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"Of course , you're perfect like this too."
Sure, alright, Childe is a pretty honest guy. He'll be the first to admit that on any normal day Zhongli boasts a cock hung heavier than Morepesok’s town drunkard, or the skirmisher he fucked senseless during his last huzzah in the Winter Palace. Whether Zhongli’s railing Childe into a stupor or pressing into the back of his throat, his dick is a certified and sanctioned national treasure of Liyue.
So when Zhongli slowly unwraps his sable, silk robe, knees spread on either side of Childe’s head while pulling at his hair in just the right way, Childe doesn't expect to see his bold thatch of curls swirl south into ripe, rosy folds.
“Shit.”
Zhongli hums in agreement, the bastard, and combs a hand through Childe's hair. His nails scratch lightly at Childe’s scalp to tear his eyes away from his prize and up to his face. Then, Rex Lapis, humble hermit God of all that is ancient, smirks at him. Fuck, it’s haughty, and oh does that look so good on Zhongli. A slip like that only speaks to his boundless satisfaction, really. He’s cocky — as he should be — because Childe already feels the pleas drooling from his tongue ready to plunge.
"Stay, boy," he commands - less like a general, and more like a virtuoso. And boy, Childe does.
Zhongli is an artist - even Childe, country bumpkin that he is, can tell. When he crafted his mortal body he made sure to keep all the little glorious details that sailors dream of dripping off of the sirens at sea. The slope of his hip bone, the stretch of skin beneath the golden bar on his belly button. That little line between the meat of his thigh and the soft bits that Childe could pierce with his fingernails if he tried hard enough. Yeah, Childe is in service to another god, one that even happened to be particularly fond of ice sculptures, even. But in a land of eternal cold, there wasn’t anything to make those pieces melt. Zhongli, though? Oh, he was already starting to thaw.
The scent, heady and sharp like green cardamom and burnt caramels snakes into Childe's senses, cloying, and coiling around his mind in a vice grip. It turns every thought to fuzz. His lips part, tongue parched like it’s stuffed with cotton that sticks and scratches when he swallows. Fuck. His breath shakes over Zhongli’s sweet snatch, sending shivers through Zhongli’s core, past his stomach, and reaching impossibly taut pecs. Seriously, such a slut. Childe’s sisters would snap at him for the comment, but Zhongli made himself this way. His robe slides down one shoulder, drawing a dark line against its blushing peak.
Plucking it between his fingers, Zhongli quirks his head and sighs something high, snide, vain. He has Childe right where he wants him, and looks so fucking pleased with himself, huh. So much that he's acting cute. Cute! Oh, Childe is gonna get him. If Zhongli wants to play dirty, then he’s going to bite. Going to feast.
Surging forward with teeth bared, Childe dives towards him, but the hand at his hair is already tearing, already steering Childe back against the bed.
“Fah-”
“I said: stay, boy,” Zhongli commands. He barely needs to move, to flex, to blink to keep Childe pinned and scruffed by the nape. Drawing his head back, Childe licks his lips and rasps, only for his breath to be cut short when raw geo-energy presses into his neck. It resonates just below the apple of his neck, cutting into his skin and for a moment Childe thinks that Zhongli plans to choke him out completely — to render him unconscious so he can use him like the proper tool he is without Childe even being awake to enjoy it. It’s sick how badly Childe yearns for it. The power intensifies, coalescing into a shimmering collar of cor lapis.
Shit, that’s hot. Shit.
It presses just enough to keep Childe’s mouth open, lips parted in need of air, but not enough to rob him of breath completely — not more than Zhongli already stole, at least. The rest of it is torn from his throat in a high whine when Zhongli lowers a delicate hand to his neck - a single finger, a loving gesture, really, that loops around a trail of lingering geo-energy. With the grace of a conductor, he draws the energy forward, manifests it into a glimmering gold chain, and tugs.
Childe gasps. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck, he is so fucking hard.
