Work Text:
Gods, this man.
Zhongli looks as handsome as ever, walking beside him, recounting the movie in his own words. He turns Childe into a mess of contradictions—how hard it is to focus on his words with that voice and those lips, yet oh, how much Childe wants to listen to him, to learn from him—and about him—for the next hour or two, or maybe a week.
It's not love, obviously. Childe’s not one to fall so fast for a man he knows so little about. Zhongli shares his knowledge with him, talks about his passions, but the closest they've come to anything vulnerable is when Zhongli vents about his boss. That need to confide was probably the only reason Childe even knows about his work troubles.
“Do you have any plans for later?” Childe asks suddenly, only realizing after a second that he’s interrupted Zhongli.
Zhongli looks momentarily surprised, blinking twice before giving a single nod. “A new restaurant opened this week, and I allowed myself to make a reservation. If you’re interested…” He pauses, waiting for Childe’s response, and Childe only smiles, all smug.
“If I'm not, will you go alone? Or find a spare date?”
“I have no trouble enjoying things on my own, though sharing experiences with others is the greatest pleasure. I don’t feel the need to find a substitute for you, Childe,” he sighs, but before Zhongli can say anything more, Childe kisses those barely parted lips.
Zhongli muffles something but complies as Childe presses him against the side of the car, arms wrapped around him.
“Childe,” Zhongli scolds at last, cradling his face in a slightly too-tight grasp, looking even more beautiful. His lips are so full and red, his throat moving with each deep breath, his pupils dilated, but his expression is faintly disappointed.
He doesn’t need to say anything more than his name for Childe to understand—and to drive him crazy, even with that understanding.
“Yeah?” Childe grins, knowing very well Zhongli cannot stay angry at him. Instead, he opens the car door, inviting Zhongli inside.
Childe may not know much about Zhongli, but Zhongli knows a lot about Childe. Not the healthiest or most equal arrangement, but Childe actually enjoys sharing parts of himself.
“I want my dinner,” Zhongli says with dignity, but Childe can’t help but chuckle.
“Have I ever said no to you, xiansheng?”
Zhongli watches him carefully but says nothing. Just as Childe is about to start the engine, the sound of a new message chimes in the car.
“Shit. Sorry, Zhongli,” Childe apologizes immediately. “I think I need to take this if you want your dinner. Or we can go to the gallery first, and I’ll work after—whatever you prefer.”
Glancing at his reflection in the side mirror, Zhongli seems to seriously consider his options. “Dinner. Sharing both a meal and art is much more satisfying with you, Childe, but enjoying a meal without you would be much less… pleasant.”
“And much harder on your wallet,” Childe grins. “Try not to buy any art by accident, yeah, xiansheng?”
“Remember to change before dinner, Childe,” Zhongli replies in the same manner. While Childe eyes him smugly, manoeuvring out of the parking spot, Zhongli touches his chin once more, thumb brushing across Childe’s lips. “I’ll send you the address. The reservation is at 8 PM; will you be able to—?”
“When have I ever disappointed you, xiansheng?” Childe asks with a familiar tease, lightly biting Zhongli’s thumb.
Zhongli sighs. Not once, but twice. Yet says nothing.
As he leaves Childe’s car outside the gallery, Childe takes a moment, watching the dignified, hypnotic way he walks, how his hair moves with the breeze, how he smiles at the person greeting the gallery guests.
Yeah. Definitely not love. Childe just wants to fuck him really, really badly.
Gods, this man.
Zhongli treats his dinners very seriously—all his dates, truth be told. Sure, perhaps dating is all about spending time together, but Zhongli can make even a walk about something more, able to find something interesting everywhere.
Something interesting, except for Childe.
Now, he explained Childe how the chef mixed traditional Li cuisine with her own ideas, then he judged the interior decor of the restaurant sharing his knowledge about arts—all in a truthfully captivating way. Nothing patronising, and not only because he loves to listen to his voice—and hell, Childe wouldn’t blame him for that. It would be much easier if Zhongli simply loved monologue; then Childe could focus on getting hard because of his voice and not care at all about the man. But gods, this man. This man and his banter. This man and his laugh. This man and his many ideas to keep Childe on edge.
