Childe, You Should Definitely Check the Bunk Below

Childe has a problem and it comes in the form of his lanky roommate named Zhongli.

He never thought of him much in the beginning. They come from entirely different worlds. Childe is at the Liyue campus of Teyvat University on a sports scholarship, headlining their very first Rugby Team. Zhongli is there for academics, something about rocks, or history, or a combination of both. It was bland and boring, so Childe didn't pay much attention.

They are wildly different from each other. Childe is a sort of wild child, the type to party and indulge in others. Lates nights out and fucking around, copious amounts of alcohol coursing through his veins. You know, the typical University Experience. Zhongli is quiet and reserved, preferring his nights in, which is an absolute fucking nightmare when Childe wants to bring home a dude.

There isn't a non-awkward way to kick your roommate out so you can fuck another guy.

Which brings Childe to his problem, and that's his sudden attraction to the man.

Objectively, Zhongli has always been handsome—he just isn't Childe's type. Childe likes a man with a little meat; maybe with wide shoulders, and just a little bit buff. Doesn't need to be jacked, just aesthetically pleasing enough to satisfy his need to drag his fingers across taut, smooth muscle.

Childe has his dalliances to answer these occasional urges, but he's always been able to keep a tight handle on it.

Until he had the misfortune of walking in on Zhongli changing one day (or luck, depending on how he looks at it). Turns out that his nerdy roommate in the black-rimmed glasses is sporting a top-notch six pack that Childe cannot purge from his mind. Childe stared, his gaze raking across Zhongli's form, mouth parting as pressure curled in his gut.

Because oh, that's all it took.

Zhongli's face turned pink as he was caught half-out of his shirt. "Ah, apologies," he said politely before pulling the rest of the top over his head. Too late. Childe saw, and his mouth watered, and he went to bed that night with the worst boner in the history of boners.

Now, he's nothing but a horndog mess for his roommate who is definitely not interested. In fact, Childe wonders if Zhongli even knows what a dick is (of course he does, he's a guy, not the point). It doesn't help the horny, though, or the constant party in Childe's trousers.

So, does Childe say something?

Of course not. Let it be known that he does not do awkward well.

#

Zhongli's doctoral scholarship was supposed to pay for a private room, but the housing agent told him that they overbooked the semester, causing him to be downgraded.

He is flexible. It wasn't the end of the world—that is until he saw who he was bunking with and his throat went dry. Zhongli doesn't date because he's known to be incredibly picky, but it was love at first sight when it comes to Childe (or maybe lust at first sight; yeah, he'll go with that—it's easier to brush off).

He remembers their first conversation as though it were yesterday.

"Would you like the top or the bottom bunk?" he asked.

Childe was leaning against the doorframe, looking cool and wily, scrolling through his phone as he barely paid attention. "Bottom," he immediately said, thumb darting over the screen.

Zhongli blinked. "That was… a quick response. Alright then, I'll take the top."

Finally, Childe looked up. "Wait, what did you ask? You can't possibly be a top sorta-guy? Figured you'd prefer the bottom." It took a moment for his meaning to settle in, and then Zhongli's ears turned a brilliant pink. Childe chuckled and said, "I'm kidding. I'd rather be at the top actually. Less claustrophobic."

"Right, the top. I'll just—yes, alright then."

And then there was the day Zhongli walked in on Childe as he was changing. Tan and scarred skin from his years of playing Rugby; the glint of silver pierced through both nipples—

Zhongli is pretty sure that he aged thirty years that day (and fucked his hand for the first time in months).

Childe turns out to be the worst sort of distraction. Zhongli tries and fails to focus on his school work, his gaze slipping from his textbooks to across the room instead. Childe is chaotic, even when doing his university work. He yawns loudly, mutters to himself, and flips his pens and pencils around his fingers with an enviable deftness.

Zhongli does his best to not think about how nimble they'd be in other places.

