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When his mother asks him to accompany her to pick Zhongli up from the airport, Xiao wants to say no. He’d like to be able to come up with some sort of thinly veiled excuse to cover up the fact that every fibre of his being is aching to see him in person again. He’d like to say something like, Oh, he won’t want to see me. What could my coming possibly do for him? But he knows that any and all of it would be false. 

What he’s really worried about is that he won’t be able to control himself, so overwhelmed with being in Zhongli’s presence again that he might jump right out of his own skin out of sheer excitement.

Gods, you’d think he were some wife waiting for her husband to return from war, and not the son of a powerful woman who fell into bed with her even more powerful husband. You’d think that Zhongli had been gone for years, when in reality, it’s only been about a week and a half. This is what happens when you’re young and infatuation brews. 

Of course, when his mother asks him to accompany her, there is nothing he can do but say yes, given the circumstances. He trusts himself not to make an utter fool of himself, though there is the possibility. Still, Xiao finds it would be too odd of him to say no, impossible to give a viable excuse. 

So there they stand at the arrivals exit, waiting for Zhongli to disembark the plane. It’s a grueling wait, and Xiao’s mother assures him that the reason for Zhongli’s tardiness is that there are too many people at the baggage claim. He has to refrain from telling her that he isn’t antsy from waiting. 

It’s a busy day at the airport— though Xiao supposes most are— and he hates every second of it. There are so many people, so many smells, and he’s so frazzled by Zhongli’s impending return that it, tied with all the other stimuli, have him wholly uncomfortable, overstimulated and wanting to go home. He’s rocking on his heels, picking at his clothes. 

“Do you want to go get water?” his mother asks him, immediately understanding, without really understanding at all, the extent of his feelings. She’s preemptively pulling out her wallet, though Xiao has money of his own. “I know you dislike crowded places. You can get a drink and wait with Wen Yan if you’d like.”

Wen Yan is the man that occasionally drives for them. Xiao does not want to sit with him, only to feel uncomfortable at both the prospect of small talk and ultimate the lack of it. Xiao shakes his head roughly, trying to shove his hands further in his sweater’s pockets to little avail. “No,” he says, waving vaguely at her, as if to say, stop. “I’m fine.” 

He wants to see Zhongli. He wants to hug him and tell him how dearly he missed him but he can’t and it’s bothering him. It’s never bothered him like this. 

When Xiao sees Zhongli, looking tired, yet somehow still put together, come through the automatic doors, his heart flutters like a bird trapped in a cage. He’s wearing a suit. A suit . After a seven hour flight. Xiao finds himself equally impressed and amused by this. He waves, and Zhongli smiles, but it isn’t directed at him. His chest aches sourly. 

“Hello, dear,” he greets as he approaches, kissing Xiao’s mother on the cheek. Xiao is bitter in ways he hasn’t felt in a very long time. He looks away. “Hello, Xiao.” 

“Zhongli,” Xiao greets, sterile. If Zhongli notices the slight apprehension in his tone, he doesn’t mention it, but even if he could, he likely wouldn’t. Xiao’s mother says something that flies over Xiao’s head, unable to listen to anything spoken when he’s so distracted by Zhongli’s elegance. So close, Xiao should feel overjoyed to be in his presence, but in place of joy he finds nothing but bitter emptiness. 

They exchange a few more words, courtesy chat, things like, How was the flight? and We missed you terribly. You must tell us all about Fontaine. Xiao can’t listen to them. Won’t listen to them. He is beyond relieved when Zhongli says, “Shall we go find Wen Yan?” 

Xiao gets stuck sitting in the front of the car with the older man, and Zhongli offers to hold open his door like he had for Xiao’s mother, but Xiao politely refuses. He shoves his headphones in and plays on his phone until he’s home to drown out their business talk (since the pleasantries are out of the way), silently hoping that the ground will open up and swallow him whole. 

-

Xiao watches tiredly as Wen Yan pulls the car into the garage, somewhat unwilling to brave going into the house yet. He falls behind his mother and Zhongli, feet dragging up the walkway. Of course, Zhongli holds the door for him, too, ever the gentleman. It doesn’t make Xiao’s chest squeeze like it normally might. He hobbles up the front steps awkwardly. 

“Are you alright, Xiao?” Zhongli asks, in this placid, neutral sort of way. His hand finds the small of Xiao’s back as he steps through the door and it burns like molten lava. 

“Fine,” Xiao says crisply, curtly, stepping away from his touch. If it bothers him, Zhongli doesn’t show it. “I’m just… sleep deprived.” 

“Alright.”

It’s the end of the conversation. He doesn’t stick around to have tea, nor does he sit with his mother as she watches something on the television. Instead he goes to his room, content with hiding under a pile of blankets until morning breaks. 

This is all so petulant. He’s never felt like this before, so icky and wrong. He’s never had this hollow, bitter feeling gnaw at the centre of his chest, this relentless ache. It’s gross— he doesn’t like it, and he can’t figure out why he feels this way. It’s never bothered him before, at least, not like this. 

Before, he could handle it, turn cheek and pretend like it was okay. They weren’t really together anyways, just on paper, and deep down, Xiao knows that he has Zhongli in more ways than his mother ever will, so why does it hurt so much? Why does being ignored make his eyes sting? He knows too that if Zhongli could have kissed him, he would have, so why on earth does it hurt so much to be brushed aside?

No, Xiao knows why, doesn’t he? He just doesn’t want to think about it. Because thinking about it makes him feel bad, and he already feels bad enough as is. 

He pushes his face into his pillow, a poor attempt at smothering himself, and then, huffing an overly dramatic sigh, decides he needs a drink. It takes more than one attempt to haul himself out of bed, but he manages to shuffle out of his room and into the hallway. 

Of course, because Xiao’s life is miserable, he only manages to make it past the decorative table before he hears, “Xiao?” come from inside Zhongli’s office. Xiao halts in his tracks, a scowl pulling at his features. “Come here, please.” 

He can’t pretend he didn’t hear him, knowing his shadow is being cast on the outside wall. Defeated, he steps into the room. Zhongli is sitting in the arm chair, glasses low on his nose with a book in his hands. He closes it and sets it down beside himself. 

“I was just getting a glass of water.” 

“Close the door,” Zhongli says, ignoring him. His legs are crossed and he looks more serious than Xiao has seen him for a while. 

Sighing, Xiao moves to shut the door, knowing he’s in for it. “Is something wrong?” he asks. Everything is wrong. They both know this. 

“Are you upset with me?” Zhongli asks, quiet, like Xiao’s mother might hear. 

Xiao doesn’t know what to say, that he’s jealous of his own mother? That he’s trying to sort out icky feelings and doesn’t like the conclusion his mind is coming to? There is nothing valuable to say than that he is behaving petulantly and is very much aware of it. 

“Why would I be upset with you?” he asks in return, hoping that they can finish this conversation quickly so he can get his drink and go back to bed. 

“You’re not behaving like you usually do,” Zhongli explains. Desperate, he means. Content with just Zhongli’s presence. Hanging off his every word. “You were ignoring me pretty blatantly earlier tonight. I’m not dull, Xiao. I can pick up on your cues.”

“I never said you were,” Xiao mutters, rocking on his heels. “I’m not upset with you. I’m upset with me.” He realizes that it was probably not the right thing to say, because Zhongli will not let him out of his sight until he gets further explanation. It’s in his nature to be the kind of man that demands answers. 

Predictably, Zhongli crosses his arms over his chest as if to say, Well?  

Xiao sighs. “It’s petulant, okay? It’s extremely childish, Zhongli, and I don’t think you want to hear it. Can we please talk about this some other time?”