“Can you be a good boy, Childe?” Using his other hand, Zhongli trails down his body, drawing across that chiseled collar bone to outline the lace trim of his robe. It descends into a stark, black line over his nipple. Further down, he reaches the cut of his hips — a cavern meant to be bitten, a little corner Childe would be a pretty happy man to die on, really. Only, he’d much prefer lower, where Zhongli’s hand passes over — Tsaritsa, what a fucking snatch, — on his way to his thighs.
Zhongli always likes it there. He’ll keep Childe in between his legs nipping at the soft flesh around his groin, tonguing and biting, pulling his hair so that Childe will lavish his sack, his hole, and his cock for an hour or two. Adepti are like that, he guesses. They can keep it up for as long as they want. For as long as they want to use him.
God, he’s so fucking horny. His cock hurts. But Zhongli couldn’t care less. Just tugs at his flesh, rolling his thumbs in circles against his inner thighs. The obsidian shine of Zhongli’s arms pulses with cor lapis veins, and seeing that show of primordial power while he’s in this form is… Fuck, it’s hypnotic, and Childe finds himself lost in the rolling motion. Dark shadows swirl over his skin round and round. It’s lavish, more enticing than any show of wealth or power that the Tsaritsa boasted in Zapolaryny Palace. Her diamond walls are closer to the cold confines of a sanatorium. But Zhongli? He’s warm, pulsing, and erotic. Like a treasure of lost gems, or an ancient rulers’ tomb: rosewater, gilded edges, and drapes of dark silk.
Zhongli throws his head back, hair falling over his shoulder that’s hazy with a low blush. It’s flushed under the flicking candlelight, almost as pink as the prize between his legs, swelling with arousal as he palms around it. Childe wants to paint it with his tongue.
The thought sends something wild stirring in him, a buzz almost as bad as his Delusion. Little tingles all over his body sing with the need to shred, shred, shred. There’s something twisty in his brain, see, something carnivorous. When he gets hungry, he needs blood. A sharp pain stings his mouth, first slow, then searing as his teeth slowly pierce, shred, then tear into his tongue.
“Do you deserve this?” Zhongli asks, peeking a golden, glowing eye open at Childe’s expression. The angle prevents the Harbinger from speaking, so he bares fangs instead, wiping a bloody tongue against his canines and his lips to show just how good he can be.
“Uh-huh,” is all he can say with that damned collar, and Zhongli gives him another one of those smug little grins.
Unraveled and heady, blue eyes rake up glowing skin golden like the sun glinting through jade before crystallizing into obsidian, pulsating flesh. Zhongli extends a finger, black and shining, and draws it up to Childe’s chin once more. Childe can only blink in awe as Zhongli — powerful, primal, piercing Zhongli — wrings a thumb and forefinger into either side of his cheeks, pouts his lips, and dips a finger in.
Childe gets to work immediately, lavishing the digit, rolling it around in circles, and sucking at the tip. Scraping at his bleeding tongue with a nail so sharp it widens the wound, Zhongli pushes further, using the collar as leverage to keep Childe’s head tilted back. Submit, it says. What it is, Childe isn’t sure.
Something cold and smooth stretches his tongue where Zhongli presses, and the metallic tang of iron and blood is suddenly augmented by a needle-thin bauble. It throbs miserably, deliciously, and shocks Childe's mind into a frenzy, and sends tears to his eyes and a twitch in his cock. He groans, adjusting, unable to lap anymore but unwilling to relent. He needs to prove he can take it, can taste him. Zhongli keeps eye contact as he works, completely impassive to Childe’s desperate gaze. Childe presses his knees together. His thighs ache.
With a smooth gesture, the finger is gone. Childe sends him a pleading look, already entranced by the god above him. “Zhongli…” he rasps, tongue sore and swollen around the piercing. But his only response is the glimmer in Zhongli’s eye. Bastard. Always knows more. Always in control.
He takes Childe's face back in hand, pulling his tongue out to inspect his handiwork.
“You took that well. Now, be still and watch, and I may yet reward you.” He drops the chain, pats Childe’s cheek, and hums. “Can you do that?’’