Celestia above, he is unused to this. Liking another person. The pining and the lingering glances. But he can't help it, not with the way that Childe stretches his arms high and his shirt slips up revealing a square of toned stomach.

Zhongli promptly looks away, rubbing at his temple. He blames the fact that Childe is a little younger by a few years, and there's a certain appeal in the idea of wholly wrecking him.

At least there's a little luck on Zhongli's side: there isn't a chance in the Abyss that Childe likes him back. He's more preoccupied with whatever his flavor of the week is, fingers curled into their shirt, mouth next to their ear.

And, yeah, it stings a little, knowing that Childe would rather just bring home random dudes instead of just asking him—no, no, Zhongli doesn't think that. Childe has no reason to even consider him as a partner, let alone a fling, and Zhongli is better for it. He's more than used to coming back from class to find a sock on the door, he expects it. There's a seat in their dorm lobby with his butt permanently etched into it from the hours spent making himself scarce.

It's time well-worth studying. Zhongli definitely doesn't wish that maybe it were him that Childe looked at instead, or had in his bed. Nope. Not one bit (okay, more than a bit, it's a literal flood of want that leaves Zhongli swiveling awkwardly in the lobby chair, trying to hide a half-chub).

The thought of it is futile.

It's not like Childe is the type to properly date and settle down. That, Zhongli is perfectly sure of.

#

Childe sinks into his mattress, melting against the stiff sheets after a particularly rough day.

Rugby practice was brutal. He's pretty sure that he failed a math test. He went out to a bar and tried to enjoy himself, but no one took a bite at what he dangled before them. And now, Childe lays in his bed, deflated and defeated, and wholly unsatisfied. Energy thrums through his core, and he hates how on edge he feels. Not to mention Zhongli was already asleep by the time Childe slipped into their room, the lights out and the room dark.

Childe tries not to seem as pathetic as he often feels, but he likes to get at least one good look at Zhongli's face before he settles in for bed. Makes him dream of Zhongli instead which is the preferred kind of nightmare.

He sighs softly, resting his hand against his stomach. He lays on his back, staring at the dark ceiling trying to think. His brain is a mess, high alert and annoyed. This is exactly why he tried to find a guy to go home with; no strings attached sex is the best way to relieve all his stress.

Instead, he's left pining away for his roommate. Childe can hear the way that Aether always laughs at him, in the back of his mind, whenever Zhongli is concerned.

You know you can just tell him, right?

Absolutely not. Never in a thousand years. Childe isn't sure that he can take the rejection. It's an Archons-damned shame because Childe would probably murder someone just to press a single kiss to the six-pack he's got a few glimpses of.

Fuck, I'm pathetic, he thinks. Even more so when his cock twitches in his boxers. All it takes is a thought of Zhongli, and Childe is an absolute goner.

His hand slips lower, his nails scratching through the trail of hair that leads to his dick. I really shouldn't.

Oh, but he should. Zhongli is asleep, he'd never be the wiser. Childe can be quiet and quick enough to eke out an orgasm before falling blissfully asleep.

Childe's need to wet his dick wins out, and he slips his hand past the elastic of his boxers. The first touch of his calloused fingers against hard, hot flesh has him sighing. When he curls his palm about the head, he chokes on a breath. It takes no time at all for his length to fill out, dripping with precome. He pumps the shaft with his hand, but the friction leaves little to be desired aside from the satisfaction of something dragging over the skin.

He pauses and swallows thickly before reaching underneath his pillow. He can uncap the lube quietly. Zhongli is a pretty heavy sleeper, he thinks. It's, admittedly, hard to tell when Childe is on the top bunk, and Zhongli isn't the kind to take mid-day naps.

Childe decides to risk it, flipping open the cap with his thumb. The lube is cold against his palm, and even colder against his dick. Childe bites at his lip when he takes hold of his cock again, the wetness shocking his heated skin. But at least this way he can slide his hand easily, his fingers tugging and pulling at all the right spots. He isn't usually so gentle with himself; Childe has always liked it a little rough. But it's deep into the night and the room is unbearably silent, save for the soft puff of his breaths and the quiet, slick movements of his hand.