“You seem absent,” Zhongli admits after praising Childe’s improving chopsticks skills (it shouldn’t make him so weak, it’s only about chopsticks, for the Tsaritsa’s sake, it’s not phlogiston physics!). “Is that about work?”
Zhongli is composed, as always, but Childe can sense a hint of concern in his voice and gaze.
“Honestly, xiansheng?” Childe asks, and Zhongli nods. “It’s about your lips.”
“Ah,” Zhongli hums with recognition. His fingers close on the wine glass when he moves the glass to the lips in question. The tip of the tongue darts out to catch the liquid before it disappears into his mouth. He swallows, a finger slowly brushes the glass, and Childe for a moment thinks he has never seen anything more sensual in his life.
“Yeah. Those lips,” Childe concurs, leaning in subtly. “Can they tell me more about—uh, the wall decoration?”
“The painting I didn’t buy by accident would match it perfectly,” Zhongli says playfully, his fingers still grasping the glass, holding it ever so gently but firmly.
Fuck, is Childe into glasses now? Can Zhongli do anything without Childe looking at it in a sexual way? He’s only holding a glass, for fuck’s sake!
“You did not?” Childe repeats, eyes widening, but he chuckles. “I’m actually surprised, xiansheng. I didn’t consider you so restrained.”
No, because this man—gods, this man—is tempting Childe in every possible way. Zhongli never holds back; he lets all the desires of his heart flow freely. But… but Childe can’t blame him for that, for wanting, for taking. Because gods, this man.
This man is perfect. He’s smart, educated, sophisticated but absurdly funny, so down-to-earth while looking every bit like royalty and acting like at least nobility.
“And what about my clothes?” Childe asks, deciding to play his own game as he pulls the collar of his burgundy shirt to show the skin beneath it, inviting Zhongli’s gaze to follow the trace of his fingers on the neck. Childe has no need for anything as cheap as showing his tongue, duh!
“I do like this colour on you,” Zhongli admits, nodding slightly, his crossed legs brushing under the table against Childe’s calf. “It reminds me the colour of your cheeks when you’re, ah, exhausted.”
Fuck.
This was definitely beyond the rules of Childe’s game.
“So, it’s the colour you like on me—not on my shirt?” Childe clarifies, as if struck by a brilliant realization.
“That is exactly what I said, Childe.”
Childe feels the heat rising in his cheeks already. Gods, this man.
“You’re trying to seduce me,” he complains, his voice almost a whine, betraying his frustration. But every look Zhongli gives, every word, and the way his finger keeps circling the rim of that glass… why is he so fixated on the glass? All of it makes Childe want to loosen Zhongli’s tie, to slip his fingers between the buttons of his silk shirt, to touch—no, to rake his nails along the warm skin stretched taut over his loudly pounding heart.
Childe’s breath is slow, deep, as if to steady himself.
Zhongli, as always, seems perfectly composed. Only the glint in his eyes and those faint smiles tell Childe how much he enjoys when they test each other’s boundaries.
“Is it working?” Zhongli asks slowly, thoughtfully. His hand leaves the glass only to brush Childe’s hair back from his face, skim over his earlobe, and lightly scratch the skin of his neck before returning to his side.
“What’s the policy at this establishment? Do you think they’d mind a little kissing?”
“Define kissing, Childe,” Zhongli sighs, a small smile playing on his lips, amusement written all over his face. Of course, he teases—because, of course, he knows Childe’s answer.
And Childe, of course, complies, because he knows Zhongli wouldn’t ask if he didn’t already agree.
“Leaning in, close, very close. Grabbing your hair with one hand, your tie with the other… making your knees weak with my lips and your dick hard with my tongue. You know, that kind of kiss.” Childe shrugs.
“Ah, yes. That kind,” Zhongli echoes knowingly, his golden gaze unyielding, fixed on Childe, eating him alive.