“You have me now,” Zhongli says, and doesn’t he see that, that’s the problem ? That Xiao has him, but not really? “I want to know what’s upsetting you.”

“I just missed you,” Xiao says. A tight feeling creeps up his throat, and he tries to swallow it down. “Can we leave it at that?”

A moment’s silence falls upon them. Zhongli eyes him wearily. “I won’t press it,” he relents, and, though Xiao knows he likely already knows the issue and only wanted to hear it from Xiao’s mouth, he appreciates the notion that he might leave it alone for the time being. “Come here.” 

Wordlessly, Xiao walks over to him, and has to stifle a gasp when Zhongli pulls him onto his lap. 

“You’re breaking your rules,” he says immediately. Zhongli’s hands fall to his waist, thumbing his hip bones over his sweater. Blood rushes in his ears. “My mom is downstairs.”

“Then I suppose you’ll just have to be very quiet, then, won’t you?” 

The kiss pressed to his mouth is gentle despite Zhongli’s earlier statement, and it’s everything Xiao has been craving since Zhongli left for his stupid business trip in the first place. It’s hungry in the same way it’s kind, slightly apprehensive— a little nervous. Xiao must have seriously worried Zhongli if he’s breaking his rules for a second time. They’ve been together for a number of months, and yet he’s only ever done this once before, and even still, in the dead of night, and not when Xiao’s mother is a floor away watching a drama on the television. 

Xiao shudders against him, hands on his shoulders, gripping tight like he might float away otherwise. Any lingering bitterness is washed away and replaced with the warmth only Zhongli can bring. They kiss like this for a few moments, until Xiao pulls away with a shaky breath and rests his head on Zhongli’s shoulder. Immediately, Zhongli’s arms wrap around him. 

It feels impossibly good to just be held by him. Almost better than the kiss. 

“I’m sorry I’ve made things difficult for you,” Zhongli tells him. “I never intended for any of it to make you upset or hurt.”

Xiao doesn’t speak for a handful of seconds, breathing in deeply the scent of qingxin and salt. “I told you it’s childish,” he says. “And it is. I know what I signed up for. I’ll… work it out.”

He can feel Zhongli sigh under him, though his hand rubs soothingly on Xiao’s back. It’s almost domestic, almost romantic, a careless gesture that has Xiao’s stomach doing somersaults. He nuzzles into the skin of Zhongli’s neck before he sits up, smiling lopsided. 

“I should go,” he says, though he now wants to do anything but that. They both know he really should. It’s suspicious for him to be in the closed room of a man he should seldom talk to. Or at least, seldom talk to with any real meaning behind his words. 

“Very well,” Zhongli agrees. He looks reluctant to let Xiao go too, and the very thought that he actually might be makes Xiao giddier than he’s been since Zhongli left. 

Moving to walk to the door, Xiao says, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Zhongli halts him by the wrist. “Xiao.” He turns, regarding Zhongli with curiosity. “The first chance we get,” he says, and immediately Xiao knows what he’s talking about.

He nods solemnly, face going red, and Zhongli drops his arm. 

In his room, Xiao has to bite his pillow to stop from screaming. 

-

Unsurprisingly, the two of them don’t get many chances. Any at all, actually. In fact, Xiao doesn’t think any amount of time has passed between them where he could seldom slip away for a chaste kiss, let alone anything actually substantial. With Xiao working, Zhongli’s unpredictable schedule and his mother’s seeming inability to leave the house any time he’s in it, Xiao is left feeling wholly unsatisfied and is growing more and more irritable with each passing day. If Zhongli feels the same, he’s doing a very good job of hiding it. 

At first, having Zhongli in his presence again allowed for Xiao to feel a little better, though he was still antsy due to his not being able to have Zhongli for a handful of weeks prior to his trip under similar circumstances. Seeing Zhongli glance at him out of the corner of his eye and shoot him a lopsided smile when they passed in the hall made it so Xiao wasn’t too frustrated. 

At first. 

Now, Xiao feels like he’s going to jump right out of his skin. Busying himself with work is mindless; though he has little to do in the grand scheme of things, it’s still a way to kill time and he’s not so much of a degenerate that he’d fantasize about all the things he and Zhongli could be doing at work. At least, not much. At home, he holes up in his bedroom playing rhythm games until his fingers ache and when he’s called for meals and to spend quality time with the two of them, he goes, because that is what is expected of him. His little routine is hardly as brain-frying as it sounds, honestly. It’s comfortable. He is perfectly normal and sane. 

Just like how it’s extremely normal for Xiao to be walking by Zhongli’s office, and have the mere sound of his deep, hearty chuckle make him hard. It is also very normal for Xiao to immediately run to his room, chewing on his knuckles and beating himself off so hard that he thinks he might end up with one arm bigger than the other. 

This is all fine. He has to make himself come twice more before he feels satisfied, but it’s fine . 

-

It’s not fine. 

Somewhere along the line, he seems to have lost the ability to satisfy himself without Zhongli there. And he tries, really, he tries, but to little avail. Toys don’t work. His hands don’t work. Even looking at the pictures Zhongli sent of himself fresh out of the shower one morning from his trip doesn’t work, and it’s practically all of Xiao’s desires wrapped up and tied neatly with a bow. 

It’s infuriating, and Xiao doesn’t know what to do with it. At this point, he feels like he’s rubbed his dick raw, and it hardly even makes him feel anything. Xiao has never in his life had it this bad before. 

He looks at his hand, soiled and shining, with contempt, then sighs, dropping it to the mattress palm up. Xiao seriously has to get a grip. 

A knock at his door startles him. Xiao squeaks, scrambling to get up and tuck himself back in his pants, but then as he stands he realizes that if he does, he’ll smear his own spend all over himself and then he’ll have to change, but if he doesn’t then he’ll be standing there indecently, and his hands are still dirty, and there’s still somebody at the door . 

“Ah!” Is all he can think to say, grabbing a box of tissues from his desk, but then he’s conflicted between wiping his dick off or wiping his hand off and it’s all hurting his brain. Someone please kill him. “I’m a little busy!” 

“Bad time?” comes Zhongli’s voice through the door. Xiao doesn’t know if it would have been worse if it were his mother. He decides to clean his lower half so he can not walk around with his dick out. 

“Kinda,” Xiao says, loud enough for him to hear. Of course, because Zhongli is a menace, he opens the door. “No, no, no , no.”

Even though Xiao whips around, hunched in on himself to hide his open fly and the crumpled ball of tissues in his hand, it’s clear not only from the bed covers strewn haphazardly but also from the capped bottle of lubricant on the bed exactly what Xiao had been doing. He’s fooling himself if he thought that Zhongli wouldn’t get it immediately.

“Oh,” Zhongli murmurs, a little amused, and closes the door behind himself. Quietly, he says, “Not taking abstinence well, are we?”

“Please don’t look at me.” It’s sure to get him going again. “This is incredibly embarrassing.” 

“You’ve nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s very common for a man your age to—”

“Oh my god,” Xiao groans, and Zhongli snickers. “Please shut up. Please don’t say anything else or I will start crying.”

“Alright, alright,” Zhongli concedes. “Your mother wanted me to tell you that dinner is ready. Be sure to wash your hands before we eat.”

As if he wouldn’t! Zhongli is gone without another word, and at the sound of the door clicking shut once more, Xiao flops face first back onto his bed, groaning into the mattress. Why have the gods forsaken him? What could he have possibly done with his miserable life to deserve such anguish? 

He does wash his hands before they eat (obviously), and Xiao is delighted to find that dinner is the soup that his mother likes to make, a strong, hearty soup with egg and corn. He could eat it every day and not tire. 

