So, for all his talents and battle prowess in the world, Childe can be incredibly dumb.
For the sake of our friendship, he tells himself every time that he feels himself crumple underneath that golden-eyed stare. It's better this way. Easier. Less stress. No fuss, no muss.
Except that it's been nothing but fussing and stressing for ten years.
A decade, he's spent, avoiding the warm, curling feelings that live in his heart. A decade of ignoring the warmth of Zhongli's fingers when he reaches out, or that kind, affectionate laugh when they share tea. They still eat their meals together, they've worn spots into the seats at Wanmin Restaurant. The locals know that it is their place.
And yet.
Childe remains woefully alone despite all his love for Zhongli, former Archon-turned-retired-God, and funeral consultant. He spends his days watching him from afar and pining, pushing down the heat that still blooms in his chest like he's a damn teenager.
"Pathetic," says Xiangling as she drops his plate before him, leveling him with an all-too-knowing stare. And then, she turns to Zhongli and says, "You too."
Zhongli blinks, his chopsticks held aloft with the sort of grace that Childe envies. "I'm sorry?"
Xiangling sighs, exasperated, and then shoots Childe another look. At least you know, it says. Childe resists the urge to shoot her a rude gesture.
"Don't listen to her," says Childe when she bounds off. "She's just being… well, you know. Herself."
Zhongli chuckles softly. "I certainly won't complain. Lunch today is as good as it ever is. She never fails, does she?" He then gets off topic, droning on about something most would find boring.
Childe picks and pushes at his food, better with chopsticks now that he's practiced with them for so long. Zhongli's voice is low and grounding, and even though the pining can hurt, Childe melts into it, finding the comfort he so desperately craves.
#
Childe is still the Eleventh Harbinger and still stationed in Liyue. When he isn't coming and going, handling the Tsaritsa's dubious requests, he finds himself killing time by taking on commissions for the Adventurer's Guild. Anything to calm the taint that roars in his veins, anything to expel all that extra energy, thoughts, and feelings.
Zhongli doesn't always come along, but when he does, it's awkward. Childe loves it, sure, but it's awkward. His tender heart can only take so much longing in a day, let alone over the years. The worst part is that Zhongli is oblivious, not that Childe tries to make it apparent. He doesn't, but he doesn't think he's good at hiding it considering how everyone gives him the side eye. Like Xiangling.
"What are we looking for again?"
Childe turns to find Zhongli standing in the copse of trees, thumbing his chin. "Treasure Hoarder camp. Something about how they're bothering locals. You know how I don't like that."
Zhongli gives him a sly look. "Because you prefer to be the one bothering locals."
"Naturally." Zhongli means it as a tease, though Childe's job is still cracking heads over loans for the Northland bank. He just… cracks fewer heads, these days, taking a more benign approach. Blames it on getting old. "There are tracks here, but I don't see signs of a camp. To the west?"
"Worst that we can do is backtrack," says Zhongli. "It's not as though they'll disappear."
So, they head west, knocking shoulders together as they push through the brush. Zhongli chatters away as he always does, Childe listening and wishing. Dreaming. Something.
He has no time for relationships. Too tricky with his work, too dangerous. Not to mention he doesn't want to risk his friendship with Zhongli. Not worth it, he thinks. He repeats it, an ever-present mantra seared into his brain.
And then, Child feels it. A whisper of the Abyss. He pauses, head snapping to the east, body high alert as his gaze narrows. There is no denying it. He tastes it, the stench, the poison, the swell of the Abyss—
"Childe?"
"Shh," hisses Childe, holding a hand out. Zhongli wisely does as he says. "The Abyss. It's—"
"I should have known better than to think that I could hide from you, I suppose."
Childe snaps to attention, Hydro blades already forming at his fingertips. "You're—"
"Bored," says the Abyss Lector that stands not ten paces to the right of them, glowing with simmering Pyro. He sighs dramatically. "Look, I'll level with you—I was sent here to do weird and wild abyssal things, but then I got distracted by the two of you—"
"Distracted?" cuts in Zhongli, his head tilted to the side.