“I must admit, it’s almost obscene, what you’re suggesting. I would never think of something like this in public,” Zhongli continues, as if they were discussing the movie they’d watched earlier and not Childe shifting restlessly in his chair, every nerve ending on high alert, aching from lack of stimulation.
It’s not even just about the need to touch and be touched by this man—those are thrilling, delicious thoughts, thoughts that send heat pooling in his stomach and curl his toes inside his shoes. The real problem is his restlessness. Dinner isn’t enough anymore; Childe fights the urge to drum his fingers on the table, to fidget with the chopsticks, to slide the wine glass around. His body craves something more—sitting still and eating isn’t going to cut it.
And Zhongli knows it. Oh, how well he knows.
“I read they have an impressive dessert menu. We haven't looked at it yet, but if you're interested—”
“Zhongli,” Childe interrupts, covering Zhongli's hand with his own. “Let's go fuck.”
“Securing a reservation here wasn’t easy. Considering the opening’s success, our next chance may not be for another month.” Zhongli—this insane man with the most magnetic gaze and the best ass—has the audacity to act as if Childe should be content with the dinner alone, as if he were ungrateful, even though Childe’s the one paying for it.
But Childe is a quick thinker. Too quick, some might say. He looks for possibilities and comes back with the solutions. Maybe they could leave only for a moment and head to the car? No, Zhongli wouldn’t agree to a blowjob in the parking lot of his new favourite restaurant. The bathroom, then? A nice room, classy and all of that—not the dingy stalls of a local bar. All Childe wants is to kiss him in that obscene way. To take his cock out of his pants, to get him hard, to get himself hard, to finally let these feelings swallow him, no longer held at bay by tensed muscles. All he wants…
“Bathroom,” he demands, his hand gripping the table edge.
Zhongli rises from his chair just a little too quickly for someone who claims to feel no urgency, but not even bothering to button up his jacket.
Zhongli closes the door behind them just a little too forcefully for someone who supposedly wasn’t thinking the same thing, taking off his blazer.
Zhongli cups Childe’s face and pulls him close, just a little too determined for someone who pretended disinterest in the very idea of obscene kissing.
Zhongli lets himself sigh, just a little too eagerly, for someone who would rather have dessert than warm lips and the grind of an aching body.
“Childe…” Zhongli moans his name and as Childe smirks against his neck, leaving wet trails with his tongue, Zhongli grasps his hair. “No biting.”
A fun killer.
“You'd look amazing in a turtleneck,” Childe murmurs in the neck, nuzzling Zhongli’s earlobe, fumbling blindly for the buttons of his trousers, eager to feel his beautiful cock throbbing all just for him.
“You'd look amazing respecting boundaries,” Zhongli retorts, yet his body says something completely different. His hips jerk forward, fingers clenching on the collar of Childe's burgundy shirt.
He likes the colour on him.
“Tell me, xiansheng,” he whispers into his ear, “is my face as red as you like it?”
He moves from Zhongli's neck to meet his eyes, his gaze deeply hungry, his cheeks surely flushed already, one hand rubbing Zhongli's cock still hidden in his underwear.
Zhongli, oh so refined and composed in public, now looks like a mess. A mess of parted lips, heavy breath, hardening cock, hands gripping Childe's waist far too tightly. To Childe—this is perfect. Outstanding. Magnificent. Zhongli usually has everything under control. The truth is, he could control himself now if he wanted to—but he cares little.
“Not yet,” he murmurs, pulling Childe’s hips to meet his own.
Childe barely begins to laugh before Zhongli silences him with a sloppy kiss, tongue pushing insistently past his lips, and that laugh fades into an enthusiastic moan. Zhongli’s lips are so wet, a little bitter from wine, a little spicy from dinner, but what they do to Childe… Gods, it’s sweet—so sweet that Childe can’t help another moan when Zhongli’s hand swiftly takes his half-hard cock out, the cool air hitting his heated skin. It eagerly responds in Zhongli’s grip, and so is Childe, reaching down to do the same.
“Look at you,” Zhongli utters sweetly, his crazy voice even lower, dripping with thirst.
“Look at you,” Childe repeats with adoration, their noses brush together, but then they both glance down.
