[He should indeed take it off--and if Zhongli doesn't stop him, Childe's going to go for the fastenings of it to get started on just that. His own jacket is still abandoned on the back of his chair out on deck; between that and the dagger in the hallway, he's going to have to go on a veritable scavenger hunt before they disembark. Oh well.
It's tempting to bypass all of that and just slide his hands under Zhongli's shirt to get at his skin, but... no, not while he's still wearing his gloves. Besides, he does actually want to listen to what Zhongli's saying, even if it makes his face heat up all over again. At least Zhongli won't be alone in his embarrassment if he does end up blushing. Gods.]
...You don't have to charm me, Zhongli. I'm not going anywhere. [But it's just a reflexive deflection, not true discomfort. No one's ever spoken of him this way; he doesn't know what to do with it.
Since he left for Inazuma, huh... but Zhongli says "should have", which means he hadn't known. That makes sense--Childe assumes he would've refused to go along with his "lovers" ruse if he'd already been aware. Maybe if Childe hadn't been so caught up in his own realization crisis, he would've noticed, though he probably wouldn't have said anything about it if he had.
He huffs out a quiet laugh, letting his head fall back.]
So what I'm hearing is, we're both idiots.
[Somewhere in the void, Guizhong is probably thinking "yep, that's about right."]
[ with childe's fingers already twisting and unbuttoning, zhongli takes the opportunity to pick his gloves off by the fingertips, any rings and emblems dropping with them. he's done a lot of talking, but he hasn't lost hold of the reason why they're here. once the last button of his jacket is freed, he peels and shrugs it away into a forgotten pile on the floor.
as he does all of this, he takes in the deep red plumes across childe's cheeks. it's endearing, even from someone who had shot off a dagger at an innocent group of people earlier. zhongli can't help reaching out to hold his face again, letting his palm settle over hot skin. he runs his thumb over his cheekbone, watching the red running behind it.
he can't help giving a thin and easy smile at what he says. he lets his eyes fall closed. (childe calls him "zhongli" again, and the sound of it rolls an imperceptible shudder down his body. but something is missing...) ]
I wouldn't have let you go regardless. I was only speaking honestly.
[ the fact that it embarrassed childe is a bonus.
childe leans his head back to laugh, and zhongli's fingers ease down to the back of his neck as he watches, thinking that he's beautiful.
his smile grows wider and gives his own little huff of a laugh. thanks, guizhong. ]
I'm afraid so.
[ stupid idiots who could have gotten what they wanted ages ago, if they weren't gay and dumb.
irresistibly, he cants his head and presses another kiss to childe's neck, just above his exposed adam's apple. childe's earring gently brushes his forehead, cold and light. his tongue slips out from between his lips, and when he kisses that patch of skin again, he runs his teeth over that patch of skin.
his hands wander, one smoothing over his hip and setting his mark ablaze again with golden light. the other hand searches under childe's shirt, sliding up his back and over his side, tracing his thin figure.
zhongli isn't wearing his gloves this time. he takes in the softness and warmth of childe's skin, every texture, every scar. every nerve fires to feel the spread of childe's skin, taut with muscle, smooth to the touch.
zhongli's own body is riddled with scars as well, down to his fingers. a particularly large one, among many others, trails from the back of his hand and disappears into his sleeve. his hands are calloused where the length of his polearm would drag and pull on his palm.
his thumb grazes and presses over his nipple. zhongli swallows and tastes more salt. beautiful, he thinks again, and he opens his eyes. ]
Call me what you like. [ he murmurs and kisses beneath his chin, smiling. ] I'm more fond of that nickname than I realized.
Edited (i was napping and i woke up in a sweat bc i realized i wrote spear instead of polearm) 2022-07-18 00:08 (UTC)
[It's the little things keeping him so off-balance, really. The ease with which Zhongli reaches out to touch him, as if he genuinely has no doubts or qualms at all. The way he lets his jacket fall to the floor without a care, so at odds with how fastidious he typically is. Childe's whole world view has been upended tonight, and that's apparently just going to keep happening with every step they take.
He doesn't want to stop touching, but Zhongli's bare hands are on his skin, brushing over his smaller scars, catching on the edge of the largest one where it arcs across his chest. It suddenly feels vitally important to keep up before he gets too distracted.
He leans back just enough to pull his own gloves off, shoving them into the pocket of his pants. If Zhongli chances a look, he'll see the way Lichtenberg figures crawl up his fingers and spread across the backs of his pale hands--but Childe doesn't waste time once they're off, immediately reaching for Zhongli's shirt. He debates trying to slice the buttons off for about five seconds, but ultimately decides against it. (Mostly because he suspects Zhongli would be fast enough to stop him from succeeding. Damn.)
Still, he tries to work quickly. Partly driven by his own impatient desire, but mostly because it's already horribly tempting to sink into the attention, and it doesn't take a genius to know it's only going to get worse. Zhongli's mouth is so warm, and it's impossible not to lean into that hint of teeth; a goad, perhaps, blunted into encouragement by his eagerness.
Imagine having to kiss Zhongli to sell an act he'd thought earlier. Now, the idea of walking out of here without proof of Zhongli's claim is unacceptable. Oh how quickly the winds change.]
Xiansheng. [It's hard to tell whether he's responding to Zhongli's words, or if it's simple habit, a thoughtless reaction to the press of Zhongli's fingers against his soulmark. He doesn't bother with the last few buttons of Zhongli's shirt, cool, nimble fingers dipping past the fabric and finally, finally making contact. Funny how he hadn't realized he'd wanted this, when it feels like he's waited centuries for it.
Immediately, he zeroes in on the scars he feels, mapping them out just like Zhongli's doing to him. His nails are too short to do any real damage, or he'd try to leave new ones. More's the pity.
He draws in a harsh breath, turning his head to try and catch Zhongli's mouth in a kiss again.] Don't be gentle.
[ zhongli is ancient, not tactless. to take his jacket by the collar, fold it lengthwise, lay it on some nearby desk or chair like it might have deserved—it would have consumed time that was better spent elsewhere. childe was always the one who managed to splinter his patience, scraping incurable grooves into the surface of a boulder.
they were lucky enough that childe unfastened the thing rather pull or slice it off too. the northland bank paid for it, after all, and he still had a shirt to wear out.
he catches a view of those scars on the backs of his hands. they curl like red, spoked ferns or a skeletal tree, its branches reaching just past his knuckles. they would just barely be hidden underneath his half-gloves. he creases his brow, recognizing these scars for what they are and where they might have come from. he should have realized, but childe has never taken off those gloves in front of him before—
the thought falls away when childe calls for him. zhongli reflexively meets his gaze again, his own half-lidded and nearly luminescent as his energy siphons into that brand on his hip. xiansheng. "zhongli" was a name to be shared with everyone, but "xiansheng" was meant only for childe, a little secret between them. this time childe is saying it like never before, and it shudders through his body.
cool hands slip beneath his shirt and search greedily over his chest. zhongli finishes opening the last few buttons on his chest, and afterwards he begins work on finally unbuttoning childe's. zhongli wears several millennia's worth of scars. some are incredibly large: one wraps around one side of his ribs and ends at his shoulderblade; another cuts the side of his stomach, streaking down to his hip. some are small slices of white like long papercuts, the skin gently raised. zhongli could name the origin of each one on his body.
childe sets his skin ablaze under his bare fingers. it's been so long since he's been touched, and never with this much hunger. never with childe.
he steals his kiss and zhongli turns to meet it, attempting to match his eagerness. when it breaks, he keeps their lips kept just centimeters away, his eyes closed as he hears their labored breaths between them. it would be so easy to kiss him again.
like his name, that fervent requests wakes something in him. his yellow eyes come open again, this time with heavy eyelids and parted lips. his hands pause after grasping the plackets of childe's shirt, having undone the last buttons. for zhongli to let loose a want he subconsciously had for him, to assert his selfishness when he had always worn a mild and collected countenance—it may be an opportunity for childe to meet the beast lying dormant within him. of course this is what childe wants: a vague echo of a fight, or maybe even some proof that zhongli could viciously want him back. (and he does.)
he believed he neatly stowed away much of his want after his outburst in the hallway. with childe's words, that resolve begins to break. his anticipation mounts faster than he believed it could. his eyes almost glint. ]
If that is what you want. I won't be.
[ the evening had been full of minor touches and gestures, gazes left unanswered, empty and embarrassed words. this was the moment to make up for it all. he ached to touch him, but most surprisingly, he wanted childe to be weak to him. he'll give him what he's asking for.
zhongli cranes his neck and kisses him sharply enough to hurt. he walks forward, still holding childe's plackets, and boxes him against the wall behind him. he opens childe's shirt and peels it from his shoulders, and at the same time he deepens their fiery kiss and lathes his tongue over the seam of childe's mouth. their chests are flush together, rising and falling with their labored breaths. that mark on childe's waist still glows brightly, pressed against zhongli's hip.
zhongli raises his thigh and pushes it between childe's legs, trapping him where he stands. he grasps at his hair and yanks it again, pulling his ear towards his shoulder. he murmurs again to his skin, his breath hot: ]
[As soon as they're visible, Childe's fingers get to work following the paths of history etched into Zhongli's skin. His touch is almost reverent where it follows that line up his shoulder, and the only thing stopping him from following its path with his mouth is his desire to kiss Zhongli again first.
He's left his mark on Zhongli, even if it was unintentional, and it satisfies something deep within him to know it. But it's not the same. He wants to draw blood. He wants to leave his own scar.
He really needs to stop earning the favor of archons. He's getting spoiled.
Maybe later, he'll make some quip about how he deserves it, what with how much money he's spent on Zhongli's whims. For now, though, he just drinks in the look on Zhongli's face, immediately honing in on that crack in Zhongli's resolve. It makes his own mouth curve up into a grin, audacious and challenging. A shark scenting blood in the water.
Zhongli's absolutely right in his assumptions. He wants Zhongli to want him. He wants to take everything Zhongli gives him, and anything he doesn't. He wants to look into Zhongli's eyes and see even a fraction of the all-consuming desire that's burning Childe up from the inside.
One simple request, and they're halfway there already.
Foolishly, inexplicably, he hadn't expected Zhongli to agree so easily. It means Zhongli has the advantage, even though Childe's the one that made the request. Even so, Childe rises to meet him, lips parting on a moan as his back hits the wall. He digs his fingers into Zhongli's shoulder and buries the other hand in his hair, knocking it out of its neat coiffure. He lets Zhongli taste him, making sure to catch Zhongli's lower lip in his teeth as he does.
With his shirt off, it's easy to see all the scars spread over his skin. Traces of lightning burns scattered up his arms, not unlike the ones on his hands--an arrowhead wound below his ribs here, a stab wound there, above the hip opposite his soulmark. The scar across his chest is clearly one of the oldest, but huge, the sort of injury that would've taken a miracle to survive. If Zhongli really concentrated, he could probably feel the barest remnants of Abyssal taint beneath it.
There are fresher bruises, too, a few days old. Nothing serious, but someone clearly went out and had a fight date on his way here. Wow. Infidelity. (no)
Plenty more scars are scattered over his back, too. Altogether, the image they make is clear: this is the body of a man who wields himself like a weapon. There's another layer to Childe's request, probably one that's easy to deduce from the sight of him: the simple human desire to chase as much sensation as possible. Childe's done a number on his nerves over the years. It's a wonder he still feels anything at all.