Fuck yes. Childe’s eyes flutter, stunned, tongue still lolling out. Yes, I -
A crack of pain against his cheek rocks Childe’s vision, black spots tingling behind his eyelids - Fuck, Fuck! He didn’t -
The grip comes back against his jaw, harder this time, but Zhongli still does not raise his voice. “Can you do that, mutt?”
“Yes,” he whines against the impending lisp. “Please, Zhongli, use me -” The fingers are back, two this time, stroking in and out of Childe’s mouth around the piercing for only a moment before Zhongli brings his hand between his legs.
If Zhongli moans at the touch, Childe can’t hear it, blood pounding in his ears and a groan crumbling from his mouth. As much as Zhongli likes to tease others, he does the same to himself, running a glowing, golden finger glistening with spit and blood over his folds. He presses against himself in broad strokes, not quite dipping in, just massaging the swollen lips dark with hair.
So thorough. So like him. But Childe is a man of action. If he’s going to watch, he’s going to spectate.
“Fuck yeah, you look so good.” Zhongli runs three fingers down from the hood of his slit to the bottom, “Like a treat, teasing yourself like that -”
The collar snaps up, golden chain digging into Childe’s cheek. “Did I give you permission to speak?”
“W-” he tries, but the chain shakes, and the collar tightens.
“No, I did not. If you would like to run your mouth, you must ask permission. I would like it warm when I am ready to use it.” He lets the collar slacken.
Fuck, has Childe ever told him how much he loves taking orders? He hates it, actually. But fuck if he loves it when it’s Zhongli. Love-hates it. Kind of like him. Hates that he loves it so much, loves that he hates it so much. At the end of the day, he’d say he’s feeling generous, though, since he’s not going to admit that the collar at his neck makes him want to cry and suck and shake until Zhongli tells him he’s been a good, good boy.
Even so, he’s gotta be a little bratty. “May I run my filthy mouth at you, Mr. Zhongli?”
Zhongli rolls his eyes, a soft laugh puncturing the heady atmosphere. Childe wonders when exactly Zhongli gave himself laugh lines - they weren’t there when they met. And for a moment, he is simply a man, straddling a very pleased lover. The feeling is like a kick in the teeth.
“You may,” Zhongli agrees, but an echo of his soft smile lingers. “Rascal.”
His fingers are back on himself immediately, idly playing while Childe babbles.
“Yeah, look at you. You like it like that? Just a little touch, huh. So patient. I’m not gonna be so nice, you know.” Zhongli lets a flash of satisfaction show while he presses that single finger up and down, back and forth. He hasn’t even pressed in. The chain gently trills with Childe’s pleas, “I’ll beg. Say the word. You don’t have to do a thing, slut, I’ll do everything, anything.”
“Anything? Quite a bold claim.” Zhongli rolls his hands behind his back, palming at his own hips and stretching the flesh of his rear. He crooks his hips forward, flaunting his snatch for just a moment, the barest glint of wetness still tucked neatly away behind his folds.
“Anything, I'll be your toy. Use my cock, my tongue. Pierce me again, even. Or let me fuck you, fuck, please let me fuck you. I'll make you cry on my cock. I know how you like it. I'll fill your whore cunt so full of cum that you won't ever need worship from anyone ever -"
"Careful, trinket.” A finger silences his lips. It dips between them like a warning, but the soft flush in Zhongli's cheeks tells Childe he won this battle.
“Show me, then You may use your hands, but you may not touch me here yet, boy."
"Please, thank you.” It slides from his mouth. Zhongli resumes his idle play, using the spit-slicked finger to tease his entrance, while Childe makes good on his promise. Using both hands he massages at Zhongli's thighs, kneading the flesh above his knee and working towards his inner thighs, then doing the same on his other leg. Eventually, Zhongli curls a knuckle into his slit, barely buckling the folds around it. Chile’s cock throbs when Zhongli lets out a low hum, still, still not quite fucking himself.
He needs to work harder. He needs to be better. Childe scrapes his hands up, scratching and rolling his thumb against Zhongli's hip bones before teasing up to spread the robe away and tug at his nipples.