"With all the dancing around the two of you do? Yes. I always thought the Traveler was over-exaggerating, but it seems as though you are truly that insufferable—"
"Insufferable?" Childe laughs.
"Are you going to keep interrupting me?"
Zhongli waits until the Lector is finished this time. "You mentioned the Traveler," he prompts.
"Ah, yes. We're old friends. Er…acquaintances? I think we're friends, but who knows what they would say. Not the point though—the point is that I can't get any work done with all the weird vibes the two of you are throwing out. Makes it impossible to concentrate on doing mildly dubious things."
Zhongli's brow furrows. "What do you mean?"
Childe has never seen an Abyss Lector roll his eyes, but he's almost certain that the overly dramatic tossing of his head is pretty close. The Lector waves vaguely between the two of them. "Have you ever just…considered kissing?"
"Kissing what?" Oh, Gods, Zhongli is clueless, and that adorably crinkled expression on his face does nothing to help the situation.
Childe takes a step forward. "Hey, that's enough of that—"
"Oho," says the Lector, his glowing eyes narrowing into amused slits. "Oh, this is…Yes, I see now. The Traveler's frustration when it comes to you, and dare I say anyone who comes within ten feet. You can cut the sexual tension with a knife—"
"That's enough of that," cuts in Childe, trying to steer the conversation anywhere but there.
"I'll tell you what." The Lector grins—or, at least as much as he can—chuckling lightly. "I shall offer you my wholly unsolicited help with the hope that maybe the two of you can finally figure… that out. Or fuck it out. Really, you won't have much of a choice."
Zhongli looks absolutely flabbergasted. Before Childe can even think about going on the defensive, the Lector throws a hand out, Abyssal energy swirling around his fingers.
"Don't think of it so much as a curse," says the Lector conversationally, "but more like a nudge in the right direction."
"I wouldn't trust a word you say—"
The Lector tuts, then. "I have no reason to lie. I could've killed you. And yes, even you, Mister Retired Archon. As they say, old age is when you put the pounds on, right? I'd kill for your metabolism though. Ugh."
A tingle sets in at the top of Childe's neck and creeps down his spine with an icy chill. But, aside from that—nothing. There isn't the burning of Pyro, or the searing agony of Abyssal Taint. Only a mild tingle that settles right at the small of his back.
"Odd," murmurs Zhongli, his brow creased.
"What did you do?" asks Childe.
"Me? Oh, just a little something that I like to call encouragement."
Zhongli thumbs his chin. "Oh?"
"And don't worry, I'll throw you a bone before I leave. Some clear-cut advice, and a warning that you should heed well: Just go ahead and fuck those frustrations out, otherwise the consequences might be more dire than you expect."
Childe blinks. "How dire?"
"What's a life-or-death situation for a guy like you?" The space around the Lector swirls then, a gate opening in the air. "Ta-ta for now," he says with a laugh, taking a step back and winking out of existence.
#
The cold tingling turns into a mild burning sensation. Similar to rug burn, like when Anton would drag Childe across the floor of their house growing up by the leg. He rubs at the spot to no avail.
As time wears on, it worsens. They wander through the brush with no direction in mind, both of them pretending that they're alright. The mild burning then becomes an itch, and Childe knows that scratching it won't fix it.
He's embarrassed—embarrassed. He's red in the face because his cock twitches like he's a fucking teenager, and his hole clenches. All he can think about is what Zhongli's dick might look like, and that it'd definitely satisfy that damned itch that's settled right near his tailbone.
He looks at Zhongli, thinking it might satisfy his fantasy for a moment.
Except that Zhongli isn't the unflappable Mister Zhongli, anymore. He's pink-faced, nostrils flaring. Sweat beads along his brow. He's pulled his gloves off, sticking a finger into his collar to tug at it slightly.
It's the oddest thing Childe has ever seen. Zhongli isn't a man who loses his composure, he's the most unruffled man that Childe has ever met.
"Wow, the Traveler wasn't joking were they? You aren't just stubborn, the two of you are absolute boneheads. Why don't you just get on with it and make out already?"
Childe groans at the unwelcome voice, slapping a hand against his face.
But it's Zhongli who speaks first. "What is it that you've done to us? And why?"