Clearly he does, though. If he didn't, he probably wouldn't press his body so firmly against Zhongli's, wouldn't drag in breath through his teeth, hissing like an untamed animal. The soulmark burns where they touch, and for a wild moment, Childe wonders if it's going to brand him permanently. He'd never live it down, but it's not an unpleasant thought.
Is this what you asked for? Zhongli says, and it is, more than he knows how to convey in words. He doesn't even consider answering for a minute, too caught up in dragging his hips over Zhongli's thigh. He could probably stay just like this, with Zhongli's voice low and commanding in his ear, and be satisfied.
But Childe wouldn't be himself if he settled, even for something he's clearly enjoying. It's a subtle shift in demeanor, but even if Zhongli can't see his face, he can probably sense the exact moment Childe decides he wants to be provocative.]
That's it, old man? [Somehow, he manages that playful lilt, even through his rapid, shallow breaths. He pushes impossibly closer, worming one hand between them to resume his exploration of Zhongli's scars. The other drops from his hair back to the riptide mark, and he presses the heel of his palm against it as he grinds against Zhongli's thigh again. Is he trying to get a reaction, or is he just taking his own pleasure? Yes.]
[ that grin is a smooth crescent of white, the curve of a blade. zhongli recognizes it immediately. childe wore it each time needled him with proposals to spar or talked about his battles in the golden house—always when he spoke about fighting, when even the thought of it was an incomparable thrill. now, childe is wearing it now like a show of victory. zhongli seals it shut with his lips.
that moan is abrupt and arresting, short enough to leave him wanting—a successful bait on childe's part. pain pricks where childe's nails bite into his skin, as innocuous as insect bites. the tie of his hair comes undone and slowly slips to the ground among their scattered clothes. strands of neat, brown hair fan behind and bend over his shoulders as he murmurs to childe's ear.
the intimidating, innumerable scars are a mosaic between their bodies. the magnitude of childe's scars is unsurprising given his appetite for combat, but zhongli couldn't have predicted the immense gash across his chest. it came into view as zhongli stripped him, his eyes briefly flickering wide before they share their hungry kiss. he traces the length of it with his fingers, brushing the scar tissue gathered at the edges. abyssal energy prickles under his fingertips like the sting of a beadlet anemone, harmless as it harpoons into his skin.
even after this life-threatening wound, childe still chases his adrenaline highs, feeding the infection of abyssal energy while it eats at his life. the tragic truth is that foul legacy is as much a part of childe as anything else; zhongli would be foolish to deny it. there's a possibility that a sliver of it is nestled in the mark on zhongli's neck.
all thoughts slip out of view as childe arches into him, rutting his hips as if it were irresistible, leaving no sound but his labored breaths and the rhythmic shift of fabric. more important than anything was the fact that childe wanted him madly—enough to crush their mouths together with their first kiss, bite into his neck, demand that he be torn into. the hairline crack in zhongli's resolve begins to part. he can't look away.
childe provokes him, touches him, digs his palm against that mark as if to sear it into his skin. zhongli sucks in a shaky breath, feeling the mark swirl and burn against his skin, almost electric. childe is hard and straining against his thigh, and as he moves, his leg grazes over zhongli's growing erection. childe wants the upper hand.
even then, zhongli can see through that guise of composure, betrayed by his erratic breaths and reckless hips. he knows childe too well not to. that burning pain reaches its threshold, and as zhongli learns to bear it, he offers that knowing smile that says he knows childe's secret. without looking, he reaches down and quickly unfurls childe's belt from its buckle. he kisses him again. ]
It feels as though you may not need much more.
[ zhongli runs a curled finger down the length of childe's erection. before, childe considered how it would feel to be collected and possessed and hoarded in a dragon's nest of treasures. that dragon's instinct was seeping through the cracks. zhongli wants to stake his claim; he would draw the words he wants most from that snide and smiling mouth—ones that tell him tartaglia is his.
when that belt is pulled and dropped away, zhongli slides both of this thighs between childe's and grasps at his hips. he holds childe like he's weightless, lifting him and dragging him against that wall as he shoves their hips together. pleasure jolts between his legs, and he stifles his groan against childe's mouth.
he licks past lips and teeth and pushes their tongues together, liquid hot and unforgiving. he raises his hand and closes it over childe's throat, his thumb and first finger holding his jaw in place. he yanks childe's face aside and bites with a vice grip on the side of his neck.
he should have more decorum. he normally does. isn't it fair and just, though, that if zhongli wears the riptide mark on his neck, childe should wear something on his own?
he sucks hard, rolling his hips, his cock aching and hot as it runs against childe's. he doesn't notice the dark hue creeping up his fingertips, revealing a circuitry of gold over a canvas of deep brown. it's faint, but as that vicious need rears its head, those colors would undoubtedly darken and spread. ]
[It's hard to say whether or not his indignant protest would've had any real heat behind it, with the way his voice gets lost in Zhongli's mouth. (But really, it's a good thing--it muffles the moan that would've cut his voice off anyway, even if Zhongli will still be able to feel it.)
He knows how strong Zhongli is, of course. When he'd first been assigned to Liyue, he'd torn through every bit of information he could get his hands on about the true extent of Rex Lapis's power. He's daydreamed about fighting Zhongli far too much to be unaware.
And yet.
There's something about the way Zhongli moves him around, lifting him like it's nothing--something about the way Zhongli can touch his scars so gently one minute, then grind so filthily against him the next, that makes his head spin and his blood sing.
He does want the upper hand, Zhongli's right about that. And everything Zhongli is doing is only making him want it even more--rousing that belligerent spirit, the part of him that never lets him back down from pushing his limits.
His time in Inazuma did him good; he's stronger than he's ever been. But Zhongli always makes him feel so dangerously weak. He revels in it, he can't stand it--conflict twists and swells inside him, even as he coaxes Zhongli's tongue into his mouth, or sinks his teeth into Zhongli's lower lip.
It's no wonder he's obsessed with Zhongli's attention. He thrives in turmoil--even his own, apparently. What's one more contradiction to stitch into his identity?
Zhongli forces his head to the side, sinks his teeth in like a viper, and Childe tells himself that he permits it. He pretends it's intentional submission to save his own sanity, because otherwise he'd have to kick up a huge fuss, and he's too busy for that. Hooking his legs around Zhongli's waist and keeping himself upright through the strength of his core, unwilling to let himself lean back and let the wall support him, no matter how Zhongli might crush him against it. A small act of unconscious defiance, simply because it's in his blood. It doesn't stop Zhongli from drawing another moan out of him, low and rich with pleasure-pain, but Childe doesn't care about being heard. If it incenses Zhongli further? Even better.
He'd targeted that mark on Zhongli's neck on purpose, but his hand moves from it, almost of its own accord, to the base of Zhongli's neck, fingers curling into soft hair. His other hand started a path downward as soon as Zhongli got to work on his belt, but he's been hovering around the edge Zhongli's pants--debating whether to give in to impatience and deal with the awkward angle, or to speak up, to tell Zhongli he wants to touch and taste and--ah, well, that's probably the best they can manage out at sea, isn't it. Damn.
He's just made up his mind, starting to dip slender fingers past the waistband of Zhongli's trousers, testing to see how far he can get without undoing them. But then his eyes catch on Zhongli's hand, and he pauses, brow furrowing.
Is this part of the soulmark, too? Childe's own hands look totally normal, but that doesn't mean anything when their marks are in different places.
It takes him a second to try and catch his breath, but then he tugs on Zhongli's hair--once to get his attention, but then again, just because he can. He's reluctant to rouse him from his singleminded devotion to leaving a mark the size of Liyue on Childe's neck, but he should probably point it out, just in case, right? He can focus for a minute. Probably.]
Ah--xiansheng-- [His voice hitches as Zhongli's cock catches his just right, sending pleasure lancing through him.
On second thought, maybe he doesn't need to say anything. Instead, he withdraws his hand from Zhongli's pants, reaching instead for Zhongli's hand. He pries it off of his thigh and pulls it up to his lips instead, closing his mouth around Zhongli's index finger and curling his tongue around it with a wickedly pleased hum.
[ childe pries zhongli's hand from his thigh and, though childe keeps himself upright by his own muster, zhongli reflexively shifts his grip to childe's ass, beside where his tailbone meets the wall. zhongli squeezes hard, holding what little weight childe allows him to.
it's almost an unconscious punishment. stubborn as always. zhongli holds his composure as childe moans, deep and unbridled, flashing pleasure down zhongli's body. he is incensed by it all, to some degree. there is an appeal to breaking down that haughtiness and arrogance, if he could ever manage it.
when he closes his lips over the fresh bruise on childe's neck, he feels that warm and wet swirl on his finger, pushing against the roof of childe's mouth as he groans. zhongli inwardly shudders at the sensation, drawing back to see exactly what's happening—
ah. there's a subtle raising of brows, but zhongli seems to instantly reckon with what's happening.
he watches the slide of childe's tongue on the underside of his finger, the pink line of it briefly slipping out over his lower lip. he watches cooly despite childe's enraptured performance, though his blood and breath run hot. he pushes his finger onto the soft middle of childe's tongue. ]
I should have expected this.
[ which is a feat in itself, so there's a point for childe, sort of. zhongli isn't caught off-guard often, and certainly not in situations like this one. he draws his finger from childe's lips slowly.
(in the middle of his right forearm is a golden print of a blooming glaze lily, seen from above. it looks unassumingly similar to the rest of the designs; childe may not pay any special attention to it, even if it means the world to zhongli.) ]
I'll note that particular care is needed to maintain my mortal appearance in these situations.
[ he squares and presses his hips against childe's, in just the right angle to send another bolt of pleasure through his body. in the same movement, the slow crawl of that dark brown skin slips all the way to his shoulders like a long sweep of paint, as if he'd just released whatever force held it back.
he replaces his index finger with two, pressing them to childe's lips and then pushing inside to find his tongue. he watches with rapt attention, gold eyes narrowed, not betraying an ounce of emotion otherwise.
leaving childe to hold himself up with his legs locked on zhongli's hips, zhongli blindly opens the front of childe's pants and slips his fingers past the opening. his hand closes on the length of his cock, hard behind the fabric of his undergarments, and he presses his thumb to its leaking, smooth tip. childe might feel zhongli's erection swell.
if childe wanted to be a spectacle, he could be one for now, under his direction. ]
I won't bother to hide my skin any longer with you. You don't seem to mind it.
[It's tempting to let his eyes fall shut, to sink into every touch and savor the taste of Zhongli's skin while Zhongli takes him apart. But the way Zhongli is looking at him, his eyes bright like molten gold, does far more for his pleasure than even the press of Zhongli's cock against his, and he couldn't look away even if he'd wanted to.
This is what he's longed for. The full weight of Morax's gaze, fixated on him like there's no one else in the world to pay attention to in this moment. Like he's little more than a too-bold mortal courting battles he can't possibly hope to win--but that he's one worth noticing. Maybe even one worth acknowledging.
He lets Zhongli withdraw, but not without scraping his teeth against his knuckles as he does so. But he doesn't let Zhongli go far; instead, he chases his hand and presses a line of warm, open-mouthed kisses from Zhongli's palm to his wrist, reverent in his blasphemy.
He pulls back a little and opens his mouth to speak, but whatever he'd intended to say is lost to a gasp as Zhongli thrusts against him, his eyes widening as he watches color wash over Zhongli's skin.