Zhongli rolls his head back, leaning into the touch, and finally, finally, sinks a finger into himself.
"Oh fuck, look at that. Yeah, fuck yourself like that, baby." His nails scratch at Zhongli's chest, first teasing and then so deeply it creates white lines. Not that Childe can see them, with the way he's watching that obsidian finger bob in and out of Zhongli, shiny and silky smooth. “In and out, there you go. But don’t you want more? Don’t you need more?”
Childe draws his hands back downwards, gripping Zhongli's hips in a vice and letting his thumbs depress into the joints where his hips and legs meet. It’s close to his core, so much that he can feel the pillowy flesh pudge forward over his fingertips. Zhongli slots a second finger in, moaning at the stretch that fills him and the stimulation so close to his core yet unbearably far away.
“I can hear how wet you are. I can taste you already.” Childe presses harder, “Shit, so slutty. Let me in, please.” But Zhongli keeps ignoring him. “I want to taste you. I’ll tear you apart.” But he needs to earn it. Zhongli pulls his two fingers away slowly, drawing forth a string of shining white slick and a broken whine from Childe's lips.
"Haa- oh fuck, you're such a sweet whore, yeah you are. I am too." He feels himself getting impatient, getting close, so he draws his hands back and around Zhongli’s hips. Palming at his ass, it fills his hands in a way that forces Childe to squeeze harder, deeper. He kneads his knuckles into the dimples, their positions already burned in his memory, and fingers a hand in between his cheeks. "I belong to you."
But with a snap, his hands are torn away. No no no no -
"So sings the loyalist to a foreign God. You're a no-good scoundrel. A cad."
“No, no, I mean it, please.” Golden chains wrap around his wrists, crawling from the collar at his neck and stringing his hands together. "Oh, Gods. Yes, yes, Zhongli -"
"You belong to me? Prove it.” Zhongli glides away to flaunt his slit, and sits.
Eyes nearly rolling back into his head when he gets the first taste, Childe only holds back by the need to watch Zhongli’s reaction. He tastes warm and wet and pillowy between his lips, tongue teased and tousled by the hairs framing his sex. The taste reminds him of jams charred a moment too long over the fire, tart, tangy, and acrid. Zhongli sighs, and shit he is handsome. Rolling his hips back and forth on Childe’s face, Zhongli rubs against the bauble now lodged in his tongue and sends stinging pain through Childe’s body. Sweaty hands struggling against his confines, he dives deeper, letting Zhongli use him, letting Zhongli roll his slick back and forth over his nose and chin and lips. Childe suckles at the puffy lips surrounding his hole with a wet smack, working the flesh in a feverish frenzy. Something in the back of his head wriggles and screams: eat. eat. eat. eat, eat, eat eateateat — and in a show of restraint: Childe sucks in between his teeth, only letting his teeth graze him in a teasing nip. He groans, overwhelmed by the smell of him: tannins and polish, the taste of him: dried figs, the texture: well-worn, well-oiled leather.
The voice in his head grows louder, challenged only by Childe’s groans and accentuated by Zhongli’s soft, unaffected hum. Of course, he’s still in control. Childe fucks his tongue back and forth in Zhongli’s pussy, over and over and relishes the way Zhongli tenses around him, imagining how it will feel once he’s wrapped around his cock. Imagining what he’ll look like sitting on his cock. Zhongli doesn’t make it any easier on him, bobbing up and down and - yup, there it is - a sneaky little peek and a snide little sneer and shit, Childe whimpers something painful. It does something to him, twists something hot in his head like the only thing he could possibly do is eat, and he will, he will, he’ll -
Zhongli pulls off, his hand on the collar keeping Childe’s neck and hands locked down. The sound that escapes him is worse than when he got speared through by an Abyss Lector’s lance.
“Zhongli - “
“You’re enjoying yourself too much.”
No, no no no no no no -
“Oh, you’re not? Ungrateful,” Zhongli snickers. Childe hadn’t even realized he was talking aloud.
