permitting me to take you so far out of your way.
[ one step, another. he closes the little distance without hurry, pressing childe back against the door. ]
Now - [ with the gentle, bright-eyed irony of a man indulging in a comfortable cliche. ] Where were we?
no subject
but then zhongli fills his empty spaces with his warmth, and any sense of lingering strangeness disappears, gone with the ghost of his breath across his mouth. )
You should never interrupt a man when he's deep in study. How am I supposed to remember where I left off?
( his voice curls like smoke between them, past a flicker of his tongue over zhongli's jaw. he unfolds into him, knees bumping knees and arms circling his shoulders, and sets his heel against the door, pushing their linked bodies several steps forward. lesson one, drilled into him at a tenderly impressionable age: never let yourself be cornered, even when you want it. maybe especially when you want it, and he wants it now more than anything.
he loosens zhongli's tie with a squeeze of his fist near his throat, licking down the juncture where his jaw meets his ear. his body hovers close, pressed flush, rippling muscle held back in knots, barely restrained. he bites zhongli's pulse, swallowing around salt and skin and the hot, prickling desire to take his cock into his mouth for a second time. )
I believe I was asking you politely to fuck me, please. Pretty please.
no subject
Ah -- thank you for your reminder.
[ the interim between the foyer and the bedroom's a jumble of greed and heat. the world flashes by in sensation and ghostly impressions -- the slow charring friction of body against body, the obscene salt curve of childe's mouth under his, kissing him in slow, relentless pulses as they cross the floor in strides. he's half-undone by the time they're at the threshold of his room -- shoes kicked off, jacket rumpled, the tie trailing loose around his throat.
the rest takes no thought at all.
he turns on the carpet and sinks back onto the bed, drawing childe down with him. daylight's fading across the walls, red and gold; in the evening flush of the room, childe looks nothing less than ornamental -- sunlight dazzling through his bright hair, the foxish set of his jaw burning like ivory. like something to be caught, kept, thoroughly possessed.
he sinks back a little, one hand bracing against the bed, thighs tilting apart; his gaze sweeps over childe's face for a moment's consideration before his fingertips snag in the loop of childe's belt, tugging him forward into his lap. reckless, careless -- but none of that feels like a reason to stop now. ]
Would you undress yourself for me?
[ notably, he's got other priorities -- chief among them, sucking a kiss into the soft stretch just beneath childe's jaw. ]