At the table, Xiao’s awkwardness is squashed by his hunger— who knew getting off could make him feel so starving? It’s like he’s never eaten before, the way he shovels spoonfuls into his mouth, trying not to be rude, but probably failing. It dawns on him that on top of his previously strenuous activities, he hasn’t really eaten since breakfast. 

“Is it good?” his mother asks. He can hear her smile behind her words, always pleased to have people to enjoy her cooking. They have enough money to have people personally design all of their meals for them, but Zhongli can be incredibly picky and Xiao’s mother is a foodie at heart, so it works out for them to alternate doing the cooking. Xiao, on the other hand, can’t cook for shit. He must have gotten his father’s genes. 

“Really good,” he says, looking up to shoot her a grin. “So, so good.”

Zhongli nods curtly from his place at the head of the table. “Yes, very good, dear.”

“I’m glad.” 

Comfortable silence falls over the three of them as they eat, only the sounds of cutlery against ceramic in the room. 

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” his mother says after a while, “I was asked out by one of the higher ups from a company we deal with for a dinner meeting in two days, so I won’t be home.” 

Xiao stops eating. 

A chance. This is a chance. At long last, a chance has presented itself! He can hardly contain himself, but he scarcely manages to reel it in.  “How long will you be out?” Xiao asks, unable to bite his tongue. He just has to know.

“Probably a few hours. Maybe more, depending on how the meeting goes. It is a Friday after all. Why?” 

“No reason,” Xiao says, and then immediately follows it up with, “figuring out how I’ll possibly fend for myself in the kitchen.”

“I’ll be here to cook for you,” Zhongli says, and Xiao can immediately read his eyes when they meet. There are lots of things they will be doing, and cooking is absolutely not one of them. As if on the same train of thought, Zhongli adds, “Or perhaps we could order in. We haven’t eaten from a restaurant in quite a while.” 

Xiao clears his throat, going back to his soup. He pushes around a piece of chicken with his spoon. “Well, that’s a few days away. We can figure it out then.”

The rest of dinner bleeds together; Xiao answers when he’s spoken to and listens with half-attention to an anecdote told by one of them, mindless brain numbing chatter, but there’s no mistaking the squeezing in his chest at the thought of it. A chance . 

-

If the days before they were given any chances felt long, the days after feel even longer, ticking along, minute by minute. He’s never been more aware of himself than he is when his skin crawls in that icky, sensitive sort of way, like when one has a fever. It doesn’t help at all that Zhongli seems to be breaking all of his rules and is going out of his way to make Xiao’s life miserable. 

“Silly,” he says on Tuesday, dressed in his usual sleek black suit for work, a rare day where they leave at the same time, “Your tie is crooked.” 

And his hands wander to fix it, tipping Xiao’s chin up with one hand and dragging the other along Xiao’s collarbones to finally settle at the knot at the base of his throat. He takes more time than strictly necessary to fix it, and all the while Xiao is more than aware of his piercing gaze, and trembling at the heady scent of his cologne, gentle, but more than apparent with their proximity. His mother has already left, but just barely. He can still hear the rumble of her car in the driveway. 

“I hate you,” he whispers, like she might be able to hear. He’s so light headed he thinks he might pass out. 

“I’m just being helpful.” Zhongli is never helpful. He pats Xiao’s chest, palm flat on his pectoral. “All better.” 

And then he’s gone, out the door like he hasn’t just left Xiao reeling, needing to steady himself on the wall to stop from tipping over. 

-

On Wednesday, it’s no better. It’s the night, sometime past 11, and Xiao is feeling particularly hungry, so he makes his way out of his room to get something to eat. 

It’s been a very long time since he and Zhongli met up this way. “Peckish?” Zhongli asks, like he had the first time, and Xiao’s gut immediately twists. 

“A little,” he relents. 

“I’ll just—” Zhongli says, slipping behind Xiao in the narrow hallway. Unlike the first time, his hands grab Xiao’s waist with purpose, pressing deliberately against Xiao’s ass and holding him there for a moment, so Xiao can feel his heat, so he can be tempted by what he really misses. “—squeeze by you.”

On the other side, Xiao puts his hand against the wall, balling up the other and sticking it between his teeth. 

“You’re the worst,” he whispers, muffled by his fist. His cock aches between his thighs, even from so little. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Zhongli tells him. “Good night, Xiao.” 

He barely even makes it back to his room, snack long forgotten. 

It takes little time for him to shuck off his pants, to slick his fingers and press two into himself, pressing a pillow over his face so he can gnaw on it to hide the little wounded noises he wants to make so badly. It’s hot, and yet, it’s hardly enough, his stupid fingers too short to press hard enough where he needs them most. 

Deliriously, ridiculously, Xiao imagines what it would be like if Zhongli had forced him against the wall and taken him right there, pants around his thighs, a fist in his teeth to shut him up. It would hurt a little, wouldn’t it? But would Xiao even care? He’s so desperate for it that he’d probably come just from the head of Zhongli’s cock catching on his rim. 

He imagines the feeling of Zhongli’s teeth in his neck, about the heat of his breath on the shell of his ear, of the drag of him on Xiao’s insides, so hot and wanton. He thinks about how Zhongli would say his name, about darling, and precious, and good boy. 

His cock spits onto his hip, and so Xiao takes himself in hand, working himself at the same pace as his fingers piston in and out of himself. 

He’s so aroused he hardly even hears the door click open. It’s not until it closes that he knocks the pillow off his face, a momentary dread filling his chest at the thought of someone walking in on him in such a compromising position. His chest squeezes for an entirely different reason when his eyes meet Zhongli’s across the room, sharp, calculating. Even in the dark, Xiao can see the way the moonlight makes his skin look like porcelain, how he leans up against the door with his arms crossed over his chest as if to say, Don’t stop on my account.

They’ve never done this before. This is risky. This is bad. And yet, even so, Xiao finds himself spreading his legs a little wider, as if to give Zhongli a better view, a sick thrill rushing through his veins like liquid fire. 

It’s easier now, to imagine what Zhongli might do to him when their eyes are locked on opposing sides of the room. He imagines Zhongli creeping over him, to meet the amber glow of his eyes and easily accept the fingers pressed between his lips. He imagines Zhongli replacing Xiao’s fingers with his own, and how they would immediately find and abuse his prostate, enough to make him struggle to remain quiet, suckling on the slender fingers between his teeth. 

It’s no wonder why Zhongli hasn’t moved from his place against the door, even when Xiao must look so inviting before him. Zhongli is a man of strong composure, but Xiao knows how quick he is to crumble given the right incentive. It wouldn’t be fair— besides, they both have appearances to keep up. God forbid they get carried away in this. 

Xiao wants desperately to look away, to hide the shame creeping up his spine, but he finds himself captivated by Zhongli’s longing stare, placated just to be looked at by him. Heat prickles beneath his skin, and though his hands haven’t given him the satisfaction he so desperately craves, having Zhongli watch him has him twitchy and oversensitive. He’s already close. Embarrassingly, really, but can Xiao really be blamed when the object of his most prevalent desires is six feet away from him and unable to touch him?

Heaving a shaky breath, Xiao speeds up the hand on his cock, frantic, almost, in its movements. The fingers within him have halted their pistoning in favour of curling upwards, close but not quite where he wants them, but he isn’t going to get up and get his toy from his closet, not when the tension is so thick. Xiao’s mouth hangs open, but no sound escapes him, even as his thighs shake, even as his back lifts off the bed. 