“Please, I’ve been good, right? Right?” Childe surges up, smacking his lips against Zhongli’s snatch and slathering his tongue against it without any room for finesse, only lust. He can feel the wetness on his cheeks, on his chin, and he needs more. “Let me get you off, please. Lemme use my hands. I’ll stretch you open so good, so good.”
The chain curls in his hand. Zhongli might as well be picking out ribbons and silks. “Mm. You have indeed been obedient. And it is in a trainer’s best interests to reward good behavior, lest the dog acts out.” Pressing a thumb over Childe’s lip and smearing his arousal, Zhongli muses, “You won’t act out, will you?”
“Mm-mm,” Childe manages, sucking around the thumb and the piercing. When Zhongli removes his thumb with a pop, Childe whispers, “I’ll be good.”
Gods above and demons below, in that moment he believes it.
“Then you may be released.” With a flick of his wrist, he dispels the geo constructs containing Childe’s wrists, and guides his hands to his hips, then further back. “Your hydro, then. Play with me.”
Dark hair obscures his vision as Zhongli settles back over his face, and Childe is left panting into his pussy just as his hands slide in between Zhongli’s cheeks. Teasing a finger at his entrance, Childe rubs the pad of his forefinger over Zhongli’s hole, just enough so that the tip puckers in. He circles there in time with every swipe of his tongue and every roll of Zhongli’s hips, gradually moving his head further up. There, Childe looks up at Zhongli, flushed and statuesque above him, and summons a bead of hydro to his fingertips. With the barest of pressure, he nudges in, gently stretching Zhongli’s ass while he finally makes use of the piercing on his tongue. Flicking the golden bar against Zhongli’s clit, he teases and sucks his swollen hood, swirling his tongue around it until Zhongli is gasping, grinding against his tongue and his fingers.
“Yes, good. Like that, puppet.” The words ring in his head like a prayer: good, good, good puppet. Caught between the pressure in his hole, and the eager slide at his pussy, Zhongli urges his hands deeper, and Childe lets himself be conducted.
The plush warmth around his finger sends a shock of need through Childe’s bones, settling in his cock and causing his sack to ache and stretch. He feels like he’s been on edge forever, he’s lost track of time. All there is, is the glow of Zhongli’s skin, the warmth and wetness of his folds, the suction of his hole, the need to keep feeding from him, lapping and lavishing and ravishing him with each swipe of his tongue, with each fuck of his finger - now adding a second. He feels his cock dribble over his stomach, hot and searing on his skin. This time, his eyes do roll back with a groan, and Childe loses himself.
“That’s it, that’s it.” That’s it, that’s it. He rolls his tongue, throbbing, smacking against Zhongli’s swollen clit. It fits so sweetly between his teeth. It blooms so lovingly when plucked and pulled. And then, it shakes.
The pain comes all at once: vibrations so deep, so slow, so powerful, that Childe doesn’t realize where they’re coming from, not at first. It isn’t until Zhongli is rutting against his piercing, until his tongue is throbbing from the swelling, from the blood pooling around it, that he realizes. The construct speared through his tongue is vibrating, and Zhongli is getting off on it. They both are.
Soon enough, Zhongli is rocking back and forth, fucking himself on Childe’s fingers only to rub wildly against his tongue. Sweat mingles with silk flower perfume and sweet slick, falling in agonizing slopes down his neck, his chest, and his thighs. He shakes around him, he’s close, he’s close.
“Ah, hah, Childe. Good. yes, G- Good,” Zhongli sighs, a shiver racking his body as a pool of cum spills from him, coating Childe’s tongue while he laps it up, relishing the pain thrumming through him and into Zhongli. Finger pumping back and forth, Childe loses himself in Zhongli’s pleasure, loses, loses his -
Rocking his hips forward, Childe doesn’t even realize he’s about to come until that voice in his head snaps, crying first in ecstasy, and then in rage as its climax is ripped away from him. A pressure squeezes the base of his cock, and Childe bucks into nothing, so sensitive that he can feel the thick driblets leak from his tip. He gasps — or tries to — but Zhongli doesn’t allow him to breathe.
