[ 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
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. ]