Xiao comes with a shudder, nothing but a stilted gasp on his lips as he spills over his fist. He tries to keep his eyes open, to watch Zhongli watch him come undone, but he can’t stop the way his eyelids flutter, trying to close. His chest heaves, legs giving out and falling flat on his mattress, and, in a delirious state he finds only comes to him post-orgasm, he sucks two of his sullied fingers into his mouth, licking them clean. 

Zhongli doesn’t say anything, but the amused look on his face is more than telling. Xiao only offers a crooked smile back, wiggling spit-glistening fingers at him. 

Good night, he mouths, asshole. 

A nod, and Zhongli steps out into the hallway, closing the door behind himself. 

Xiao falls asleep sticky, but he isn’t complaining. 

-

On Thursday morning, they don’t talk about it, but even if they could, Xiao thinks they wouldn’t. It’s seven and he's miserably drinking a black coffee, staring out the kitchen window at the soon to be risen sun, the sky filled with orange and purple. 

Zhongli is already fully dressed when he steps into the kitchen, grabbing an apple out of the fruit bowl. 

“Morning,” he says, tucking the fruit into his bag. Xiao just grunts in response.  “Maybe not a good one for you.”

“Xiao’s not a morning person,” says Xiao’s mother, who is apparently also in the kitchen now, dressed for work already as well. Unlike Zhongli, she grabs a pear. “If only you knew how hard he made my life when I had to wake him for school.”

“To be completely fair, my defiance in getting up wasn’t because I’m not a morning person, it’s because I hated school.” At Zhongli’s raised brow, Xiao says, “Private school.”

“Ah.”

“You made some good friends,” his mother says, and this much is true. The twins and Ganyu, though they see each other rarely, are all very good friends to him, and he loves them very much, even if he’s not great at saying it. “You were just shy. Be glad I didn’t send you to boarding school instead— let them deal with your crankiness.”

Xiao just hums, sipping his coffee. Zhongli chuffs a little, and though he is a little cranky, Xiao gives himself the leeway to smile into his mug since no one can see his face. 

“Well, I’m off,” Zhongli says. “I’ve a breakfast meeting at nine and it would be rather unbecoming to be late.”

“Punctual as ever,” his mother murmurs. She comes over and hooks her chin over Xiao’s shoulder. “I’ll make something good for dinner tonight.”

“‘Kay,” Xiao hums. “Need me to do anything before you leave?” He starts later than his mother— partially because she loves him, and partially because, as we’ve discovered, Xiao is not a morning person. 

“Just to clean yourself up before work,” she tells him, a little mean, and then plants a big kiss on his cheek. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Mmm.” Xiao nods, blinking slow. “Love you.” 

Xiao listens to her footsteps recede as he pours himself another cup. 

-

It feels like a given that Xiao would be thrumming by Friday, but, as he wakes to a sharp pain in the base of his skull, it appears that he quite literally awoke on the wrong side of the bed. Moving hurts. Breathing hurts. The bright sunlight pouring through his blinds hurts. He just wants a glass of water and for his brain to stop throbbing like it’s trying to escape his skull. 

He manages, quite blearily, to drag his feet to the bathroom, and when he’s there, he pops two pain killers and hopes for the best. Xiao sits on the toilet until they start to kick in a little and having his eyes open isn’t like a heavy armed assault on his brain. He needs food in his gullet like, yesterday.

In the kitchen, he finds Zhongli already sitting at the breakfast bar, sipping at a cup of tea and flipping through the newspaper. Xiao mentally chuffs. Old man. He looks up at Xiao and smiles. “Rough night?” Zhongli asks, inclining his head. He says it with the implication that he’s thought of all the different things Xiao could have done to warrant him looking so ghastly. 

“Surprisingly placid,” is Xiao’s response. All he’d done last night was read and listen to Ganyu gush about some new manhua she’s reading on the phone. He grabs bread and throws it in the toaster. “Just slept on my neck weird.” 

Zhongli glances around himself for a moment before he leans in to whisper, “Remember that day at the pool?” 

Vividly, as if it were yesterday, Xiao recalls the feeling of Zhongli’s fingers working knots from his shoulders, of, You’re so tight  His face burns. “It’s too early for this,” he whispers back, fake-mad. He longs for anything Zhongli could give him. 

“I’m just saying, if it still hurts tonight…”

“I’m just saying,” Xiao mocks, “You’re insufferable. You thrive on making me miserable.”

“Shameful that you would accuse a dignified man such as myself of something so unbecoming.” 

He hears his mother descending down the stairs, so Xiao bites back his retort and sticks his tongue out instead, turning back to the counter to make himself a coffee to go and butter his bread. 

“Good morning, you two,” she says, scratching at Xiao’s scalp on her way past him. He shivers and hums halfheartedly in response, shoving a piece of toast in between his teeth. “Don’t forget I’ll be out late tonight.” 

Xiao’s chest aches. How could he possibly forget when he’s been anticipating it ever since she first mentioned it? He refuses to look at Zhongli, knowing that he would be more than obvious in his thoughts. 

“I’ll make sure the house doesn’t burn down,” Zhongli teases, resting his chin in his hand. 

Xiao scoffs. “I’m not seven.” 

“Xiao is more likely to brood in his room than set the house on fire any time soon.”

Xiao glances at his mother, and finds an odd sort of look on her face, almost knowing, but he can’t discern exactly what it is. He doesn’t dwell on it. “Do you two wake up every day and choose violence?” Directing his gaze to Zhongli, he adds, “She was never so mean to me until you came around.”

Zhongli just flashes him an amused smile. 

“Xiao, darling,” his mother tells him, wrapping an arm around his body to squeeze him, “you know very well that’s not true.”

“Ugh,” Xiao groans, detaching himself from her side. “It’s too early to be bullied. Speaking of, I’m going in early today— I’ve got some stuff I need to do.” 

Time to kill, he means. Xiao fully intends to busy himself in the brainless mediocrity that is his desk job to make the day go by faster. He’s never wanted any of his subordinates to give him trouble, but some small part of him hopes that he can be distracted by some incessant problem that no one but he can fix so that time will fly by him and he’ll be back in his room with Zhongli all to himself. 

“Mmh,” his mother says. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”

“Probably not,” Xiao responds, coffee in hand, moving to slip into his shoes. “Maybe,” he concedes after a moment. He’s not sure he’s going to want to see her, depending on how things go for him. 

“Have a good day,” she tells him, and he waves behind his shoulder back at her. A hum is all he gets from Zhongli, but his chest warms anyways. Bag in hand, Xiao heads to work. 

-

Some twenty minutes before he should leave, time seems to slow to a halt. He’s ansty, bouncing his leg, picking at the wool of his trousers as he watches the clock go by. Five seconds. Ten. A minute. Ah, screw it— he’s the boss’s son and he can leave whenever he wants. Who is he really trying to fool?

He’s never rushed to the parking lot quicker, telling their receptionist to have a good weekend and not sticking around to hear her response, bouncing in the elevator so much he’s worried it might stop in its tracks. In the car, his phone auto-connects to the radio, and Shame plays at its halfway point.

I never was very good / I haven’t been so good
But right outside the door, nobody knows
How it feels so—

Xiao turns it off and drives home in silence. 

When he gets there, he finds Zhongli’s car is in the driveway. He isn’t supposed to be home for another hour at the very least, and yet there it is, in its pristine, sleek black glory, parked outside instead of in the garage in what Xiao has no doubt was a purposeful manner. As if he wanted Xiao to be surprised by him, to grip the steering wheel as he pulled into what is usually Zhongli’s place in the garage, for his heart to hammer against his ribs. His hands shake as he unlocks the door, toeing off his shoes and immediately making his way up to Zhongli’s office. 