“Not yet,” Zhongli rasps, eyes still glazed over. “I want you to fill me.”
And thank the gods for the ring around his cock, because he would have right then and there. His wail is lost in Zhongli’s core.
Tossing his hair back, Zhongli’s composure returns as swiftly as always, only this time his body moves in a delighted prowl. With languid satisfaction, Zhongli rises from his perch on Childe’s face. The surge of air leaves his cheeks cold and sticky, but he has no time to mind it when Zhongli rises to his full height on his knees, turns around, and shifts forward.
Art, all of him. Now hovering tantalizingly close to Childe’s cock, desperate and tall and twitching, Zhongli lets the robe fall from his shoulders to his elbows and then draws it away. Once the dark cloth has been draped over the sheets, it reveals a sleek black construct sitting heavy in his hand. Three bulbs define the shape, topped by a golden handle.
Oh. Oh. “Oh fuck...”
“Hydro. Again, my boy.”
Zhongli may as well have been a hydro allogene himself, with how the waves answer. It coats the toy in a thick, shining layer of lubricant. It’s lewd, it’s gorgeous. But naturally, Zhongli must inspect any and all handiwork. He makes a show of it, angling his head away and arching his spine in a cursive line. It rises in his hand like an ancient artifact — or a ceremonial weapon.
“This will do,” he approves. And with a cheeky smirk cast over his shoulder, Zhongli spreads his ass, red-rimmed and shining with lube. “Watch.”
Oh, he’s watching. Following the ripple of muscle beneath Zhongli’s stygian shoulders and golden-veined biceps, Childe watches him reach back and tease the tip of the toy over himself. It slides in, stretching his hole and shining under the pools of hydro. When it crests the widest part of the first bead, they sigh — Zhongli at the stretch, Childe at the lewd drop of lube that drips from him, landing hot down his cock. It drips, following a searing path that wets his dick just enough to put him back on the edge. With a soft grunt, and the first bead slides the rest of the way in. The last two beads are stark against Zhongli’s white-knuckled grip.
“I wonder... Ha- how your cock will feel.” He must be getting impatient. The next ones follow too soon. The second: sink, slip, sigh. The third: sink, grip, cry. When it’s done, Zhongli leans back, a shiver spreading over his skin like wildfire as he takes in slow breaths and runs soothing hands along his neck. It’s big. Zhongli’s hole wraps around the golden handle with greed, puffy and pink. Childe knows it will make him even tighter once he’s finally around him. He wonders, briefly, how badly he’d be punished if he took what he wanted right now. If he placed both hands on Zhongli’s hips and fucked him down straight on his cock, spearing him in one movement, keeping him inside, rising above him, bending him over and breeding his womb like a bitch in heat like what he deserves like -
He twitches forward, but the collar at his neck answers his thoughts. Fuck.
“Now, now. Be still,” he taunts. Then, as if it were the simplest action, Zhongli turns back around, lines up Childe’s cock, and drops.
“Haaa, ah! Zhongli, fuck, I -” The kiss of weeping, wet lips around his head is too much, too much, too much. His skin is already set aflame with need. Paper-thin and straining against his blood pouring in his dick, Childe keens as Zhongli descends, squeezing around him, enveloping him while Childe fills him against the press of the construct in Zhongli’s ass. It’s tight, impossibly so. And why wouldn’t it be? Zhongli handcrafted his body, why wouldn’t he have handcrafted his cunt, too? His sack pulses, tightening against himself but he can’t come, not with that ring, so all he can do is whine while Zhongli falls, falls, falls until he’s fully seated and filled with cock.
Back straight as if poised on his throne, Zhongli huffs once he is filled. He rolls his hips, testing the depth, and Childe’s dick twitches fiercely in need with every shift.
“Alright. Now, I am going to use you. You are nothing. Nothing more than a doll, and dolls do not move. If you move, I will stop, and fuck myself. If you speak, I will stop, and fuck myself. If you come, I will stop, and fuck myself. You will only do as told, and nothing else. Now, say yes.”