It shouldn't be as surprising as it is--he'd done plenty of research on Adepti once he'd arrived in Liyue, and he'd known Rex Lapis could change his appearance. But this isn't what he'd expected, from the stories; it never would've occurred to him that Zhongli maintains a human facade every day. It rouses a thousand questions, none of which he's capable of holding onto, because...
Well. Because Zhongli's inhumanly beautiful, and Childe can't look at him without getting hopelessly distracted. That's really all there is to it.
The idea that Zhongli doesn't want to hold back--that he's having trouble holding back--is so heady that Childe hardly knows what to do with it. The mark on his hip pulses deep beneath his skin, like it's resonating with Zhongli's true appearance.
(Or maybe it's just responding to his ridiculous heart, twisting with tremulous hope in his chest.)
In the end, he doesn't chase whatever it was he'd meant to say. Instead, he dips his head forward to welcome Zhongli's fingers back into his mouth, letting go of Zhongli's wrist in order to trace one of the golden lines up his arm. If his fingers brush against the glaze lily mark, he doesn't seem to notice. He's too focused on bobbing his head and stroking Zhongli's fingers with his tongue, on trying to hold Zhongli's tantalizingly impassive gaze as he does.
It's a valiant effort on Childe's part, but it means he can't do anything when Zhongli reaches for his cock, either to help or to hinder. With his strength, he can at least arch up into the touch a little, trying to press forward for more--but that's about the most he can manage without unwinding himself from Zhongli.
Slowly, he lets his left leg begin drop, as if he plans to do just that--
--but come on, why would he be doing that when he could be a brat instead?
Between one shallow breath and the next, Childe shifts his weight, hooks his leg around Zhongli's ankle, and pulls, an attempt to sweep him off-balance and knock him down to the ground. He doesn't really expect it to work--they're pressed together too tightly, Zhongli will feel the tells in his movements--but he can't resist the urge to try. If Zhongli's going to spoil him and indulge his greed like this, then he's going to take full advantage of it for as long as he can.]
[ zhongli is humble, and was even in his godhood. he never indulged in his apparent good looks or used them as leverage; there were far more important things that needed his attention and other pleasures to indulge in: cuisines, operas, the vendors with their cargos of treasure, the rolling sea, the visiting lapis hordes settling on the rocks and simply taking in the view alongside him. not even in those instances where he shared his bed did he revel in the other's worship. if his appearance pleased them, that was enough for him.
to leave childe breathless and still in front of him, mouth parted open, eyes wide enough to finally catch a sliver of light—he can indulge in that, just this once.
his fingers push into childe's mouth with ease, teeth grazing again over his knuckle as childe manages to take the full length of it with enthusiasm. he gives him a show, running his fingers down the length of his forearm and knitting his brows together as he moves and zhongli watches. that gaze is too gratified, too furtive, as if his fingers and the hand pressed over his cock was all he needed.
childe lowers his leg too slowly. zhongli feels the tensing of muscles in childe's hip, waiting to release. the swell of childe's tongue around the length of his fingers briefly slows, and zhongli can only assume that his attention is elsewhere.
to save childe from having his dick torn off reflexively, zhongli immediately lets him go. his gold eyes narrow, now glowing in that unleashed archon energy, and he braces himself the instant childe hooks his leg around his ankle and suddenly pulls against his tendon. childe won't be surprised when he stands still and unshaken, with not even the slightest give in his ankle.
he won't admit to using a shred of his power to withstand that maneuver. his muscle might have given slightly if he hadn't. childe doesn't deserve that win. not after this. his gold eyes bore into that deep, dull blue, and he pulls his fingers from childe's mouth. he grasps childe's hip again, pushing his thumb to that aggressively shining soulmark, its color leaping to meet him. he suffuses it with his energy, intending for it to burn. ]
Tartaglia.
[ another low rumble. wet fingers or no, he twists the top of childe's hair in his fist and yanks it toward the wall, tilting his chin upward.
zhongli's piercing gaze never leaves him. his lips curl in a thin smile. he's amused. ]
It's like you to be stubborn, even after I've shown you the true form of Morax. Admittedly I'm unfamiliar with this feeling, but I'd like to rid you of that obstinacy.
[Childe: how can I show Zhongli that I'm having a great time and also that I think he's hot Childe: I know, I will try to knock him to the floor
Local man continues to underestimate what he's getting into, news at 11.
But Childe doesn't seem at all bothered by his failure--in fact, he's laughing with breathless delight, even as his voice cuts into a sharp noise at Zhongli's swift retaliation. Maybe it's the glow of Zhongli's gaze, or the moonlight from the window--but there's a sparkle of life in Childe's eyes that could almost be his own.]
If that were possible, Zhongli-xiansheng, [His words aren't quite steady with how quick and shallow his breathing is, and he swallows as he leans his head back against the wall, easing the pull of Zhongli's grip just a little. But his voice is rich with warmth and happiness, even as he instinctively curls against the pressure to his soulmark, nails digging into Zhongli's skin as he fights to keep steady.] then it would've happened already.
[Zhongli's hardly the first person to express such a sentiment--although he's certainly the first to do it under these circumstances. But Childe's confidence isn't baseless; if it were, he wouldn't be the youngest of the Harbingers, after all.]
But-- [He lets his other leg drop from Zhongli's waist with much less grace, but he doesn't leave space between them for long. Zhongli's grip on his hair is too tight for him to lower his head, so he blindly feels his way from Zhongli's arm to his hip, pulling him forward to encourage him to close the small gap between them. His other hand, still buried in Zhongli's hair, stays right where it is for now--a lifeline, of sorts, the only thing keeping him grounded against the searing pleasure radiating from his soulmark. If he tries to stand on his own right now, he's not sure his legs will actually hold him up, but he can't bring himself to be too embarrassed when it's Zhongli's fault.] --you're welcome to try.
[Everyone else had tried to beat it out of him, because that's simply how things work in the Fatui. Zhongli can try that too, if he wants. Zhongli can try anything he wants right now, honestly, and Childe will probably think it's the best idea he's ever heard.]
even after childe's feet meet the ground and he squares their hips against the wall, that delighted laughter rings in zhongli's ears. the clearest bell in a dark and endless cavern of memories. childe's fingertips burn crescents into his neck; zhongli disregards it. he hears but doesn't hear how childe provokes him despite his obvious weakness, enraptured by the elation and levity in that voice and less by the meaning behind his words.
zhongli had known many creatures of madness in his lifetime. the inevitability of corruption, erosion, the reaching and poisonous hands of exterminated gods, the thirst for blood and ruin simply for the sake of it—zhongli silently vowed to suppress it, cure it if he can. he lost so many to all of it.
for the first time, someone's laughter skated the edge of that madness and made it something bewitching. he had only seen it in brief glimpses, when childe broached the subject of battles or feats of strength. zhongli had never been able to tell if those eyes were lit from within. he liked to believe they were, and that they might light up for something else yet undiscovered.
tartaglia, grinning and breathless with eyes glinting only for him, is one of the most beautiful sights he's ever seen.
zhongli would lose him too. he decides it was better to have him while he was still here to take and willing to give.
he releases childe's hair and instead grasps childe's chin in his hand, his first finger and thumb following the curve of his jaw. zhongli cants his head and seals childe's mouth with his own, fervent and immediate, groaning softly. his tongue pries between his lips and pushes inside, greedy and devouring as if to take that laughter for himself.
want scrapes inside of his throat. for once, it isn't about asserting himself or silencing childe. the kiss was irresistible, borne out of an ache and longing that trailed after childe every time he left liyue harbor. since their first meeting, he realizes. all of it poured forth like a pot spilled over. zhongli had been unacquainted with feelings of love, mistook them for deep feelings of comradery, for so long. he hadn't recognized it until now. (fellas is it gay to love your bro?)
zhongli grasps tightly around childe's arm, caught around a bicep hard with muscle and laden with scars. his fingers were a break in the string of lichtenberg scars running from wrist to shoulder to neck. ]
The bed. [ he murmurs to his lips. he turns his head and pulls them towards it, unyielding unless childe outwardly protests, or if those shaky legs can still barely hold him. zhongli would pick him up and throw him there if he had to. ]
[Childe doesn't know if he'll ever get used to the way Zhongli kisses. Perhaps it's his own fault for underestimating--or maybe it's a natural consequence of the fact that his past partners have never been anything meaningful. Zhongli, for all his earlier dissatisfaction with Childe's ruse, kisses like they've been lovers their entire lives, like there's no force in the world strong enough to hold him back. It's as if he's making up for centuries of separation that haven't happened yet.
...Will he get used to it? Will he have the chance? He'd wonder, if he had the capacity to do so. But Zhongli's currently making very sure he does not. It's all Childe can do to keep up with him--parting his lips to welcome him in, meeting Zhongli's tongue with his own and finally closing his eyes, just long enough to let Zhongli's desire wash over him.
If nothing else, Zhongli's thoroughly eradicated any doubts Childe might've had about whether or not Zhongli truly wants this. (Him.) Childe's want--his need--threatens to consume him if he loosens his grip on his self-control, but the heat beneath his skin seems a pale flame in comparison to the way Zhongli looks at him. If they weren't on a ship out at sea, destined back to the harbor at the end of the night, Childe's fairly certain they'd be in this room for days.
Zhongli's grip on him is firm and unyielding, his voice low and intimate, words felt more than heard. Childe shivers against him, fingers flexing where they rest against his skin.]
--Yeah, okay.
[He doesn't struggle or protest--deciding, by some metric of his own making, that this is not a fight he wants to undertake. Were he recklessly aggressive, he would be so much simpler to comprehend. But he is keen and unpredictable, and that's what makes him dangerous. Even here, with nothing on the line except emotions they haven't yet named.
He doesn't fight--but he doesn't make (let) Zhongli carry him either. He follows Zhongli on his own two feet through sheer force of will, though it would be a lie to say he isn't grateful for the small size of boat cabins, or the swaying of the ship to excuse his stumbling. (Didn't he just say earlier that he was raised on boats and wouldn't ever fall? Whatever.) But, of course, he's hardly one to lie back and do nothing; if Zhongli lets him, he'll push him down onto his back and swing a leg over his hips, to settle on top of him.
If Zhongli doesn't permit it, or pins him down too quickly for Childe to try, well--he won't try to throw Zhongli off him or anything. He'll go where he's directed... for now.]
[ that childe would simply open his mouth to meet him, slide their tongues, let himself be devoured and led away without any bite or protest—all of it was beyond zhongli's predictions. that fiery spirit, flaring with delight and laughter, seemed to have dimmed even if the desire was still there.
it's why, when childe attempts to push him, zhongli does not budge an inch. he turns childe by his arm on those stumbling feet until his back faces the bed. (his own strides were perfectly steady and even despite the sway of the ship. don't think he didn't notice the way childe would lose his footing behind him, briefly pulling against zhongli's grip.) and down they go.
zhongli's shoes are quickly pushed off of his heels and left on the ground. with childe fallen back against the bed, zhongli opens his legs and slots himself between them. he raises himself to meet childe's mouth with his in one fluid motion, drinking in the sight of him all the while: half-bare, hair mussed, endless blue eyes, body sunk onto the sheets.
their kiss ends with zhongli drawing childe's lip between his teeth, dragging until it drops away. his hands are greedy, holding his waist and sliding to his his pointed, slender hips. heat pools inside of him and arousal tenses his stomach against the heat between childe's legs. he grasps the sides of childe's white slacks, but before he can pull them down, he remembers.
his fingertips drag on childe's thigh until he finds it. between his fevered breaths and heady want, zhongli still finds it in himself to smile. ]
I will never understand why you subject yourself to this useless thing.