He finds the man sitting behind his desk, a mess of physical and digital documents in front of him, glasses perched low on his nose, like usual. He’s so impossibly handsome, even after what he imagines is a long day at work, hair still styled neatly and clothes without a wrinkle. Xiao is going to have to change that very soon. 

“You’re home early,” Xiao says, aiming for nonchalant, but missing by a mile. He sounds exasperated, desperate almost, thrumming with excitement. They’re alone . 

“Ah,” Zhongli says, “I decided to come at lunch and work from home.”

“I see,” Xiao muses, sauntering into the room languidly. Again, still a little awkward, though, as comfortable as he is now with Zhongli, there’s seldom a time he isn’t. “Any particular reason?” It’s a stupid question. They both know exactly why Zhongli is home early. 

A hum. “Just a little pest I thought I might surprise.”

Xiao gasps playfully. He’s at the edge of the desk now, and glances uninterestedly at the screen of Zhongli’s laptop when he asks, “You busy?” before crawling into Zhongli’s lap anyway, unable to help himself. 

“I suppose it wouldn’t matter to you, even if I was,” Zhongli muses, clearly trying to sound ticked off, but Xiao knows he could never be mad at him for something like this. He plucks off Zhongli’s glasses and folds them before setting them on the desk behind himself. 

Xiao grins. “Nope.” 

He slides his hands across Zhongli’s chest, settling at his shoulders before he presses their foreheads together. He’s about to lean in when Zhongli asks, “Wouldn’t you like a shower after a long day’s work?”

Xiao shakes his head. “Showered at the gym.”

“You went to the gym?” 

“No, I showered at the gym.”

“They let you in without a membership?” Zhongli asks. 

It is common knowledge that Xiao does not work out. He took all kinds of martial arts classes when he was a child, and he can be quite active, but let it be made very clear that the day Xiao steps foot into the office gym with the intention of working out is the same day that he will have lost his mind. There is nothing appealing to him about being in a room full of sweaty people who technically work under him, and for them to judge him for not knowing how to set up the stupidly overpriced gym equipment and his generally awkward demeanour. He’d sooner let himself burn in hellish flames. 

“Mom owns the damn company,” Xiao bites, a little pissed that Zhongli is talking so much and not kissing him. Especially when he’s relatively freshly showered and has been raring to go since he walked into the office. Even before then— Zhongli has to know that. “I can go wherever I want.” 

“Dirty mouth,” Zhongli tells him, pinching his jaw between his fingers. Xiao gasps a little, enthralled. “You’re so impossibly spoiled. If you hadn’t opened up to me, I never would have known what a little brat you are.” 

Xiao shrugs, nonplussed. “Are you going to kiss me yet?”

“Do spoiled boys deserve kisses?” 

“Maybe not all of them,” Xiao concedes. He spreads his legs a little, so he’s sitting fully on Zhongli’s lap. “But don’t you think I’ve waited long enough?”

Their eyes meet for a moment, and Zhongli sighs. “Yes,” he says, “I suppose you have.”

His mouth is immediately enough to make Xiao’s head swim, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything, melting under Zhongli’s touch. It feels impossibly good to be touched by him, to have his hands leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake as he slides them around Xiao’s waist to hold him, and too to have his mouth already coaxing little huffed noises out of Xiao, sugary sweet and wanton. All he can do is take what Zhongli gives him, slipping one hand into the hair at the back of his head and leaning in to deepen the kiss. 

He gasps when Zhongli slips a hand into his back pocket, and Zhongli in turn takes that as an opportunity to slip his tongue into Xiao’s mouth. He’s gentle, sliding it along the inside of his bottom lip, against Xiao’s smaller tongue, licking teasingly over his gums. He sucks Xiao’s lip between his teeth and pulls at it a little. Xiao can’t help but grin. A rough squeeze has Xiao whining into Zhongli’s mouth, pressing his hips down as if to get more of his touch, and, understanding Xiao’s wants, Zhongli slides his other hand down to cup Xiao’s other cheek. 

A moment passes where they break apart, passing breath from one mouth to another, and then Zhongli matches his smile, pressing a kiss to each of his cheeks before claiming his mouth again. 

Xiao loses track of time, content in the slow grind of his hips, of Zhongli’s hands on him, of his scent, of his taste. It’s heady and Xiao feels lightheaded, but he’s never felt more warm than when he’s in Zhongli’s arms.

Xiao peppers kisses along his jaw, hot and open-mouthed, and though Zhongli’s hands are currently— and have been for the past however many minutes— kneading his ass, he still has the gall to ask, “What did you want to order for dinner?” 

If Xiao weren’t so horny he’d laugh. “You can’t be serious.” The sentence is muffled by Zhongli’s throat. The feeling of Zhongli’s hands on him, even over two layers of clothing, makes Xiao’s skin prickle with heat. Zhongli offers a particularly harsh squeeze, and Xiao moans. 

“I just thought you might be hungry after such a long day. I could eat, you know.”

“You should eat me,” Xiao tells him. 

Zhongli sighs again, like tight ass whenever he wants it is particularly bothersome. “I suppose, if it can’t be helped,” he murmurs, and then he picks Xiao up, much like he did the first time they ever did this. It’s all very nostalgic, very warm. Xiao wraps his arms around Zhongli’s neck and kisses him again. 

“Can we please do this in my room?”

“If it can’t be helped,” Zhongli repeats. He’s smirking. Bastard.

They hardly even make it there. Zhongli gets distracted pressing Xiao up against the wall to kiss him roughly, and then when they finally begin to move again, he bumps his hip on the hall table trying to blindly maneuver to Xiao’s bedroom. Xiao’s sure they nearly knock a few paintings down too, but he doesn’t really care, not when Zhongli is busy kissing all the breath out of his lungs and finally making him feel some relief. 

Zhongli puts him on the bed and then yanks him forward by the hips, making him squeak. He’s a beast where he braces himself over Xiao with a hand on either side of his head, stalking over him, amber eyes gone dark. There’s a certain hunger there, something wild and bottled up. 

He wanted this just as badly as Xiao did. Maybe even more. 

“I missed you so much,” Xiao gasps, scrambling to grab at Zhongli’s clothes, to pull his shirt free from his trousers and to shakily unbutton it, to allow himself the indulgence of skin on skin. 

“Easy, easy,” Zhongli says, “You’ll tear it. Allow me.”

Zhongli is much more concise in taking off his shirt, revealing miles of tan skin and the impossible warmth of his chest where Xiao presses his palms flat to it. His skin is so hot . Xiao is bombarded with the immense desire to have Zhongli smother him. 

His own clothes are removed in a much less organized fashion than Zhongli’s, flailing limbs and articles strewn every which way until he’s naked, sliding up the bed and dragging Zhongli with him. He’s so hard already that just the feeling of his cock sliding up against Zhongli’s stomach has him gasping, arching up as if to get more stimulation. 

Blindly, and a little clumsily, overwhelmed by Zhongli’s mouth, Xiao reaches under his pillow and pulls out a bottle of lubricant. Zhongli does not comment on Xiao’s readiness, however, he does comment on his haste. 

“Eager, are we?” he asks. “You don’t want to take our time?” Xiao shakes his head, reaching up to hold the back of Zhongli’s head. He takes Xiao’s cock in hand, stroking at him slowly, teasing. “Really?” 

“I want you to fuck me,” Xiao says. It’s a miracle he’s still speaking coherently. “We can take our time when we have more of it just—” He cuts himself off to huff, hips twitching up against Zhongli’s palm. “Please fuck me. Please.”