Childe isn’t sure where the breath in his lungs comes from, but it isn’t there for long. “Yes.”
“Good. And what do you want?”
The answer is simple. Which is: nothing at all. Zhongli waits. Childe’s heartbeat pounds in his ears. It saps the last remnant of sanity from his mind.
“That is correct. You want for nothing. Only my pleasure. Good boy.” Good boy, good boy, the voice echoes, tamed. Zhongli’s thighs flex, and he moves.
It’s agonizing, the pace he takes. And he takes. He rolls his hip, back and forth, letting him touch and fill every crevice within him. Zhongli rolls his neck, bobbing up and down all the while he runs hands over his own body. Sinking lower, stretching lower, Childe can feel the rounded beads on the other side of his flesh, straining so taut against his cock.
“Fah-... Full.” Without any interest towards Childe, Zhongli tends to himself: tears at his flesh, pulls at his hair, and tweaks his nipples into stiff, aching peaks. And starts riding him in earnest. Using him like a toy, like an object, like he’s nothing. Childe wants to draw lines down his tits with the way they shake at each smack of skin when he touches down, only he wants nothing. Nothing except to be used.
Slap, slap, slap,
Good, good, good,
Slap, slap, slap, slap, good, good, good, good -
“So good, such a sweet cock for me. Fuck- hah.” It’s a blessing his tongue is so sore, because the voice wants to scream, wants to yell, wants to tell him take it take it, that’s right, let me fuck you until you can’t remember your own name, any of them at all, let me press so deep until you’ve morphed into another form.
But then, it quiets. It whimpers: take me take me, that’s right, fuck me until I can’t remember my name. Any of them at all. Press over me so deep until I’m yours, yours, yours.
“Yes, yes, yes.” Zhongli rides harder, hair swaying as he gets filled over and over, unrestrained gasps pouring away from him. A mess of drool and tears slide down Childe’s neck, mirroring the globs of hydro that pool around Zhongli’s snatch at every thrust. His skin, delicately misted with sweat and sex ripples like some lewd painting. For someone crafted of stone, he’s molten, pouring over Childe over and over and-
And then it hits him: that thrum again. Only this time, it isn’t only in his tongue, throbbing and swollen as it is. It’s also against his collar, sucking the breath from him. It’s around him, on the ring so neatly staving off Childe’s orgasm. It’s on the construct plugged deep in Zhongli, vibrating against Childe’s cock through lush, velvet insides in a sensation so all-consuming Childe knows he is going to break. He already is breaking, with the way the sobs are ripped from him. It all blurs together: shining, igneous skin, golden veins, the screams shredding his throat against the oxygen robbed from his brain and -
And Zhongli grinds down, rutting his clit against the cock ring at Childe’s base, and Childe shatters. His cock twitches as his climax fills him, flooding and damned by the ring, but Zhongli bucks harder, deeper — more — and then the barrier is gone with golden dust.
Childe has never come so hard in his life. It spills from him, around him, where Zhongli squeezes and shakes around him, groaning in at the height of pleasure a cry that is closer to a death throe than a cheer. Their voices linger, whining and shaking. Zhongli, around the vibrations in his ass, and Childe’s, tongue throbbing as his eyes roll back into his head, pumping stream after stream of cum into Zhongli’s womb. It gushes from him, in him, pooling down his cock and dripping past his sack to stain the sheets. They ride the wave together, caught in something spasmic and messy as they fuck each other in helpless convulsions. His knees have long lost the feeling in them, his arms too, and Zhongli is no better off. He collapses against Childe, forehead sticking to his chest as he circles his hips, twitching. Like a real slut, he fucks his hips down one last time. Once more, pitiful and slow. Then stillness.
Zhongli...his body sags, lending his whole weight to Childe. And it’s...comforting. So, comforting.
There are tears in his eyes, Childe realizes. Spit and cum and Hydro sticks around him, but he doesn’t care while Zhongli’s pussy mouths at Childe’s softening cock, slowly slipping away. With each flicker, they sigh. With each breath, the burning sensation in his eyes grows, and Childe realizes: he wants to cry.