Just that one look almost makes Childe whimper.
They kiss more; more eager lips and hungry tongues. They touch each other more; more muffled moans, their cocks pulsing as they stroke each other without thinking. Zhongli knows him so well, knows how to move his wrist, tease the tip just enough to make Childe grind helplessly, spreading beads of pre-cum along his length.
They pull away for a quick breath, foreheads touching. Childe pushes Zhongli toward the wall, and Zhongli seems to lean into it with relief, his legs trembling a little less. Gods, they’re both a mess. It won’t take much more—not with how much Childe needs him, not with how Zhongli’s intense gaze cuts straight to his core, down to his cock. He forgets about everything except the pleasure, focused entirely on stroking Zhongli, then forgetting even that for those blank moments when there’s nothing but the sensation of his touch.
“Fuck, can I—” Childe begins, barely finding words to match how badly he wants him—how amazing he is, because gods, this man.
Amazing, dreamy, incredible, sexy, handsome.
“Yes. Yes, naturally,” Zhongli replies, though when he lets go of Childe’s cock, Childe responds with an involuntary groan of disappointment. That sound is swallowed quickly by Zhongli’s lips and tongue, teasing just a moment before he turns back to him.
“Fuck,” Childe can only repeat, for a second doing nothing but stare at Zhongli’s slightly arched body, his long legs with taut muscles pulling at his trousers, the way he leans so eagerly into the wall.
He can’t help himself but grind his cock against Zhongli’s ass, unbothered by the small, wet spot of pre-cum marking his fancy trousers. If anything, the sight just excites him more.
“No biting,” he murmurs to himself, brushing the chuckling Zhongli’s ponytail aside so he can reach his neck with his lips and teeth, only teasing. “Got a condom?” he asks, and Zhongli nods, grinding his ass back against Childe once before reaching for his blazer lying on the marble sink.
Childe doesn’t let him go even as he moves, wrapping his arms around Zhongli’s waist and kissing his neck. It takes longer than it should for him to find a condom in his pocket, but Childe’s too caught up in playing with Zhongli’s cock and relishing his hitched breaths to care.
“I’m afraid I don’t have one.”
“What?” Childe murmurs.
“I don’t have a condom, Childe.”
Childe frowns, stroking Zhongli’s cock slower so he regains his focus. “But you always do.”
“I—yes. In my wallet. But,” Zhongli seems genuinely embarrassed, trying to focus on the conversation even though his body arches helplessly into Childe, “I’m afraid I forgot my wallet.”
One, two, three. Childe inhales, exhales deeply, then lets his forehead hit Zhongli’s shoulder with a groan of true pain. Sure, they could just—just finish each other off like this, or Zhongli could drop to his knees and take Childe’s cock in his mouth; it always leaves Childe weak, wet and shaking. And maybe—
All of that is good. All of it is a good solution. It’s more than good, it’s breathtaking, the thought itself flutters his stomach with a sickening need. But Childe knows it won’t be enough, and he pulls Zhongli tightly against him, letting him feel how hard—and desperate—he is for some attention, a bit of love, and Zhongli’s gorgeous ass, so hot and nice inside.
They make out more. Their lips no longer play the starring role in these kisses, making way for teeth and tongues. Childe feels how heated his cock is, the slick of pre-cum just barely enough to ease the friction. But gods, it’s good, it’s desperate, it’s fast—until Zhongli suddenly stops.
“I need you,” he sighs and the gold of his eyes is begging for touch, fingers tightening at the base of Childe’s cock. It feels like a punishment that Childe rewards with an unpleasant whine.
“I need you, too,” Childe breathes out a moment later, diving into another hungry kiss, pulling Zhongli’s hair like he promised earlier. “I—” He pauses, grateful his face is already flushed enough that the brief moment of hesitation just looks like a break for breath, not the sign of embarrassment. “I haven’t been with anyone else since… you know, since we started this.”
It shouldn’t feel embarrassing, but it does. Because it sounds like affection. No, worse—attachment. Commitment. They’re casual, nothing really special between them… except how special Zhongli is. How special his body is, how special is what he does to Childe, how easily he turns him on, and how quickly he has him moaning and begging for the privilege to fuck him all night.