“Where did my shy boy go?” Zhongli asks, clearly amused with the ease Xiao had in asking such a crass thing. “My, my, Xiao. You keep surprising me. First those absolutely perverse photos you sent me while I was away,” he squeezes Xiao’s cock for emphasis, making Xiao gasp,  “then that little show you put on for me two nights ago, and now this, you so fluid with your words. You worried about your stammering habit but look at you, asking so clearly for what you want.”

Xiao can’t take this. “Will you give it to me?”

“How could I not? Did you think I was any better off?”

Xiao sucks in a startled breath when Zhongli flips him over, pulling him so his hips are raised and his chest is to the bed. He can hear the click of the lubricant cap, and he wiggles his hips a little as though to entice Zhongli into hurrying up. He should have prepared himself earlier, plugged himself up so when they were alone, Zhongli could just pick him up and slide into him whenever he pleased. It would benefit him to cut out the middle man every once in a while. 

The breach of Zhongli’s first finger sends prickling heat through his veins like never before. Zhongli’s hands are long and his fingers elegant, the kind made for playing piano or writing calligraphy, though in this case Xiao would argue that they were certainly made instead for playing him. Zhongli knows every spot within him, and how fast to stroke, how hard to press, and for how long. Every little thing that makes Xiao tick, makes him writhe, makes him squeak, Zhongli knows it and is content to use it to his advantage, always. 

Xiao squirms, practically jumping away from Zhongli’s touch, though the man holds him in place easily, one arm hooked over his hips to press him down, the other working away inside of him. He’s heaving raggedly into the mattress, nose squashed uncomfortably but it’s the least of his worries, too focused on the overwhelming pleasure threatening to consume him whole, teetering on the knife’s edge of too much and not enough. 

“You’re so sensitive today, aren’t you?” Xiao has been doing this to himself frequently since his streak of abstinence began, so much so that it shouldn’t make him feel much of anything, but the feeling of Zhongli’s hands working him open, working him pliant, is enough to have Xiao on the verge of tears, lightheaded and trembling beneath his slender hands. “It’s like you’ve never been touched before.”

Xiao tries to speak, but it comes out sort of gurgled. “I don’t know what’s happening.” His hips jump away again as Zhongli presses against his prostate, making a strangled noise. “Missed you,” he says, though he’s said it a million times by now. The words are starting to lose their meaning. 

Zhongli presses firmly on his back, making him bow, unable to twist out of his reach. “If you really missed me, you wouldn’t be trying to get away from me.” 

He’s teasing of course, in the cruel way he normally does, making Xiao shy and embarrassed and all of the sorts of things he loathes feeling in front of Zhongli. He tries to speak again, but Zhongli gives him another firm jab, and he’s cut off with a moan. “You—” he struggles, panting, “You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I suppose I do,” Zhongli murmurs, pressing in a third finger. Xiao takes it easily, but it still makes his skin feel like it’ll melt off his bones. “Your body misses me, is that it? Isn’t that how you like to put it?”

Xiao can only nod, hands twitching at his sides. His mouth hangs open now, a constant string of little mewls spilling from him, his tongue fat against the roof of his mouth. 

“Yes, because you see me nearly every day, don’t you? But you can’t have me how you want to.” Zhongli drapes himself over Xiao’s back, and distantly Xiao knows his skin must be tacky with perspiration but Zhongli doesn’t mention it if he notices. “It must drive you mad,” he surmises, voice low and level, making Xiao’s gut twist, “to want me so badly but not be able to have me. You’re insatiable, you know? I long to know what kind of filthy things fill your dirty little mind after the aching becomes less ignorable. Would you tell me, Xiao?”

Xiao shakes his head, whining. 

“You wouldn’t tell me what thing you think up when you’re alone in your room at night? Not that time I walked in after you’d finished? You’d keep from me what you thought of me doing to you, even when I was in the room, watching? I think I deserve to at least know that, don’t you?”

“Daddy,” Xiao says, exasperated. “You’re being mean today.”

“I thought you liked it when I’m mean to you?” 

Of course he likes it— why wouldn’t he like it? Zhongli portrays himself as this dignified gentleman, but really, he’s nothing like that cool persona he puts on for business meetings and in front of others. Xiao’s thought from earlier in the day returns to him. Dirty old man. He really is, isn’t he?

Zhongli twists his fingers particularly rough, and Xiao is done for. “Mmh!” he cries, trembling. “M’coming, daddy, m’coming, coming.”

He can’t stop the tears that stream from his eyes as he comes untouched on his thigh, spasming beneath Zhongli’s strong hands. His own voice rings in his ears, a pathetic cry for something. Zhongli is giving him so much and he still needs more. Xiao finds that’s becoming the case more and more frequently. He swears, he hasn’t always been this insatiable. 

“Oh dear,” Zhongli says, easing up on Xiao to let him flop on his side. He twitches there, heaving, tightening and relaxing around Zhongli’s now unmoving fingers. He can’t bear to look at him, so Xiao lets his eyes flutter closed. Tears roll over the bridge of his nose. “Oh dear. I knew you needed it badly, Xiao, but I didn’t realize that you needed it this badly. Is that the first time you’ve come untouched?”

He honestly can’t remember. Xiao makes a noise to relay this. 

“My, my,” Zhongli murmurs, dragging his fingers through the mess on Xiao’s legs. “I told you you’d be in for it when I got back from my trip, but I don’t think you can handle it right now, darling.”

“More,” comes Xiao’s uneven voice, muffled by his forearm. He reaches out to grab Zhongli’s wrist, albeit weakly. “Still want it.”

Zhongli’s nose brushes behind Xiao’s ear, nuzzling teasingly. “Want what, dear?” He presses small kisses to the sensitive spot below it, and Xiao’s mouth drops open, hand reaching back to grab his head. He’s not sure whether it’s to stop him or to keep him there. 

“Don’t—” Xiao cuts himself off, sucking in a laboured breath as Zhongli drags his hand over his chest. “Don’t make me…” 

He rarely begs properly for Zhongli to give it to him, and he’d already gone and pleaded with him for it earlier, which makes Xiao’s ears burn if he thinks about it too hard. He’s made a promise to himself that he will never let such filthy words leave his mouth again. Zhongli already gets him much more vocal than he deems strictly necessary for himself. 

“A-Xiao,” Zhongli murmurs, “How will I know what you want if you don’t ask?” 

His fingers have started moving again, making Xiao cry out brokenly, so tired he’s barely even able to try and twitch away from the touch. His insides have never felt so hot, so sensitive, fluttering around Zhongli’s fingers in what Xiao can’t determine is an attempt to suck them deeper or push them out. Xiao shakes his head, whimpering. 

“Oh, come on,” Zhongli coaxes. He has the vocal integrity of a siren. “You were talking to me so beautifully before. Don’t be shy now.”

“Fuck me,” Xiao relents, sounding pitiful even to his own ears. 

This is how Zhongli likes him, timid and uneven and thrumming with desire, enough to consume him whole. Zhongli likes him twitching, likes to see the tears leak from his eyes so he can kiss them away. He likes to swallow all the pathetic noises that are made just for him, to make Xiao hurt deliciously and then make it all better when he’s done with him. 

The fingers within him speed, pistoning with little remorse, pressing cruelly against his sore prostate. He’s going to milk Xiao dry if he keeps up like this. Xiao can’t help the pained, “Daddy!” that leaves his lips. 

“Isn’t this what you want?” Zhongli asks. He sucks Xiao’s earlobe between his lips for a moment before he adds, “For me to fuck you? Isn’t this enough for you?”