He wants to cry. A sob lodges in his throat.
“Childe?”
His throat stalls.
“Childe,” Zhongli coos, stroking a hand down his face. He can barely feel it. All at once there is too much, and not enough. The hands on his face, the cunt on his cock, the stickiness under the sheets, the sweat in his pits, the bar in his mouth. He gasps. A gentle hand wipes down his eyes — oh, when did they close? Soft lips soothe his lids, one and then the other.
“Childe, come back to me, love.” Another hand in his hair, stroking through the strands. He’s so gentle. Too gentle. But Zhongli’s always been gentle. Delicate fingers grazing the bellies of birds, just as they run over Childe’s balmy skin. But he’s...he feels weak . He was doing so good, so good, wasn’t he? Wasn’t he? Words scratch at his skull from within.
“You did well. My boy, my good, sweet boy.” He did? “You did so good. Wonderfully.” Two thumbs stroke at the arches of his cheekbones, coaxing him to slowly, dreamily blink. Zhongli is there: warm like toasted chestnuts, blurry light rays, or wavering embers. “There you are, good boy.”
“H-” Oh, his throat is… Childe clears it. “Hey.”
“Hello.” A wash of concern quirks Zhongli’s brow. “Are you alright, my love?”
“Yeah.” His voice trails off at the end, raw. But he can tell Zhongli doesn’t believe him. And Childe, Childe finds that for the first time in a long time, he doubts. At that moment, he is a little boy again, wrangling in his first fish from the frozen lake, staring between it and the grand catches of his elder brothers. “Did I…Did I -”
“Hush, you were incredible. You are incredible.” And Childe feels his heart right itself. He smiles, and he doesn’t mind the prick of tears that merge with the rest of the mess on his face, anyway.
Now that the arousal is fading, he feels...uncomfortable. Oversensitive, Sticky, and yet… Good. So good. Sated. “That was…” he trails off, but Zhongli never rushes him. “Yeah, Incredible.”
And fuck, he loves it when Zhongli is pleased. “Truly? Good. Good,” he sighs with relief. And he kisses him. And, fuck, he missed that. Childe’s never been anyone’s favorite, but Zhongli makes him feel like something cherished. “You did wonderfully, you know. So perfect.” He kisses him again. “Perfect for me.”
It’s strange, after going so long without using any of his limbs. Childe’s knees groan when he bends them, rusty like old field tillers abandoned by one of Dottore’s labs. But he’s a warrior, first and foremost, and his body creaks and readjusts to the freedom, to the love. To tangle Zhongli’s hair between his fingertips and roll them away from the wet spot in the bed.
Zhongli melts against him, whining when Childe’s cock slips from him. The sudden air against him rips a soft groan from him, muffled by Zhongli’s easy tongue. He peppers his lips with easy kisses, unhurried and satiated, taking extra care to use some kind of geo wizardry to balm the swelling in his mouth. When he separates, he can’t help the smile that tugs at his cheeks.
The back of Zhongli’s hand is soft against his cheek. Childe sticks out his tongue. Golden eyes glimmer with approval. “I can remove that if you’d like. I admit I was overwhelmed by a spot of… well, a strike of inspiration.”
“Mm-mm,” he refuses. “No way. I’m keeping it. Does it look good?”
“Delectable,” Zhongli says.
“Well then, I’m definitely keeping it.” Here, he can bury his face in Zhongli’s neck, nuzzling into the fuzzy curls of hair beneath his ear. “I want to see how you like it in your ass, next.”
“That can be arranged.” The rumble of Zhongli’s voice and the sanctuary of his arms settle the wavering blood pulsing in Childe’s veins. Slowly, carefully, he feels the creep of exhaustion, of numbness flicker in his limbs.
“Then okay. Let’s…” He yawns. “Let’s clean up?” He needs a bath. He needs Zhongli closer. His head props against his chest. When did Zhongli pick him up?
“Of course, my love.”
My love, my love.