Zhongli’s hands are as warm as Childe’s body, but there’s a something soothing in the way he touches Childe’s cheeks now. “Oh, yes. Me neither,” Zhongli replies, nodding slightly, gently caressing Childe’s freckled, flushed cheeks.
But… why? Childe wants to ask. It’s not that he doubts his skills in bed—he knows he’s amazing, knows Zhongli’s left a mess every time they finish. But Childe isn’t the most available person, with his work and constant travels. And Zhongli… well, for all his politeness and composure, he’s just a needy, horny bastard in bed. On the other hand, Childe… lately, Childe doesn’t enjoy fucking anyone else.
Okay, perhaps he’d sort of lied. He tried once. Met up with a hot guy who had everything Childe likes in a partner, even a good sense of humour and easygoing charm. But nothing clicked, not like with Zhongli.
After that, he stopped trying altogether, preferring his own hand and thoughts about Zhongli’s perfect, round ass and thick, beautiful cock over more weird encounters.
Childe hasn’t realized how long he’s been lost in thought, standing there, looking just a little awkward and detached.
“Childe.” Zhongli’s voice is so soft, and his fingers slide down to wrap around Childe’s neck, his thumbs brushing along the line of his jaw. “Baobei, why would I look for other lovers when I already have the ideal one?”
Just one sentence, and Childe is grounded back in his body, feeling everything more intensely than before. One sentence, and he can’t help but let out a soft, embarrassed sound—but Zhongli just hums in delight, his smile so beautiful that Childe grinds against him, hands squeezing his ass in a desperate need.
“Ah. I see,” Zhongli says, amusement making his golden eyes gleam even brighter.
This time, as he turns back on Childe, Childe has neither the strength nor the need for any more games. He yanks down Zhongli’s trousers and underwear, quickly and roughly spreading his ass cheeks.
What is priceless, what makes Childe tense up, his fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to leave bruises, is the way Zhongli looks at him, glancing back over his shoulder. First, that hungry gaze locks onto Childe’s cock, making Childe shift restlessly, feeling—and seeing—his own reaction to it. Then, Zhongli smiles, dark and almost vulgar, an expression too filthy for such a refined gentleman.
It makes Childe’s knees weak.
“You’re teasing me,” Childe nearly shrieks, trembling as Zhongli’s ass presses against his twitching length, sending a shiver from his spine to the tip of his cock.
“Is that so?”
Fuck this man. Fuck him and his is that so and his constant composure. Childe isn’t like him; Childe reacts fast, instinctively, without a second thought. He presses a hand to Zhongli’s shoulder blades, bending him over the marble countertop. Zhongli’s face now looks almost divine, almost luscious, with that faint, knowing smile that makes Childe let out a low gasp as their eyes meet in the mirror.
His short nails dig into the soft meat of Zhongli’s ass, and when Childe glances down, ready to drink in the view, he lets out another pathetic, needy sound.
A finger barely brushes over the reddened rim, and Zhongli shudders, jerking subtly back toward him, but Childe… Childe is entranced. Zhongli’s loose, ready, open like a freshly-used whore, and the sight alone makes Childe want to moan—no, whimper—his cock aching to be inside.
“Gods,” he sighs, his finger—no, three fingers—slipping in with ease, though he hardly has to push. “Prepped for me already?”
“Childe,” Zhongli hums, his hand reaching for his own length, neglected and pining for attention.
That throbbing need seems to pulse straight through Childe’s cock—one push, and he’s inside, bending over Zhongli, gasping in relief.
“Childe,” Zhongli tries again, voice trembling as his free hand grips the edge of the sink, accidentally turning on the water with a sudden twist. “Of course I’m—” he breaks off as Childe thrusts deep, filling his warm, welcoming ass, teasing the rim for a heartbeat, just with the tip of his cock. “I’m ready for you. Always.”
“And the condoms?” Childe leans close to whisper in Zhongli’s ear, licking the shell of it.