Xiao shakes his head frantically. “I want this,” he cries, and reaches back to grab Zhongli through his underwear. The sound of Zhongli sucking air through his teeth makes Xiao feel good, reassures him that he’s doing something for the man behind him, and not just earning his condescension. Zhongli is hard beneath his palm, twitching at the gentle contact. He presses his hips upwards to get more touch, more friction, breathing in sharply through his nose.

It’s always about Xiao, isn’t it? When he’s less delirious, Xiao thinks he'd like to service Zhongli for a change. 

“Are you sure you can handle it?” He’s teasing, being mean like always. Xiao nods viciously. “Really?”

“Yes!” Xiao moves to pull Zhongli out of his underwear and strokes him, skin on skin. He’s already wet around the head, and Xiao drags his thumb through it, spreading it around. The angle is bad, but Zhongli still gasps into Xiao’s ear, pulling him so his chest is aligned with Xiao’s back. “I’ve waited so long,” Xiao cries.

It’s been nearly two months since Zhongli last took him properly— and up until then all he’d had were some measly handjobs and messy makeouts to satiate him, time never allowing for more than that. He’s not even going to count the things he did to himself, since they were a meek attempt at getting the satisfaction he desired.

“You have, haven’t you?” Zhongli rasps, flipping them around so Xiao’s on his back again and he can loom over him, pulling Xiao’s thighs apart. Yes, yes, this is it, finally. “And what a good boy you were, waiting so patiently."

Xiao whines, wrapping his hands around Zhongli’s neck, needing a point of contact so he doesn’t float away. He’s getting small again, distant, like he’s watching himself from the other side of the room. It’s so much, and yet, he feels it isn’t enough. 

“I’ll take care of you,” Zhongli says, and it sounds like a promise. 

The initial press in has Xiao forgetting how to breathe. Zhongli is big— he’s always been big— but with so long without him, it punches the wind right out of Xiao’s lungs, his brows knitting tight and his jaw dropping open, though no sound escapes him. Zhongli is on him, in him, surrounding him, murmuring gentle praises in his ear, thumbing over his hip, filling him so much he feels like he’s fit to burst. 

Zhongli’s thumbs press into his waist, as if to knead the tension out of him, to make him relax enough to move. It would be appreciated if Xiao could even register it, but he’s so far gone already that all he can focus on is how positively sweltering everything feels. 

He wants it so badly.

Zhongli is so patient with Xiao, putting his pleasure before his own; Xiao can feel him pulse within him, and can feel how much Zhongli aches to do something . Xiao needs more too. 

“Move,” he manages after what feels like centuries of Zhongli just sitting still within him. 

It burns— not in a painful way, of course, since Zhongli had opened him so thoroughly beforehand, but in the way that makes him feel electrified, making his hair stand on end and his flesh sear under Zhongli’s touch. He’s drunk on it, dizzy, his tongue fat against the roof of his mouth as he chokes on whines and mewls that shouldn’t be escaping him so soon. It’s so much. Maybe Zhongli was right; he can’t handle it. 

The drag of Zhongli against his insides is familiar and foreign all at once. It’s been so long since he’s had it that he’s not sure what to do with it, overwhelmed by how each press inside knocks the breath right out of his lungs. His teeth are leaving indents in the plump of his bottom lip, but Xiao is more distracted by the feeling of Zhongli in him, around him, breathing shakily into his ear to really pay it any mind. In fact, he doesn’t even notice he’s crying, heaving half-breaths and slobbering all over himself until Zhongli slows inside of him to a near halt. Xiao cries out frantically, as if to say Why? 

“Shh, shh,” Zhongli whispers, pressing his hands flat over the soft of Xiao’s tummy. He moves to slide them upwards, under Xiao’s shoulders to begin to lift. “Breathe, Xiao. You’re alright.”

His lungs burn and his brain is struggling to catch up with it all, overwhelmed by the sheer pleasure Zhongli is giving him. He’s ugly crying— gurgling on drool with tears and mucus dripping all down his face— but he knows Zhongli doesn’t mind, that he would kiss him anyways. That makes him want to cry even more. 

“Easy,” he coos, “Calm down. You’re going to pass out if you don’t breathe.”

“I can’t— I can’t—”

“You can,” Zhongli tells him, “because I said you can.” 

Oh. Of course. That’s right, isn’t it? Xiao flexes his fingers by the sides of his head. His joints ache; he must have been squeezing his pillow for some time, though he doesn’t remember when he’d started gripping it so tightly. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe. 

In. Out. Hold for a second. Repeat. 

It burns, this time in the painful way, but Xiao manages to hone his thoughts on the steady weight of Zhongli within him, and the feeling of his hands on his skin, and finds himself coming back a little bit. Slowly but surely, his breath returns to him, and when he finds himself able to keep it at a steady pace, he manages to maintain eye contact with Zhongli.

“Good,” Zhongli praises. “That’s wonderful, Xiao. Now, come here.” He pulls Xiao so he’s in his lap, legs around Zhongli’s middle, arms around his shoulders. It makes his cock shift within him and has him crying out. “Deep, isn’t it?” Xiao nods. “It’ll be easier for you like this.” 

Zhongli is so good. Perverse, yes, but Xiao seldom thinks he could have ever had another partner that treated him with such care and compassion. Most of the people he’d ever been with in the past— though few and far between— would have only pressed his face into the pillows to muffle the pathetic cries forcing themselves out of his mouth. Instead, Zhongli lets Xiao rest his head on his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles into his back as he rocks slowly into him, letting Xiao take his time. 

The warmth of his skin is different from the heat he’d been feeling (though slowly dissipating) within; now he finds it’s a comfort. He wraps his arms around Zhongli tighter, sniffling into his shoulder. Zhongli only presses a kiss to the side of his head, murmuring, “Is it better now?”

Xiao nods tinily, managing, “Thank you,” in between his little huffs. He lets himself go lax, unable to grip on any more. Zhongli doesn’t seem to mind though, holding Xiao up with his hands around his waist. 

It’s a slow rock, languid and lax, and if Xiao had any reservations about not being taken how he’d originally wanted to, they’ve all gone out the window. The pleasure he feels is the dull, numb kind, with just the head of Zhongli’s cock rubbing against his prostate, deeper in him than he’s ever been before. It should hurt a little, he thinks, or at the very least feel uncomfortable, but just being in such close proximity to Zhongli, feeling the tackiness of his skin against Xiao’s own, to feel the soft hair at the nape of his neck against his fingers, to be able to breathe in his scent and be immediately pacified makes Xiao feel good. Impossibly good. 

“Is it…” Xiao murmurs, uneven, “okay… for you?”

Zhongli laughs a little. “You precious thing,” he says. “Worrying so much about me when I’ve gone and made such a mess out of you. I’m wonderful. Couldn’t be better.” 

Pulling his head back, Xiao looks at Zhongli blearily, blinking slow, and decides upon seeing the red in his cheeks and the tousled mess of his usually neat hair that he needs to be kissed. Zhongli reciprocates in kind when Xiao slots their lips together, a little bit clumsy, thumbs stroking at the soft flesh of his stomach as he continues to rock Xiao in his lap. He swallows every sound Xiao makes eagerly, and in turn Xiao parts his lips, letting Zhongli’s tongue slot between them. 

Zhongli’s cheeks feel warm under Xiao’s palms where he holds the side of his face, even shaking, even struggling to grab hold. One of Zhongli’s hands leaves Xiao’s waist to overlap his smaller one where it cups his cheek, holding it in place. Xiao whimpers. 

Breaking away, Zhongli asks, “Shall we speed up a little, dear?” 

And Xiao blinks back tears, nodding. 