[ he speaks with soft and breathless laughter as he sits back on his knees. he unbuckles and unfurls the godforsaken thing from childe's thigh. ]
And now you've subjected me to it.
[ an intermission like this hopefully wouldn't ruin the mood. ]
[Well, far be it from him to complain about getting pinned to a bed by a god. Has anyone ever told you you have control issues? he might've teased, had Zhongli not dipped down to kiss him again--as it is, his lips just curve upwards against Zhongli's as he kicks off his shoes too. Without his focus divided, he's free to let his hands roam, and he does just that; dragging his nails up and down Zhongli's back just hard enough to set his nerves alight. He lets his fingers wander back over Zhongli's arms, brushing unknowingly against that glaze lily mark as he goes.
When Zhongli pulls away, Childe watches him with a sharp, intent gaze. Mesmerized by the sight of him, watching for an opening to seize the advantage--with Childe, it's always both, of course. Still, he seems willing to bide his time for the latter; he runs his tongue over his lower lip, as if surprised there's no blood to be found.
He's certainly not going to stop Zhongli from undressing him, but he does take it upon himself to remove his own Vision, stilling Zhongli's hands for a brief moment as he sets it gently out of the way. It's not so easily damaged, of course, but he does have some respect--and if there's the slightest shine of purple in there, well, surely that's nothing to worry about.
Zhongli's words startle a laugh out of him, and he whips back around, feigning indignance.]
What! [There's far too much humor in his voice for true offense, though he's making a show of it anyway, even as he reaches out to rest his hands on Zhongli's waist, just above his pants.] It's for weapons, obviously!
[WHAT WEAPONS. HE MAKES HIS OWN WEAPONS. WHAT DOES THIS EVEN MEAN]
Anyway, I don't want to hear a thing about my clothes from Mister "I wear four layers of shirts every day even though my city is perfectly warm all the time." [First it was Zhongli's hands, now it's his shirts... Childe... you could at least pretend you weren't obsessed]
a trace of light follows the brush of childe's hand, lining the shape of the glaze lily in the lightest iridescent yellow and blue. it follows him like water moving in a gently swirling cup.
zhongli is firstly preoccupied with childe's answer, his sharp desire substituted again with deep affection. his smile grows, and his narrow and mirthful eyes rest on childe as he holds the back of his knee and slides away the belt. ]
I suppose I've grown too accustomed to the mild weather. [ listen. zhongli is no better dressed than any other genshin!!
anyway. now given the opportunity, he dips his head and presses his smiling lips to the shining mark on childe's hip. he feels it answer him, hot against his lips. he tilts his cheek to childe's hipbone to speak warmly to his skin: ]
I'm sure your weapons are stored as painlessly as they are inconspicuously.
[ he had a knife just hanging out in his coat. you can't tell me he didn't get poked a few times.
zhongli's fingers are dipping beneath the seam of childe's pants when he sees it. all thoughts leave him as he lifts his head to get a better look. it's unmistakable.
he fully sits back on his knees again, taken out of the situation as he stares at the inside of his forearm. ideas slot and shift, another puzzle offered to him by guizhong's gentle hands. he presses his fingers to either side of the glaze lily mark, watching as the light moves, a compass only ever pointing him in one direction.
[Zhongli's words earn him an undignified snort of amusement. Childe's head tips back and he hisses softly at the warmth of Zhongli's lips on his soulmark, pushing back the urge to thread his fingers through Zhongli's hair again.
He is tempted to retaliate--to reach for Zhongli's mark in return, and lavish as much attention on it as Zhongli will allow--but then Zhongli's attention strays, and he blinks, confused. He follows his line of sight, sitting up to get a better look; curiously, he lets his fingers join Zhongli's, slipping between them to brush against the strange mark too.]
What's this?
[He'd probably figure it out if he took a second to think about it, but--well. He's not really in top deduction mode at the moment.]
[ childe will see the same reaction as the mark on his neck—this time in a shimmering yellow and blue, colors shifting towards his touch. zhongli continues to stare, his shoulders gently slacking. the surprise in his eyes eases away, seemingly slaked with his slow understanding. ]
This... [ he raises his gaze back to childe, searching his face, as if there would be evidence there if he looked hard enough. ] ...It is the mark that connected me to Guizhong.
Your other--[soulmate--but he falters before he can say it out loud, and instead, softly:] Oh.
[He remembers, of course, that Zhongli had said her name in the hallway--but he'd been so sidetracked by the idea that Zhongli thought it applied to them that he hadn't really stopped to process anything else.
How long, he wonders, has this mark been on Zhongli's skin? Hundreds of years? No--it must be thousands, if he's remembering his history correctly. Zhongli mentioned that she was the only one whom he might've considered a "partner", but... could Zhongli have had other marks, in the past? Did they fade, if this one didn't?
Will his, someday, after he's died? Is it worse if it doesn't?
It's a terrible conundrum. To condemn someone to a lonely existence, left with only a memory to love--or to be forgotten, in exchange for their freedom.
Carefully, he withdraws his fingers from the mark, dropping his hand. He doesn't often have trouble knowing what to say around Zhongli, but right now, his thoughts and questions stick in his throat, suppressed. He doesn't know what might be too heavy, too painful to discuss, and he doesn't want to stumble blindly into something delicate. He has no problem needling Zhongli himself, playfully disrespectful when the mood takes him--but this is different. This feels like the sort of thing that ought to be protected.]
[ he takes in every sound and every sight of him as childe processes what's happened. he doesn't move as childe drops his hand, crestfallen and, for once, at a loss. the lightning and the ensuing wildfire had suddenly been snuffed out, left as a quiet candle in the dark.
he has had thousands of years to grieve. he had turned guizhong's death in his head for seemingly endless summers, dulling sharp edges, making sense of the purportedly unthinkable. save for the dumbbell she had left behind, zhongli likes to think he had fully untangled his feelings, even if the grief and melancholy still existed in his heart at the thought of it.
with his other hand, he holds his arm and watches as he swipes his thumb over the shining mark. the light ripples after it. ]
I first met the God of Dust near Guili Plains, in a field of blooming glaze lilies. Fitting, as this flower was also her favorite.
[ he looks back to childe before him. ]
This mark drew itself upon my skin that day, not unlike the mark I have for you. It only appears when I show my true skin. I've kept it hidden for quite some time. ...This is the first time that I've seen it react this way since her passing.
[ he searches childe again, willing him to smile again and speak his mind, even if it isn't possible. childe looks as though he had been run through by a sword, all life within him suddenly halted. zhongli can only guess at the regretful thoughts behind those eyes.
if guizhong still lived, he thinks, that would be the only way for this mark to shine the way it does. if zhongli is to believe all of the ancient texts and every myth and legend that's resounded through the ages, she is yet still living.
more than that, zhongli's fated one surpasses any vessel completely. it isn't "guizhong" who has found him again, only the other half of the soul split from his own. childe was his present. he wouldn't allow him to be steeped in the past. ]
[He doesn't reach out to touch it, but he watches as Zhongli does, his eyes fixed on the swirling light of the mark as he listens to Zhongli speak. The fire beneath his skin has cooled for the moment--banked, for now, just long enough to focus. To listen, not because it affects the two of them, but because he cares about Zhongli.
He isn't a jealous person. It doesn't hurt him to think of Zhongli loving another--quite the opposite. It would be ridiculous, let alone cruel, to want to trap someone with such a long history to a single love--even now, he doubts the validity of Zhongli's claim that Guizhong was his only (though that assessment is heavily influenced by his own bias). Still, it's impossible not to consider everything that this mark means for Zhongli. To be devoted to someone thousands of years after their passing, knowing that no one else knew them as you did, that a piece of your heart would forever be caught in lonely yearning...
What an enormous thing it is to love someone.]
You must miss her. [He says it like it's gentle fact--almost like he would miss her too, if he'd had the chance to know her. His gaze drifts back up, then, to the mark on Zhongli's neck--his mark, still so vibrant despite the lack of his touch.] ...Why didn't these ones show up when we met?
[Would you have trusted me more, if you'd known back then? Would you have let me in, too?
[ an even more enormous thing for an archon who once held an unshakable heart, walled against sympathy or understanding for those he served and protected. guizhong slowly wore them down.
childe's words seep into his heart, prickling like needles. at the same time, the deeply sympathetic in his azure-blue eyes is sweet, a balm to his pain. his golden eyes soften. ]
I do. She was a beloved friend and teacher.
[ he remembers how well the people of guili assembly loved and revered her. she taught morax humility, empathy, graciousness, understanding. in his weaker moments, he wonders how she would have thrived if she hadn't been stolen away by corruption.
would she have met childe? what would have happened then?
childe's next question pulls him back to the present moment. he's silent for a moment, picking apart what the question means. childe was wondering about what this meant in the context of them.
zhongli's eyes travel downward, to the glowing mark on childe's hip. he shakes his head. ]
I can't be sure. I can only theorize.
[ he looks to childe again and holds his gaze. how had he felt the first moment they met? what were the circumstances? what did he think of childe after hearing him speak? and did it make a difference if the mark appeared later than it used to? ]
Perhaps it's something having to do with gods and archons. The instant I met Guizhong, it was impressed upon me that the course of my life shift from then on. At the time, Morax sealing a contract of partnership with anyone was unheard of. I only conceded to it from instinct alone. It was the best decision I could have made for the good of Liyue.
[ he raises his finger to his lips, parsing childe as if he were a question written down. ]
As for you and I... the stakes were much lower when we met. Liyue was no longer a seedling that required cultivating from careful hands. I did not view you in terms of how you might affect the course of my life.
[ he closes his eyes and clears his throat. ]
Though I'll concede to the fact that you captured my interest.
[ aka he was an attractive foreigner. zhongli can admit to himself when someone is handsome. ]
I don't know how you may have felt. The mark hadn't appeared on your skin either, if my memory is correct.
[It's hard to imagine anyone teaching Zhongli anything. But then, Childe supposes, even Zhongli was young and naive once--he's read plenty of stories about Morax, though he doubts most of them are accurate. Still, somehow, Zhongli became who he is today; it makes sense that it happened through the influence of another. The same is true for Childe, after all, even though he can't imagine loving Skirk like that. Even now, he can only imagine her as a larger-than-life figure far beyond him.
Maybe he should feel offended by the rest of what Zhongli says. If he wanted to, he could easily interpret it poorly--he could hear you were insignificant or your actions were never going to matter that much, in the end or something equally cold and calculating. Maybe a few months ago, he would have. But not now, after hearing the reverence with which Zhongli talks about Guizhong. Not when Zhongli's still close enough that Childe can feel the warmth radiating from his body.
Of course Childe can't resist him. He was born in the cold.
His lips quirk at Zhongli's admission--hearing the attraction that goes unsaid beneath the tactful phrasing. Mercifully, he doesn't comment.]
If it did, I never noticed. [But he doubts it; it's awfully visible, after all. As for how he'd felt, meeting Zhongli--well. If Zhongli wants to know that, he'll have to ask.
He has his own guesses for what might've happened, when it comes to the two of them. But they're too storybook for him to voice aloud of his own accord. Instead, he lifts his hand again, reaching towards Zhongli to trace the edges of his mark with his fingertip.]
It's a good thing you can hide this, or else you'd have to deal with a lot of questions. [His tone shifts back to something lighter--amused, at the thought of Zhongli having to go about his life with such a large brand of ownership on his neck. Hu Tao would be in hysterics for days.] What am I supposed to do about mine, huh? All my shirts are tailored.