“I forgot my wallet,” Zhongli repeats in an embarrassed murmur, breath hitching, eyes squeezed shut.
Childe laughs—a sharp, high laugh cut off by a moan as Zhongli’s hips push back hard, and Childe can only nod, breathless. Gods, it feels too good to be inside him, to feel the heat of Zhongli’s ass wrapped tight around his cock, to revel in the thrill of it—when was the last time he’d fucked without a condom? Zhongli’s body responds to every throb, every thrust, every shift that presses just right on his prostate. After so many times, Childe knows exactly what drives him crazy. This. This pace that makes Zhongli clench on him, pushing him to go even deeper, ever faster, to reach as far as he can for that rush of release buried deep inside Zhongli’s ass.
The sound of running water muffles Zhongli’s quiet moans and gasps, but the way his hips roll and tease, drawing Childe back in—it’s more than enough.
“Can I—” Too hot, too good, too relieving.
“Shh, not yet. Just a moment,” Zhongli whispers, and Childe nods, even though Zhongli can’t see it with closed eyes.
Gripping his hips, Childe pulls out, watching as his cock slides from the perfect, tight warmth of Zhongli’s ass. Zhongli’s muscles tense and relax at the rim, teasing the tip of Childe’s cock with unintentional allure, as if unaware—lost in his own hand moving over his shaft. Then, without warning, he presses back.
“Childe,” Zhongli demands, reaching back blindly, grabbing at Childe’s shirt when he can’t quite find his cock. “Inside.”
“Oh, gods,” Childe gasps, thrusting in with a groan, pausing there for a second as his heart and cock pulse together in the same maddening way. Then, he starts moving, relentless, the friction a bit rough with no lube—but perfect in the stretched out hole of his favourite horny bastard. “Can I—now? Inside?”
Zhongli nods, forehead resting on the mirror, his moan loud enough for the sound to be carried over the running water.
One deep thrust, and Childe comes hard, undone by the warmth, the friction, and how stunning Zhongli looks beneath him. Like some fallen god, dishevelled and spent, as Childe’s hand joins Zhongli’s just in time to feel him throb and spill into his grasp.
“So good,” Childe murmurs, staying like that, his slowly softening cock dipped in his own cum.
“Marvellous,” Zhongli breathes, seemingly unable—or unwilling—to move. Childe’s hand covers his, fingers entwining, smearing the evidence of his pleasure.
“You and your fancy words,” Childe chuckles, nuzzling Zhongli’s neck.
“Don’t make me feel marvellous, then,” Zhongli retorts, finally turning to look at Childe and sharing a big smile.
“Nah, I’ll keep making you feel marvellous. Delightful. Incredible.” He moves teasingly within him once more, and Zhongli dares to tighten around him. He shouldn’t tease; if he does, Childe will keep him locked in the restroom, bent over like that, until his cock gets fully hard again.
“Remarkable, Childe.”
As Zhongli straightens, Childe slips out, making a little sound of protest and regret not directed to any of them—the universe, maybe. With a frown on his beautiful face, Zhongli reaches for his ass, fingers brushing between his ass cheeks, making Childe’s blood boil. He inspects the mess Childe has made of him—with a hint of pride in Childe’s flushed face, admiring the redness of Zhongli’s abused rim, stained with Childe’s cum.
“Baobei,” Childe murmurs, finally snapping from his reverie. In all this time Zhongli washed his hands and buttoned his trousers. “You called me that. Baobei. Isn’t it…”
The words are stuck in his throat when Childe licks his dry lips and pulls up his pants, moving to wash his hands as well.
“Yes?” Zhongli asks, so dishevelled that it’s impossible for Childe to believe he wants to stay for dessert.
Childe is quiet, a little embarrassed, tossing his hair with his slightly wet hand.
Zhongli touches Childe’s cheek, one hand tucking in his shirt without even looking down. “If you don’t like it, I won’t say it again.”
“No. Do it again.”
“Baobei,” Zhongli says, voice rich and warm.
Definitely not love, Childe tells himself. Childe just wants to fuck him really, really badly.
Again.