It feels good, simmering low in the pit of his belly, which pulls taut as he leans back a little, using Zhongli’s calf as a means of balance. He’s never ridden him before, and though this doesn’t really count since Zhongli is still doing almost all of the work, the stretch of his muscles still sends a delightful tingle through Xiao’s body. It’s by no means fast, slower even still than the speed Zhongli likes to take him on a particularly sappy day, but Xiao cannot deny the immense pleasure he feels regardless.

“If I could mark you, I would,” Zhongli murmurs, leaning forwards again to drag his lips along the column of Xiao’s throat. It has him whimpering, chest lurching as he stutters around the sound. “Right here.” A kiss to the spot; the tender patch of skin where his jaw meets his neck. “I’d let everyone know you’re mine, and mine alone.”

Xiao imagines waking up tomorrow to find a trail of purple-blue marks down his neck, over his chest, on his thighs. He imagines pressing his fingers into the bruises, relishing in the dull ache, a reminder of Zhongli, a claim. His whole body shakes. 

Nodding, Xiao cries, “M’yours.” 

Zhongli nips playfully, not nearly enough to leave anything substantial on Xiao’s skin, only enough to make a white mark that fades soon after. “All mine,” he agrees. “And how lucky I am to have you.” 

Pressure builds in the pit of his belly, more noticeable now, but it’s not enough for Xiao. He wraps his arms around Zhongli’s neck again, whining, “Daddy, please, m-more.”

“Here?” Zhongli asks, wrapping a hand around Xiao’s weeping cock. Xiao nods viciously, burying his face in Zhongli’s shoulder again. “You want to come, Xiao?”

“Yeah,” Xiao squeaks. His body is unsure whether it wants to twitch up into Zhongli’s touch or squirm out of it. Either one leaves him bouncing on Zhongli’s cock, which in turn makes his head spin dizzyingly. “Can I?”

“When has my permission ever stopped you before?” Zhongli inquires with cheek. If Xiao’s face could get any redder, it would. “Yes, of course, A-Xiao. How could I deny you at a time like this?” 

It doesn’t take long, given how sensitive he is. Zhongli’s hand works him through his orgasm, the other pressing on his spine so that when he arches, head tipped back and jaw gone lax, he doesn’t hurt himself from tensing. He’s cooing, praising Xiao, likely, but the words fall on deaf ears, all the noise in the room gone to static as it goes past his ear canals. Slumping forward, Xiao lets his arms fall limp to his sides, forehead pressed again to Zhongli’s shoulder. 

“Do you want me to pull out?” Zhongli asks, likely noting the way that Xiao has begun to make these little high pitched, punched out noises, oversensitive. Xiao shakes his head deliriously. 

“Nuh-uh,” he says, swallowing a mouthful of spit. “Want it inside.” 

“Are you sure?” Xiao nods again, and so Zhongli slips his hands under his thighs to lift him. 

He’s so strong, lifting Xiao up and pulling him back onto his cock like he weighs nothing, like he’s just a toy, a receptacle for his pleasure. It hurts, but it makes Xiao feel good that he’s being useful, even as out of it as he feels. Xiao loses track of time, but it isn’t terribly long before Zhongli’s movements get a bit sporadic, and he’s huffing out quiet pants to the crook of Xiao’s neck where his face is buried. 

“A-Xiao,” he murmurs, uneven. The sound of him so affected by Xiao makes Xiao giddy, stomach twisting. “A-Xiao.”

Xiao can feel it when he comes, pulsing within him, twitching until he’s emptied himself within. He makes a low groan, shudders, and Xiao tangles his fingers in Zhongli’s hair. 

A millenia passes, nothing but the quiet exchange of their breath between each other, hot and tacky. Xiao would be content to sit here forever, but as his brain begins to come back to him, he realizes just how achy he is. 

“I think,” Zhongli mumbles into his skin, “a bath is in order, don’t you?”

Xiao just nods. 

Ever the gentleman, Zhongli carries him there, and holds Xiao in his lap as the clawfoot fills, steam filling the room. Xiao just relishes in the warmth of his bare chest, breathing in slow breaths. He’s starting to get tired; he can feel it in the marrow of his bones, but, in the nick of time, Zhongli moves him to check the temperature, ensuring it isn’t too hot before he then slowly lowers Xiao into the tub. Xiao watches him pull up a stool for himself, blinking unevenly. 

“You’re not coming in?” Xiao asks, though the words are half lost to the water. 

Zhongli shakes his head. “I want to take care of you. I’ll be fine with just a wet rag. You’re the one who’s going to be sore tomorrow.”

A hum, and Xiao sinks until just his nose is above the water, exhaling bubbles. The heat of the tub makes his limbs feel like gelatin, easing the premature ache from the base of his spine, and Xiao lets himself relax in it, eyes fluttering closed. 

It’s nice to be pampered. Zhongli cups water in his hands to wet Xiao’s hair, and, when it’s sufficiently dripping, lathers shampoo and scrubs at his scalp. He can’t help the contented little sigh that escapes him, nor the way he’s begun drifting in and out of consciousness, struggling to stay awake when he’s so relaxed. He rouses when Zhongli urges him to lean forward, rubbing soap into his back, working out the knot in his neck like he’d said he would this morning. He cleans Xiao’s arms, over his chest, and even slips a hand below the water’s surface to clean out what remains of himself within Xiao. It makes Xiao gasp, still sensitive, but Zhongli quells him with a languid kiss to his forehead. 

For the duration of Xiao’s bath, they don’t speak. Complex sentences are beyond Xiao, anyhow, and he finds himself content with just Zhongli’s presence, the warmth of the water, and the gentle scent of violetgrass that lingers in the air from the soap. 

When Xiao is ready to get out, some thirty minutes later, Zhongli towels him dry and carries him all the way back to bed, where he then deposits him and pulls out a clean pair of underwear and an oversized shirt from Xiao’s dresser. Xiao notes that Zhongli is also clad in a pair of boxers, but he doesn’t remember when the older man had slipped into them. Regardless, when Zhongli motions for him to lift his arms, Xiao does so, slipping into the soft shirt with ease. 

He hands Xiao a bottle of water from the bedside table next. When did that get there?

Zhongli must note his confusion, because he says, “I put it there before you got home. I figured you wouldn’t want me to leave your side when we were finished, and as strong as I am, I can’t haul you around the house forever.”

Xiao just smiles, sipping at the bottle. It dulls the hoarseness of his throat splendidly. “Thank you,” Xiao says, moving over on the mattress to make space for Zhongli. “For being so thoughtful.”

Something blooms in his chest, like a carnation in spring, a feeling he can’t describe, but knows he must cherish. Zhongli climbs into bed beside him, hugging Xiao close to his side. “You needn’t thank me. It’s the least I could do after depriving you for so long.” Xiao hums. After a moment, Zhongli adds, “Are you satisfied now?”

It takes a moment of consideration, but Xiao finds that the desire, the desperation that once prickled under his skin has dissipated, and in its place is a calming sense of contentment. He nods, tucking his face into Zhongli’s chest. 

“We have a few more hours alone, I think,” Zhongli tells him after a few moments, fingers drawing lines up and down Xiao’s back. “Is there anything you’d like to do?”

“Just this,” Xiao says, blinking slowly. Tiredness hangs at the edges of his vision, so he lets his eyes close once again. “I can’t guarantee I’ll stay awake, but I just want this.” The warmth of Zhongli’s body surrounding him, his scent, heady and calming, the shallow sound of his breathing. It’s all so domestic, so docile, so normal . Xiao wants this for the rest of time. 

“Sleep if you must, dear boy.” Lips to the crown of his head, a slight squeeze to his sides. “I’ll wake you when I have to leave.” 

Safe in the comfort of Zhongli’s arms, Xiao sleeps.