[ zhongli lowers his arms as childe reaches for him. his head lightly and reflectively tilts away from childe's hand, baring his neck to that light, dragging touch. they've had some moments of tenderness like this—a far cry from the ferocity of moments ago. they're already bitten and scratched in several places. the front of childe's pants are still undone. zhongli's greedy hands are tragically empty, and his mouth is preoccupied by nothing but words and empty air.
and he's usually so patient.
a slow smile spreads on his lips. he reaches his hand and closes it over childe's, keeping it near his neck. ]
Mm. The location of it does seem quite deliberate. Heads may turn, but perhaps it isn't so strange for an employee of the Northland Bank to wear the symbol of Mora on their body. You are simply fanatically dedicated to your craft.
[ his smile grows. he's 100% messing and thinks he's funny.
he presses his lips to childe's palm and rests in it for a short moment, reveling in being able to share in such an act. he lowers his hand as he looks to childe again. ]
Now I'd like to ask you. Why do you believe our marks appeared later on rather than on our first meeting?
[DON'T TELL HIM TO PRETEND IT'S A MONEY TATTOO ZHONGLI YOU BUTTHEAD. Childe narrows his eyes, but vengeance comes only in the form of a playful pinch, hardly noticeable compared to the passionate bites and scratches from earlier.
He has half a mind to demand that Zhongli keep his mark uncovered as long as Childe has to show his--but the rest of him, the part that hasn't forgotten where they are and how they got there, urges him to lean in, to sink his teeth in and leave far more purposeful signs of his claim. His own neck is still tender from Zhongli's attention earlier; it's tempting to reach up and press with his fingers, to ensure that the bruise he's sporting will last for days.
But Zhongli's asking him a question, so he doesn't. His hand instead comes to rest naturally on the curve of Zhongli's jaw. The tassel of his earring brushes against his fingers; Childe wonders, idly, how Zhongli might look in red.
He searches Zhongli's gaze, contemplative--and a little guarded, something he doesn't try to hide. Open wariness, another paradoxical sign of trust. For anyone else, he'd probably dodge the question, but...]
All I know of this is what you've told me tonight. Your guess is better than mine. [He's quiet again, then, but this pause is purely thoughtful as he decides on his phrasing.] But, if I had to... I'd say it's likely got to do with how we were both hiding who we were, when we met.
[Granted, Childe always owned his identity as a Harbinger, but he'd used that as a purposeful misdirection. And yes, after the reveal, their identities had been thrust into the open. But it took until tonight for them to begin to recognize, and acknowledge, what they mean to each other. The last of their secrets.
He shrugs, then, affecting carelessness. It's a gesture born of habit, an ingrained defense that isn't easily discarded even in the presence of someone he's chosen to trust.]
But what do I know? Maybe it's some kind of prank from the spirit realm.
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no subject
It's tempting to bypass all of that and just slide his hands under Zhongli's shirt to get at his skin, but... no, not while he's still wearing his gloves. Besides, he does actually want to listen to what Zhongli's saying, even if it makes his face heat up all over again. At least Zhongli won't be alone in his embarrassment if he does end up blushing. Gods.]
...You don't have to charm me, Zhongli. I'm not going anywhere. [But it's just a reflexive deflection, not true discomfort. No one's ever spoken of him this way; he doesn't know what to do with it.
Since he left for Inazuma, huh... but Zhongli says "should have", which means he hadn't known. That makes sense--Childe assumes he would've refused to go along with his "lovers" ruse if he'd already been aware. Maybe if Childe hadn't been so caught up in his own realization crisis, he would've noticed, though he probably wouldn't have said anything about it if he had.
He huffs out a quiet laugh, letting his head fall back.]
So what I'm hearing is, we're both idiots.
[Somewhere in the void, Guizhong is probably thinking "yep, that's about right."]
no subject
as he does all of this, he takes in the deep red plumes across childe's cheeks. it's endearing, even from someone who had shot off a dagger at an innocent group of people earlier. zhongli can't help reaching out to hold his face again, letting his palm settle over hot skin. he runs his thumb over his cheekbone, watching the red running behind it.
he can't help giving a thin and easy smile at what he says. he lets his eyes fall closed. (childe calls him "zhongli" again, and the sound of it rolls an imperceptible shudder down his body. but something is missing...) ]
I wouldn't have let you go regardless. I was only speaking honestly.
[ the fact that it embarrassed childe is a bonus.
childe leans his head back to laugh, and zhongli's fingers ease down to the back of his neck as he watches, thinking that he's beautiful.
his smile grows wider and gives his own little huff of a laugh. thanks, guizhong. ]
I'm afraid so.
[ stupid idiots who could have gotten what they wanted ages ago, if they weren't gay and dumb.
irresistibly, he cants his head and presses another kiss to childe's neck, just above his exposed adam's apple. childe's earring gently brushes his forehead, cold and light. his tongue slips out from between his lips, and when he kisses that patch of skin again, he runs his teeth over that patch of skin.
his hands wander, one smoothing over his hip and setting his mark ablaze again with golden light. the other hand searches under childe's shirt, sliding up his back and over his side, tracing his thin figure.
zhongli isn't wearing his gloves this time. he takes in the softness and warmth of childe's skin, every texture, every scar. every nerve fires to feel the spread of childe's skin, taut with muscle, smooth to the touch.
zhongli's own body is riddled with scars as well, down to his fingers. a particularly large one, among many others, trails from the back of his hand and disappears into his sleeve. his hands are calloused where the length of his polearm would drag and pull on his palm.
his thumb grazes and presses over his nipple. zhongli swallows and tastes more salt. beautiful, he thinks again, and he opens his eyes. ]
Call me what you like. [ he murmurs and kisses beneath his chin, smiling. ] I'm more fond of that nickname than I realized.
no subject
He doesn't want to stop touching, but Zhongli's bare hands are on his skin, brushing over his smaller scars, catching on the edge of the largest one where it arcs across his chest. It suddenly feels vitally important to keep up before he gets too distracted.
He leans back just enough to pull his own gloves off, shoving them into the pocket of his pants. If Zhongli chances a look, he'll see the way Lichtenberg figures crawl up his fingers and spread across the backs of his pale hands--but Childe doesn't waste time once they're off, immediately reaching for Zhongli's shirt. He debates trying to slice the buttons off for about five seconds, but ultimately decides against it. (Mostly because he suspects Zhongli would be fast enough to stop him from succeeding. Damn.)
Still, he tries to work quickly. Partly driven by his own impatient desire, but mostly because it's already horribly tempting to sink into the attention, and it doesn't take a genius to know it's only going to get worse. Zhongli's mouth is so warm, and it's impossible not to lean into that hint of teeth; a goad, perhaps, blunted into encouragement by his eagerness.
Imagine having to kiss Zhongli to sell an act he'd thought earlier. Now, the idea of walking out of here without proof of Zhongli's claim is unacceptable. Oh how quickly the winds change.]
Xiansheng. [It's hard to tell whether he's responding to Zhongli's words, or if it's simple habit, a thoughtless reaction to the press of Zhongli's fingers against his soulmark. He doesn't bother with the last few buttons of Zhongli's shirt, cool, nimble fingers dipping past the fabric and finally, finally making contact. Funny how he hadn't realized he'd wanted this, when it feels like he's waited centuries for it.
Immediately, he zeroes in on the scars he feels, mapping them out just like Zhongli's doing to him. His nails are too short to do any real damage, or he'd try to leave new ones. More's the pity.
He draws in a harsh breath, turning his head to try and catch Zhongli's mouth in a kiss again.] Don't be gentle.
this is so long excuse me...
they were lucky enough that childe unfastened the thing rather pull or slice it off too. the northland bank paid for it, after all, and he still had a shirt to wear out.
he catches a view of those scars on the backs of his hands. they curl like red, spoked ferns or a skeletal tree, its branches reaching just past his knuckles. they would just barely be hidden underneath his half-gloves. he creases his brow, recognizing these scars for what they are and where they might have come from. he should have realized, but childe has never taken off those gloves in front of him before—
the thought falls away when childe calls for him. zhongli reflexively meets his gaze again, his own half-lidded and nearly luminescent as his energy siphons into that brand on his hip. xiansheng. "zhongli" was a name to be shared with everyone, but "xiansheng" was meant only for childe, a little secret between them. this time childe is saying it like never before, and it shudders through his body.
cool hands slip beneath his shirt and search greedily over his chest. zhongli finishes opening the last few buttons on his chest, and afterwards he begins work on finally unbuttoning childe's. zhongli wears several millennia's worth of scars. some are incredibly large: one wraps around one side of his ribs and ends at his shoulderblade; another cuts the side of his stomach, streaking down to his hip. some are small slices of white like long papercuts, the skin gently raised. zhongli could name the origin of each one on his body.
childe sets his skin ablaze under his bare fingers. it's been so long since he's been touched, and never with this much hunger. never with childe.
he steals his kiss and zhongli turns to meet it, attempting to match his eagerness. when it breaks, he keeps their lips kept just centimeters away, his eyes closed as he hears their labored breaths between them. it would be so easy to kiss him again.
like his name, that fervent requests wakes something in him. his yellow eyes come open again, this time with heavy eyelids and parted lips. his hands pause after grasping the plackets of childe's shirt, having undone the last buttons. for zhongli to let loose a want he subconsciously had for him, to assert his selfishness when he had always worn a mild and collected countenance—it may be an opportunity for childe to meet the beast lying dormant within him. of course this is what childe wants: a vague echo of a fight, or maybe even some proof that zhongli could viciously want him back. (and he does.)
he believed he neatly stowed away much of his want after his outburst in the hallway. with childe's words, that resolve begins to break. his anticipation mounts faster than he believed it could. his eyes almost glint. ]
If that is what you want. I won't be.
[ the evening had been full of minor touches and gestures, gazes left unanswered, empty and embarrassed words. this was the moment to make up for it all. he ached to touch him, but most surprisingly, he wanted childe to be weak to him. he'll give him what he's asking for.
zhongli cranes his neck and kisses him sharply enough to hurt. he walks forward, still holding childe's plackets, and boxes him against the wall behind him. he opens childe's shirt and peels it from his shoulders, and at the same time he deepens their fiery kiss and lathes his tongue over the seam of childe's mouth. their chests are flush together, rising and falling with their labored breaths. that mark on childe's waist still glows brightly, pressed against zhongli's hip.
zhongli raises his thigh and pushes it between childe's legs, trapping him where he stands. he grasps at his hair and yanks it again, pulling his ear towards his shoulder. he murmurs again to his skin, his breath hot: ]
Is this what you asked for, Tartaglia?
LMFSDKJHG in this house we trade novels
He's left his mark on Zhongli, even if it was unintentional, and it satisfies something deep within him to know it. But it's not the same. He wants to draw blood. He wants to leave his own scar.
He really needs to stop earning the favor of archons. He's getting spoiled.
Maybe later, he'll make some quip about how he deserves it, what with how much money he's spent on Zhongli's whims. For now, though, he just drinks in the look on Zhongli's face, immediately honing in on that crack in Zhongli's resolve. It makes his own mouth curve up into a grin, audacious and challenging. A shark scenting blood in the water.
Zhongli's absolutely right in his assumptions. He wants Zhongli to want him. He wants to take everything Zhongli gives him, and anything he doesn't. He wants to look into Zhongli's eyes and see even a fraction of the all-consuming desire that's burning Childe up from the inside.