So, maybe this was a bad idea. Childe prays to Celestia that Zhongli sleeps like a rock because the wet glide of his hand practically screams in his ears, the slick slapping of sticky skin reverberating through their tiny dorm room. It's too late to stop now, though; he has to play it through to the end.

There is a surefire way to hurry it up. Childe moans softly, turning onto his side to muffle his face with the pillow. He thinks of how Zhongli might like to touch him. He's so prim and proper, and buttoned right up to the neck. Those sleek sweater vests that he likes to wear, and the button-downs with the crisp collars—Childe thinks that Zhongli might be clumsy with his touch, unused to it.

Maybe he'd grip a little too loosely, or be afraid to give Childe what he really wants. Childe is so besotted that anything would go. Zhongli could just watch him, and he'd be done in minutes, spilling over his hand at just the thought of Zhongli's palm wrapped around him. Or his eyes on him, or his voice whispering into his ear. Or all three.

"Fuck," murmurs Childe, unable to hold it back. Shit, he thinks. He's gotta rein it in, gotta remember that he isn't alone this time. He hasn't kicked out Zhongli and thrown a sock on the door. Childe is masturbating in the bunk above, thinking about the man sleeping below him, instead.

It's filthy. Filthier than it should be, at least. Childe feels like he's done worse in bed with others, but this is where he nearly draws the line. There's something about it that pricks the base of his neck. The exhilaration, and the potential of getting caught—mostly by his crush. What, is he twelve? Feels like that sometimes with the way that his dick twitches pathetically every time Zhongli gives him a small smile.

He sighs again, loosing a shaky breath.

What would Zhongli do? If he caught him, that is. If he woke up right then and found Childe jerking himself off.

Childe thinks of Zhongli's quiet, low timbre, and the way that he likes to drone on about nothing. Perhaps he'd narrate his actions, eyes half-lidded, his own trousers tented. Childe nearly scoffs at that. Fat chance.

Zhongli has never requested alone time during their entire time of sharing a room. Still, a man can dream.

Childe moves his hand quicker, squeezing at his cock as he bites back a groan. Instead, he imagines long and thin fingers, and the most perfect wrist bone of any living man. Childe grips at himself harder, tightening his fingers. It still isn't enough, the constrictive grip that he has on himself. Childe holds back a whimper, his cock aching, trying to find relief. It isn't enough, it—it should be.

He can move a little. He can't, the bed will shake.

Zhongli is asleep, though, and if Childe can get just a few quick thrusts into his hand, it'll be enough.

Childe throws all caution out the window and gently rolls his hips forward. He fucks into his hand with a soft and breathy little hiss. The friction has him seeing stars. Pleasure curls in his gut, threatening to snap. He's so close that he can nearly taste it.

"Zhongli," he breathes, deeming it worth the risk. The world's softest moan and the harsh, wet slap of his hand as his wrist meets his groin on every downstroke. "Shit, Zhongli, I'm—"

Childe comes all over his hand, and his mattress, a barely caught wheeze punching from his chest. There's an embarrassing amount, enough to have to pull off his boxers entirely to wipe himself clean. He sinks back into his sheets satiated, but nearly ashamed at his debased behavior.

Then, reality sinks in, and he smacks his forehead. He's masturbated to the thought of Zhongli more times than he can count, but never like this. And yes, he lets others fuck him, his eyes clamped tight as he dreams it was his roommate instead, but he's never—

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. Childe has it bad. Childe has it worse than he's ever considered before, and when he complains to Aether about it the next day at lunch, he'll have to gird his loins for the eternal teasing it'll bring.

Eventually, as his high levels out and his dick softens, Childe drifts to sleep in the aftermath of his hazy afterglow.

And, in the bunk below is a man who has his blanket pulled to his chin. There's an undeniable tent to the thin, scratchy material, right where his thighs meet his hips.

Zhongli was awake the entire time.