One simple request, and they're halfway there already.
Foolishly, inexplicably, he hadn't expected Zhongli to agree so easily. It means Zhongli has the advantage, even though Childe's the one that made the request. Even so, Childe rises to meet him, lips parting on a moan as his back hits the wall. He digs his fingers into Zhongli's shoulder and buries the other hand in his hair, knocking it out of its neat coiffure. He lets Zhongli taste him, making sure to catch Zhongli's lower lip in his teeth as he does.
With his shirt off, it's easy to see all the scars spread over his skin. Traces of lightning burns scattered up his arms, not unlike the ones on his hands--an arrowhead wound below his ribs here, a stab wound there, above the hip opposite his soulmark. The scar across his chest is clearly one of the oldest, but huge, the sort of injury that would've taken a miracle to survive. If Zhongli really concentrated, he could probably feel the barest remnants of Abyssal taint beneath it.
There are fresher bruises, too, a few days old. Nothing serious, but someone clearly went out and had a fight date on his way here. Wow. Infidelity. (no)
Plenty more scars are scattered over his back, too. Altogether, the image they make is clear: this is the body of a man who wields himself like a weapon. There's another layer to Childe's request, probably one that's easy to deduce from the sight of him: the simple human desire to chase as much sensation as possible. Childe's done a number on his nerves over the years. It's a wonder he still feels anything at all.
Clearly he does, though. If he didn't, he probably wouldn't press his body so firmly against Zhongli's, wouldn't drag in breath through his teeth, hissing like an untamed animal. The soulmark burns where they touch, and for a wild moment, Childe wonders if it's going to brand him permanently. He'd never live it down, but it's not an unpleasant thought.
Is this what you asked for? Zhongli says, and it is, more than he knows how to convey in words. He doesn't even consider answering for a minute, too caught up in dragging his hips over Zhongli's thigh. He could probably stay just like this, with Zhongli's voice low and commanding in his ear, and be satisfied.
But Childe wouldn't be himself if he settled, even for something he's clearly enjoying. It's a subtle shift in demeanor, but even if Zhongli can't see his face, he can probably sense the exact moment Childe decides he wants to be provocative.]
That's it, old man? [Somehow, he manages that playful lilt, even through his rapid, shallow breaths. He pushes impossibly closer, worming one hand between them to resume his exploration of Zhongli's scars. The other drops from his hair back to the riptide mark, and he presses the heel of his palm against it as he grinds against Zhongli's thigh again. Is he trying to get a reaction, or is he just taking his own pleasure? Yes.]
YEAH.... YUP
that moan is abrupt and arresting, short enough to leave him wanting—a successful bait on childe's part. pain pricks where childe's nails bite into his skin, as innocuous as insect bites. the tie of his hair comes undone and slowly slips to the ground among their scattered clothes. strands of neat, brown hair fan behind and bend over his shoulders as he murmurs to childe's ear.
the intimidating, innumerable scars are a mosaic between their bodies. the magnitude of childe's scars is unsurprising given his appetite for combat, but zhongli couldn't have predicted the immense gash across his chest. it came into view as zhongli stripped him, his eyes briefly flickering wide before they share their hungry kiss. he traces the length of it with his fingers, brushing the scar tissue gathered at the edges. abyssal energy prickles under his fingertips like the sting of a beadlet anemone, harmless as it harpoons into his skin.
even after this life-threatening wound, childe still chases his adrenaline highs, feeding the infection of abyssal energy while it eats at his life. the tragic truth is that foul legacy is as much a part of childe as anything else; zhongli would be foolish to deny it. there's a possibility that a sliver of it is nestled in the mark on zhongli's neck.
all thoughts slip out of view as childe arches into him, rutting his hips as if it were irresistible, leaving no sound but his labored breaths and the rhythmic shift of fabric. more important than anything was the fact that childe wanted him madly—enough to crush their mouths together with their first kiss, bite into his neck, demand that he be torn into. the hairline crack in zhongli's resolve begins to part. he can't look away.
childe provokes him, touches him, digs his palm against that mark as if to sear it into his skin. zhongli sucks in a shaky breath, feeling the mark swirl and burn against his skin, almost electric. childe is hard and straining against his thigh, and as he moves, his leg grazes over zhongli's growing erection. childe wants the upper hand.
even then, zhongli can see through that guise of composure, betrayed by his erratic breaths and reckless hips. he knows childe too well not to. that burning pain reaches its threshold, and as zhongli learns to bear it, he offers that knowing smile that says he knows childe's secret. without looking, he reaches down and quickly unfurls childe's belt from its buckle. he kisses him again. ]
It feels as though you may not need much more.
[ zhongli runs a curled finger down the length of childe's erection. before, childe considered how it would feel to be collected and possessed and hoarded in a dragon's nest of treasures. that dragon's instinct was seeping through the cracks. zhongli wants to stake his claim; he would draw the words he wants most from that snide and smiling mouth—ones that tell him tartaglia is his.
when that belt is pulled and dropped away, zhongli slides both of this thighs between childe's and grasps at his hips. he holds childe like he's weightless, lifting him and dragging him against that wall as he shoves their hips together. pleasure jolts between his legs, and he stifles his groan against childe's mouth.
he licks past lips and teeth and pushes their tongues together, liquid hot and unforgiving. he raises his hand and closes it over childe's throat, his thumb and first finger holding his jaw in place. he yanks childe's face aside and bites with a vice grip on the side of his neck.
he should have more decorum. he normally does. isn't it fair and just, though, that if zhongli wears the riptide mark on his neck, childe should wear something on his own?
he sucks hard, rolling his hips, his cock aching and hot as it runs against childe's. he doesn't notice the dark hue creeping up his fingertips, revealing a circuitry of gold over a canvas of deep brown. it's faint, but as that vicious need rears its head, those colors would undoubtedly darken and spread. ]
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[It's hard to say whether or not his indignant protest would've had any real heat behind it, with the way his voice gets lost in Zhongli's mouth. (But really, it's a good thing--it muffles the moan that would've cut his voice off anyway, even if Zhongli will still be able to feel it.)
He knows how strong Zhongli is, of course. When he'd first been assigned to Liyue, he'd torn through every bit of information he could get his hands on about the true extent of Rex Lapis's power. He's daydreamed about fighting Zhongli far too much to be unaware.
And yet.
There's something about the way Zhongli moves him around, lifting him like it's nothing--something about the way Zhongli can touch his scars so gently one minute, then grind so filthily against him the next, that makes his head spin and his blood sing.
He does want the upper hand, Zhongli's right about that. And everything Zhongli is doing is only making him want it even more--rousing that belligerent spirit, the part of him that never lets him back down from pushing his limits.
His time in Inazuma did him good; he's stronger than he's ever been. But Zhongli always makes him feel so dangerously weak. He revels in it, he can't stand it--conflict twists and swells inside him, even as he coaxes Zhongli's tongue into his mouth, or sinks his teeth into Zhongli's lower lip.
It's no wonder he's obsessed with Zhongli's attention. He thrives in turmoil--even his own, apparently. What's one more contradiction to stitch into his identity?
Zhongli forces his head to the side, sinks his teeth in like a viper, and Childe tells himself that he permits it. He pretends it's intentional submission to save his own sanity, because otherwise he'd have to kick up a huge fuss, and he's too busy for that. Hooking his legs around Zhongli's waist and keeping himself upright through the strength of his core, unwilling to let himself lean back and let the wall support him, no matter how Zhongli might crush him against it. A small act of unconscious defiance, simply because it's in his blood. It doesn't stop Zhongli from drawing another moan out of him, low and rich with pleasure-pain, but Childe doesn't care about being heard. If it incenses Zhongli further? Even better.
He'd targeted that mark on Zhongli's neck on purpose, but his hand moves from it, almost of its own accord, to the base of Zhongli's neck, fingers curling into soft hair. His other hand started a path downward as soon as Zhongli got to work on his belt, but he's been hovering around the edge Zhongli's pants--debating whether to give in to impatience and deal with the awkward angle, or to speak up, to tell Zhongli he wants to touch and taste and--ah, well, that's probably the best they can manage out at sea, isn't it. Damn.
He's just made up his mind, starting to dip slender fingers past the waistband of Zhongli's trousers, testing to see how far he can get without undoing them. But then his eyes catch on Zhongli's hand, and he pauses, brow furrowing.
Is this part of the soulmark, too? Childe's own hands look totally normal, but that doesn't mean anything when their marks are in different places.
It takes him a second to try and catch his breath, but then he tugs on Zhongli's hair--once to get his attention, but then again, just because he can. He's reluctant to rouse him from his singleminded devotion to leaving a mark the size of Liyue on Childe's neck, but he should probably point it out, just in case, right? He can focus for a minute. Probably.]
Ah--xiansheng-- [His voice hitches as Zhongli's cock catches his just right, sending pleasure lancing through him.
On second thought, maybe he doesn't need to say anything. Instead, he withdraws his hand from Zhongli's pants, reaching instead for Zhongli's hand. He pries it off of his thigh and pulls it up to his lips instead, closing his mouth around Zhongli's index finger and curling his tongue around it with a wickedly pleased hum.
Good job staying focused, Childe.]
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it's almost an unconscious punishment. stubborn as always. zhongli holds his composure as childe moans, deep and unbridled, flashing pleasure down zhongli's body. he is incensed by it all, to some degree. there is an appeal to breaking down that haughtiness and arrogance, if he could ever manage it.
when he closes his lips over the fresh bruise on childe's neck, he feels that warm and wet swirl on his finger, pushing against the roof of childe's mouth as he groans. zhongli inwardly shudders at the sensation, drawing back to see exactly what's happening—
ah. there's a subtle raising of brows, but zhongli seems to instantly reckon with what's happening.
he watches the slide of childe's tongue on the underside of his finger, the pink line of it briefly slipping out over his lower lip. he watches cooly despite childe's enraptured performance, though his blood and breath run hot. he pushes his finger onto the soft middle of childe's tongue. ]
I should have expected this.
[ which is a feat in itself, so there's a point for childe, sort of. zhongli isn't caught off-guard often, and certainly not in situations like this one. he draws his finger from childe's lips slowly.
(in the middle of his right forearm is a golden print of a blooming glaze lily, seen from above. it looks unassumingly similar to the rest of the designs; childe may not pay any special attention to it, even if it means the world to zhongli.) ]
I'll note that particular care is needed to maintain my mortal appearance in these situations.
[ he squares and presses his hips against childe's, in just the right angle to send another bolt of pleasure through his body. in the same movement, the slow crawl of that dark brown skin slips all the way to his shoulders like a long sweep of paint, as if he'd just released whatever force held it back.
he replaces his index finger with two, pressing them to childe's lips and then pushing inside to find his tongue. he watches with rapt attention, gold eyes narrowed, not betraying an ounce of emotion otherwise.
leaving childe to hold himself up with his legs locked on zhongli's hips, zhongli blindly opens the front of childe's pants and slips his fingers past the opening. his hand closes on the length of his cock, hard behind the fabric of his undergarments, and he presses his thumb to its leaking, smooth tip. childe might feel zhongli's erection swell.
if childe wanted to be a spectacle, he could be one for now, under his direction. ]
I won't bother to hide my skin any longer with you. You don't seem to mind it.
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This is what he's longed for. The full weight of Morax's gaze, fixated on him like there's no one else in the world to pay attention to in this moment. Like he's little more than a too-bold mortal courting battles he can't possibly hope to win--but that he's one worth noticing. Maybe even one worth acknowledging.
He lets Zhongli withdraw, but not without scraping his teeth against his knuckles as he does so. But he doesn't let Zhongli go far; instead, he chases his hand and presses a line of warm, open-mouthed kisses from Zhongli's palm to his wrist, reverent in his blasphemy.
He pulls back a little and opens his mouth to speak, but whatever he'd intended to say is lost to a gasp as Zhongli thrusts against him, his eyes widening as he watches color wash over Zhongli's skin.
It shouldn't be as surprising as it is--he'd done plenty of research on Adepti once he'd arrived in Liyue, and he'd known Rex Lapis could change his appearance. But this isn't what he'd expected, from the stories; it never would've occurred to him that Zhongli maintains a human facade every day. It rouses a thousand questions, none of which he's capable of holding onto, because...
Well. Because Zhongli's inhumanly beautiful, and Childe can't look at him without getting hopelessly distracted. That's really all there is to it.
The idea that Zhongli doesn't want to hold back--that he's having trouble holding back--is so heady that Childe hardly knows what to do with it. The mark on his hip pulses deep beneath his skin, like it's resonating with Zhongli's true appearance.
(Or maybe it's just responding to his ridiculous heart, twisting with tremulous hope in his chest.)
In the end, he doesn't chase whatever it was he'd meant to say. Instead, he dips his head forward to welcome Zhongli's fingers back into his mouth, letting go of Zhongli's wrist in order to trace one of the golden lines up his arm. If his fingers brush against the glaze lily mark, he doesn't seem to notice. He's too focused on bobbing his head and stroking Zhongli's fingers with his tongue, on trying to hold Zhongli's tantalizingly impassive gaze as he does.
It's a valiant effort on Childe's part, but it means he can't do anything when Zhongli reaches for his cock, either to help or to hinder. With his strength, he can at least arch up into the touch a little, trying to press forward for more--but that's about the most he can manage without unwinding himself from Zhongli.
Slowly, he lets his left leg begin drop, as if he plans to do just that--
--but come on, why would he be doing that when he could be a brat instead?
Between one shallow breath and the next, Childe shifts his weight, hooks his leg around Zhongli's ankle, and pulls, an attempt to sweep him off-balance and knock him down to the ground. He doesn't really expect it to work--they're pressed together too tightly, Zhongli will feel the tells in his movements--but he can't resist the urge to try. If Zhongli's going to spoil him and indulge his greed like this, then he's going to take full advantage of it for as long as he can.]
no subject
to leave childe breathless and still in front of him, mouth parted open, eyes wide enough to finally catch a sliver of light—he can indulge in that, just this once.
his fingers push into childe's mouth with ease, teeth grazing again over his knuckle as childe manages to take the full length of it with enthusiasm. he gives him a show, running his fingers down the length of his forearm and knitting his brows together as he moves and zhongli watches. that gaze is too gratified, too furtive, as if his fingers and the hand pressed over his cock was all he needed.
childe lowers his leg too slowly. zhongli feels the tensing of muscles in childe's hip, waiting to release. the swell of childe's tongue around the length of his fingers briefly slows, and zhongli can only assume that his attention is elsewhere.
to save childe from having his dick torn off reflexively, zhongli immediately lets him go. his gold eyes narrow, now glowing in that unleashed archon energy, and he braces himself the instant childe hooks his leg around his ankle and suddenly pulls against his tendon. childe won't be surprised when he stands still and unshaken, with not even the slightest give in his ankle.
he won't admit to using a shred of his power to withstand that maneuver. his muscle might have given slightly if he hadn't. childe doesn't deserve that win. not after this. his gold eyes bore into that deep, dull blue, and he pulls his fingers from childe's mouth. he grasps childe's hip again, pushing his thumb to that aggressively shining soulmark, its color leaping to meet him. he suffuses it with his energy, intending for it to burn. ]
Tartaglia.
[ another low rumble. wet fingers or no, he twists the top of childe's hair in his fist and yanks it toward the wall, tilting his chin upward.
zhongli's piercing gaze never leaves him. his lips curl in a thin smile. he's amused. ]
It's like you to be stubborn, even after I've shown you the true form of Morax. Admittedly I'm unfamiliar with this feeling, but I'd like to rid you of that obstinacy.
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Childe: I know, I will try to knock him to the floor
Local man continues to underestimate what he's getting into, news at 11.
But Childe doesn't seem at all bothered by his failure--in fact, he's laughing with breathless delight, even as his voice cuts into a sharp noise at Zhongli's swift retaliation. Maybe it's the glow of Zhongli's gaze, or the moonlight from the window--but there's a sparkle of life in Childe's eyes that could almost be his own.]
If that were possible, Zhongli-xiansheng, [His words aren't quite steady with how quick and shallow his breathing is, and he swallows as he leans his head back against the wall, easing the pull of Zhongli's grip just a little. But his voice is rich with warmth and happiness, even as he instinctively curls against the pressure to his soulmark, nails digging into Zhongli's skin as he fights to keep steady.] then it would've happened already.
[Zhongli's hardly the first person to express such a sentiment--although he's certainly the first to do it under these circumstances. But Childe's confidence isn't baseless; if it were, he wouldn't be the youngest of the Harbingers, after all.]
But-- [He lets his other leg drop from Zhongli's waist with much less grace, but he doesn't leave space between them for long. Zhongli's grip on his hair is too tight for him to lower his head, so he blindly feels his way from Zhongli's arm to his hip, pulling him forward to encourage him to close the small gap between them. His other hand, still buried in Zhongli's hair, stays right where it is for now--a lifeline, of sorts, the only thing keeping him grounded against the searing pleasure radiating from his soulmark. If he tries to stand on his own right now, he's not sure his legs will actually hold him up, but he can't bring himself to be too embarrassed when it's Zhongli's fault.] --you're welcome to try.
[Everyone else had tried to beat it out of him, because that's simply how things work in the Fatui. Zhongli can try that too, if he wants. Zhongli can try anything he wants right now, honestly, and Childe will probably think it's the best idea he's ever heard.]
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even after childe's feet meet the ground and he squares their hips against the wall, that delighted laughter rings in zhongli's ears. the clearest bell in a dark and endless cavern of memories. childe's fingertips burn crescents into his neck; zhongli disregards it. he hears but doesn't hear how childe provokes him despite his obvious weakness, enraptured by the elation and levity in that voice and less by the meaning behind his words.
zhongli had known many creatures of madness in his lifetime. the inevitability of corruption, erosion, the reaching and poisonous hands of exterminated gods, the thirst for blood and ruin simply for the sake of it—zhongli silently vowed to suppress it, cure it if he can. he lost so many to all of it.
for the first time, someone's laughter skated the edge of that madness and made it something bewitching. he had only seen it in brief glimpses, when childe broached the subject of battles or feats of strength. zhongli had never been able to tell if those eyes were lit from within. he liked to believe they were, and that they might light up for something else yet undiscovered.
tartaglia, grinning and breathless with eyes glinting only for him, is one of the most beautiful sights he's ever seen.
zhongli would lose him too. he decides it was better to have him while he was still here to take and willing to give.
he releases childe's hair and instead grasps childe's chin in his hand, his first finger and thumb following the curve of his jaw. zhongli cants his head and seals childe's mouth with his own, fervent and immediate, groaning softly. his tongue pries between his lips and pushes inside, greedy and devouring as if to take that laughter for himself.
want scrapes inside of his throat. for once, it isn't about asserting himself or silencing childe. the kiss was irresistible, borne out of an ache and longing that trailed after childe every time he left liyue harbor. since their first meeting, he realizes. all of it poured forth like a pot spilled over. zhongli had been unacquainted with feelings of love, mistook them for deep feelings of comradery, for so long. he hadn't recognized it until now. (fellas is it gay to love your bro?)
zhongli grasps tightly around childe's arm, caught around a bicep hard with muscle and laden with scars. his fingers were a break in the string of lichtenberg scars running from wrist to shoulder to neck. ]
The bed. [ he murmurs to his lips. he turns his head and pulls them towards it, unyielding unless childe outwardly protests, or if those shaky legs can still barely hold him. zhongli would pick him up and throw him there if he had to. ]
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...Will he get used to it? Will he have the chance? He'd wonder, if he had the capacity to do so. But Zhongli's currently making very sure he does not. It's all Childe can do to keep up with him--parting his lips to welcome him in, meeting Zhongli's tongue with his own and finally closing his eyes, just long enough to let Zhongli's desire wash over him.
If nothing else, Zhongli's thoroughly eradicated any doubts Childe might've had about whether or not Zhongli truly wants this. (Him.) Childe's want--his need--threatens to consume him if he loosens his grip on his self-control, but the heat beneath his skin seems a pale flame in comparison to the way Zhongli looks at him. If they weren't on a ship out at sea, destined back to the harbor at the end of the night, Childe's fairly certain they'd be in this room for days.
Zhongli's grip on him is firm and unyielding, his voice low and intimate, words felt more than heard. Childe shivers against him, fingers flexing where they rest against his skin.]
--Yeah, okay.
[He doesn't struggle or protest--deciding, by some metric of his own making, that this is not a fight he wants to undertake. Were he recklessly aggressive, he would be so much simpler to comprehend. But he is keen and unpredictable, and that's what makes him dangerous. Even here, with nothing on the line except emotions they haven't yet named.
He doesn't fight--but he doesn't make (let) Zhongli carry him either. He follows Zhongli on his own two feet through sheer force of will, though it would be a lie to say he isn't grateful for the small size of boat cabins, or the swaying of the ship to excuse his stumbling. (Didn't he just say earlier that he was raised on boats and wouldn't ever fall? Whatever.) But, of course, he's hardly one to lie back and do nothing; if Zhongli lets him, he'll push him down onto his back and swing a leg over his hips, to settle on top of him.
If Zhongli doesn't permit it, or pins him down too quickly for Childe to try, well--he won't try to throw Zhongli off him or anything. He'll go where he's directed... for now.]
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it's why, when childe attempts to push him, zhongli does not budge an inch. he turns childe by his arm on those stumbling feet until his back faces the bed. (his own strides were perfectly steady and even despite the sway of the ship. don't think he didn't notice the way childe would lose his footing behind him, briefly pulling against zhongli's grip.) and down they go.
zhongli's shoes are quickly pushed off of his heels and left on the ground. with childe fallen back against the bed, zhongli opens his legs and slots himself between them. he raises himself to meet childe's mouth with his in one fluid motion, drinking in the sight of him all the while: half-bare, hair mussed, endless blue eyes, body sunk onto the sheets.
their kiss ends with zhongli drawing childe's lip between his teeth, dragging until it drops away. his hands are greedy, holding his waist and sliding to his his pointed, slender hips. heat pools inside of him and arousal tenses his stomach against the heat between childe's legs. he grasps the sides of childe's white slacks, but before he can pull them down, he remembers.
his fingertips drag on childe's thigh until he finds it. between his fevered breaths and heady want, zhongli still finds it in himself to smile. ]
I will never understand why you subject yourself to this useless thing.
[ he speaks with soft and breathless laughter as he sits back on his knees. he unbuckles and unfurls the godforsaken thing from childe's thigh. ]
And now you've subjected me to it.
[ an intermission like this hopefully wouldn't ruin the mood. ]
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When Zhongli pulls away, Childe watches him with a sharp, intent gaze. Mesmerized by the sight of him, watching for an opening to seize the advantage--with Childe, it's always both, of course. Still, he seems willing to bide his time for the latter; he runs his tongue over his lower lip, as if surprised there's no blood to be found.
He's certainly not going to stop Zhongli from undressing him, but he does take it upon himself to remove his own Vision, stilling Zhongli's hands for a brief moment as he sets it gently out of the way. It's not so easily damaged, of course, but he does have some respect--and if there's the slightest shine of purple in there, well, surely that's nothing to worry about.
Zhongli's words startle a laugh out of him, and he whips back around, feigning indignance.]
What! [There's far too much humor in his voice for true offense, though he's making a show of it anyway, even as he reaches out to rest his hands on Zhongli's waist, just above his pants.] It's for weapons, obviously!
[WHAT WEAPONS. HE MAKES HIS OWN WEAPONS. WHAT DOES THIS EVEN MEAN]
Anyway, I don't want to hear a thing about my clothes from Mister "I wear four layers of shirts every day even though my city is perfectly warm all the time." [First it was Zhongli's hands, now it's his shirts... Childe... you could at least pretend you weren't obsessed]
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a trace of light follows the brush of childe's hand, lining the shape of the glaze lily in the lightest iridescent yellow and blue. it follows him like water moving in a gently swirling cup.
zhongli is firstly preoccupied with childe's answer, his sharp desire substituted again with deep affection. his smile grows, and his narrow and mirthful eyes rest on childe as he holds the back of his knee and slides away the belt. ]
I suppose I've grown too accustomed to the mild weather. [ listen. zhongli is no better dressed than any other genshin!!
anyway. now given the opportunity, he dips his head and presses his smiling lips to the shining mark on childe's hip. he feels it answer him, hot against his lips. he tilts his cheek to childe's hipbone to speak warmly to his skin: ]
I'm sure your weapons are stored as painlessly as they are inconspicuously.
[ he had a knife just hanging out in his coat. you can't tell me he didn't get poked a few times.
zhongli's fingers are dipping beneath the seam of childe's pants when he sees it. all thoughts leave him as he lifts his head to get a better look. it's unmistakable.
he fully sits back on his knees again, taken out of the situation as he stares at the inside of his forearm. ideas slot and shift, another puzzle offered to him by guizhong's gentle hands. he presses his fingers to either side of the glaze lily mark, watching as the light moves, a compass only ever pointing him in one direction.
then, quietly: ]
...I see now.
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He is tempted to retaliate--to reach for Zhongli's mark in return, and lavish as much attention on it as Zhongli will allow--but then Zhongli's attention strays, and he blinks, confused. He follows his line of sight, sitting up to get a better look; curiously, he lets his fingers join Zhongli's, slipping between them to brush against the strange mark too.]
What's this?
[He'd probably figure it out if he took a second to think about it, but--well. He's not really in top deduction mode at the moment.]
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This... [ he raises his gaze back to childe, searching his face, as if there would be evidence there if he looked hard enough. ] ...It is the mark that connected me to Guizhong.
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[He remembers, of course, that Zhongli had said her name in the hallway--but he'd been so sidetracked by the idea that Zhongli thought it applied to them that he hadn't really stopped to process anything else.
How long, he wonders, has this mark been on Zhongli's skin? Hundreds of years? No--it must be thousands, if he's remembering his history correctly. Zhongli mentioned that she was the only one whom he might've considered a "partner", but... could Zhongli have had other marks, in the past? Did they fade, if this one didn't?
Will his, someday, after he's died? Is it worse if it doesn't?
It's a terrible conundrum. To condemn someone to a lonely existence, left with only a memory to love--or to be forgotten, in exchange for their freedom.
Carefully, he withdraws his fingers from the mark, dropping his hand. He doesn't often have trouble knowing what to say around Zhongli, but right now, his thoughts and questions stick in his throat, suppressed. He doesn't know what might be too heavy, too painful to discuss, and he doesn't want to stumble blindly into something delicate. He has no problem needling Zhongli himself, playfully disrespectful when the mood takes him--but this is different. This feels like the sort of thing that ought to be protected.]
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he has had thousands of years to grieve. he had turned guizhong's death in his head for seemingly endless summers, dulling sharp edges, making sense of the purportedly unthinkable. save for the dumbbell she had left behind, zhongli likes to think he had fully untangled his feelings, even if the grief and melancholy still existed in his heart at the thought of it.
with his other hand, he holds his arm and watches as he swipes his thumb over the shining mark. the light ripples after it. ]
I first met the God of Dust near Guili Plains, in a field of blooming glaze lilies. Fitting, as this flower was also her favorite.
[ he looks back to childe before him. ]
This mark drew itself upon my skin that day, not unlike the mark I have for you. It only appears when I show my true skin. I've kept it hidden for quite some time. ...This is the first time that I've seen it react this way since her passing.
[ he searches childe again, willing him to smile again and speak his mind, even if it isn't possible. childe looks as though he had been run through by a sword, all life within him suddenly halted. zhongli can only guess at the regretful thoughts behind those eyes.
if guizhong still lived, he thinks, that would be the only way for this mark to shine the way it does. if zhongli is to believe all of the ancient texts and every myth and legend that's resounded through the ages, she is yet still living.
more than that, zhongli's fated one surpasses any vessel completely. it isn't "guizhong" who has found him again, only the other half of the soul split from his own. childe was his present. he wouldn't allow him to be steeped in the past. ]
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He isn't a jealous person. It doesn't hurt him to think of Zhongli loving another--quite the opposite. It would be ridiculous, let alone cruel, to want to trap someone with such a long history to a single love--even now, he doubts the validity of Zhongli's claim that Guizhong was his only (though that assessment is heavily influenced by his own bias). Still, it's impossible not to consider everything that this mark means for Zhongli. To be devoted to someone thousands of years after their passing, knowing that no one else knew them as you did, that a piece of your heart would forever be caught in lonely yearning...
What an enormous thing it is to love someone.]
You must miss her. [He says it like it's gentle fact--almost like he would miss her too, if he'd had the chance to know her. His gaze drifts back up, then, to the mark on Zhongli's neck--his mark, still so vibrant despite the lack of his touch.] ...Why didn't these ones show up when we met?
[Would you have trusted me more, if you'd known back then? Would you have let me in, too?
Those, he doesn't ask.]
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childe's words seep into his heart, prickling like needles. at the same time, the deeply sympathetic in his azure-blue eyes is sweet, a balm to his pain. his golden eyes soften. ]
I do. She was a beloved friend and teacher.
[ he remembers how well the people of guili assembly loved and revered her. she taught morax humility, empathy, graciousness, understanding. in his weaker moments, he wonders how she would have thrived if she hadn't been stolen away by corruption.
would she have met childe? what would have happened then?
childe's next question pulls him back to the present moment. he's silent for a moment, picking apart what the question means. childe was wondering about what this meant in the context of them.
zhongli's eyes travel downward, to the glowing mark on childe's hip. he shakes his head. ]
I can't be sure. I can only theorize.
[ he looks to childe again and holds his gaze. how had he felt the first moment they met? what were the circumstances? what did he think of childe after hearing him speak? and did it make a difference if the mark appeared later than it used to? ]
Perhaps it's something having to do with gods and archons. The instant I met Guizhong, it was impressed upon me that the course of my life shift from then on. At the time, Morax sealing a contract of partnership with anyone was unheard of. I only conceded to it from instinct alone. It was the best decision I could have made for the good of Liyue.
[ he raises his finger to his lips, parsing childe as if he were a question written down. ]
As for you and I... the stakes were much lower when we met. Liyue was no longer a seedling that required cultivating from careful hands. I did not view you in terms of how you might affect the course of my life.
[ he closes his eyes and clears his throat. ]
Though I'll concede to the fact that you captured my interest.
[ aka he was an attractive foreigner. zhongli can admit to himself when someone is handsome. ]
I don't know how you may have felt. The mark hadn't appeared on your skin either, if my memory is correct.
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Maybe he should feel offended by the rest of what Zhongli says. If he wanted to, he could easily interpret it poorly--he could hear you were insignificant or your actions were never going to matter that much, in the end or something equally cold and calculating. Maybe a few months ago, he would have. But not now, after hearing the reverence with which Zhongli talks about Guizhong. Not when Zhongli's still close enough that Childe can feel the warmth radiating from his body.
Of course Childe can't resist him. He was born in the cold.
His lips quirk at Zhongli's admission--hearing the attraction that goes unsaid beneath the tactful phrasing. Mercifully, he doesn't comment.]
If it did, I never noticed. [But he doubts it; it's awfully visible, after all. As for how he'd felt, meeting Zhongli--well. If Zhongli wants to know that, he'll have to ask.
He has his own guesses for what might've happened, when it comes to the two of them. But they're too storybook for him to voice aloud of his own accord. Instead, he lifts his hand again, reaching towards Zhongli to trace the edges of his mark with his fingertip.]
It's a good thing you can hide this, or else you'd have to deal with a lot of questions. [His tone shifts back to something lighter--amused, at the thought of Zhongli having to go about his life with such a large brand of ownership on his neck. Hu Tao would be in hysterics for days.] What am I supposed to do about mine, huh? All my shirts are tailored.
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and he's usually so patient.
a slow smile spreads on his lips. he reaches his hand and closes it over childe's, keeping it near his neck. ]
Mm. The location of it does seem quite deliberate. Heads may turn, but perhaps it isn't so strange for an employee of the Northland Bank to wear the symbol of Mora on their body. You are simply fanatically dedicated to your craft.
[ his smile grows. he's 100% messing and thinks he's funny.
he presses his lips to childe's palm and rests in it for a short moment, reveling in being able to share in such an act. he lowers his hand as he looks to childe again. ]
Now I'd like to ask you. Why do you believe our marks appeared later on rather than on our first meeting?
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He has half a mind to demand that Zhongli keep his mark uncovered as long as Childe has to show his--but the rest of him, the part that hasn't forgotten where they are and how they got there, urges him to lean in, to sink his teeth in and leave far more purposeful signs of his claim. His own neck is still tender from Zhongli's attention earlier; it's tempting to reach up and press with his fingers, to ensure that the bruise he's sporting will last for days.
But Zhongli's asking him a question, so he doesn't. His hand instead comes to rest naturally on the curve of Zhongli's jaw. The tassel of his earring brushes against his fingers; Childe wonders, idly, how Zhongli might look in red.
He searches Zhongli's gaze, contemplative--and a little guarded, something he doesn't try to hide. Open wariness, another paradoxical sign of trust. For anyone else, he'd probably dodge the question, but...]
All I know of this is what you've told me tonight. Your guess is better than mine. [He's quiet again, then, but this pause is purely thoughtful as he decides on his phrasing.] But, if I had to... I'd say it's likely got to do with how we were both hiding who we were, when we met.
[Granted, Childe always owned his identity as a Harbinger, but he'd used that as a purposeful misdirection. And yes, after the reveal, their identities had been thrust into the open. But it took until tonight for them to begin to recognize, and acknowledge, what they mean to each other. The last of their secrets.
He shrugs, then, affecting carelessness. It's a gesture born of habit, an ingrained defense that isn't easily discarded even in the presence of someone he's chosen to trust.]
But what do I know? Maybe it's some kind of prank from the spirit realm.
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the way my paid ran out and I'm left with like 90% chibi icons lmfdksjghjkhsg
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nice fall out boy reference
JHDFKJSHGK I DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE
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I would LOVE if dw would stop giving me errors every time I comment
I KNOW FR i'm back to writing in my notes app
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