The Lector sits on a massive tree root, one leg crossed over the over, hands folded on his knee. "Well, I thought that I was having fun, but there's no entertainment if the two of you don't do anything."
"Get on with it," Childe snaps, dragging a hand through his hair.
"Sheesh." The Lector leans back as though Childe is now rabid. "Leash him, won't you? He'd probably like it." Then the Lector leers between the two of them. "No, he'd definitely—"
"My patience is wearing thin, and despite your earlier joke, retirement has had little effect on my prowess when it comes to battle."
Childe has never heard Zhongli sound so irritated in the entirety that they've known each other, and it's pathetic how his cock twitches in response.
"My, my, watch that temper." The lector taps at his chin with a long, clawed finger. "I pity the both of you, which is why I tried to help. And, I'm not ashamed to admit I'm a bit of a voyeur when I'm in the mood—"
"Just spit it out already," yells Childe, his voice loud in the lush forest. "I'm dying here."
The Lector snorts. "Why yes, you are."
Childe's brain short circuits. "What—"
Zhongli darts across the clearing, slamming the Lector back against the root, hand pressed against his throat. His hands are obsidian black from where they peek out of his sleeves, glittering with Geo. "You mocked my temper," he says, leaning against him, "which I'll let slide. But you will not threaten him."
"Too late," says the Lector in a choking gasp. "But lay off, will you? I'll take pity and explain."
Zhongli seems to realize just what he's done and pulls back as though he's been burned. "I—my apologies, I have no idea what came over me—"
"Zhongli, he's a bad guy—"
"Hey, now, I take offense to that. You could at least call me evil. Give credit where credit is due, yeah?"
Zhongli grunts, dragging a hand through his hair, tugging the strands from where it's tied back. "On with it," he says, his voice wavering slightly.
"Either you fuck, or you die."
Childe gapes at him. Zhongli's face turns an impressive shade of red.
The Abyss Lector clears his throat as he sits back up properly. "A simple curse. Takes surprisingly little effort. Just a hand wave and—" He waves a hand as though to prove his point. "You've held off with surprising strength. I thought for sure this one over here would have jumped your bones by now." He thumbs at Childe.
Zhongli's brow creases. "Childe would never—"
Childe laughs. He bursts into laughter as he rubs at his face, doing his best to figure out what the absolute fuck is going on. Oh, the absurdity of it all. Childe is a fucking moron. His dick got them into this mess.
The Lector tosses his head back slightly. "See? He's got it bad for you, so I thought I'd pull a few strings and whammo."
"And if we don't…" Zhongli trails off, unable to meet Childe's gaze.
"Oh yeah, it's death. Like real death. Big-time afterlife, gone before you know it. Honestly, you should be thanking me. There's another Lector who likes to make her victims eat gross things. At least I'm letting you get pleasure out of it—"
"For Celestia's sake, will you shut up?" Childe's voice is hoarse as he says it.
The Lector sighs but does as he's asked. "Look, here's how it works." He makes a ring with one hand and then shoves the pointer finger of his other right through it. And then he repeats the motion. "Are we clear? Do you need a more thorough explanation because I'm more than willing to talk you through the entire process if need be."
"That will be quite alright," says Zhongli, his voice a dark and unearthly calm. He stands straight, tugging at his collar again. "I think that we understand."
The Lector huffs as the air around him swirls as it did earlier. "Idiots, the both of you," he says before disappearing without a trace.
Childe risks a glance at Zhongli who watches him back. "Childe," he starts.
"Let's keep going."
Zhongli's jaw clenches. "Childe," he tries again.
"Onward march, right? I think I read that somewhere." Oh god, he's babbling. Anything to ignore the tightness in his chest, and the pain in his trousers.
Zhongli looks as though he's about to protest, but then he sighs softly and motions towards the edge of the clearing. "After you," he says.
Easier said than done, but Childe's worst quality is that he's stubborn to a fault.
#
Eventually, they cannot keep going.
Eventually, the ache in Childe's trousers isn't just an ache anymore, it's a sort of pain that makes him grind his teeth. It isn't just his dick, it's everything. He feels empty, wrong, destitute, even. He breathes with dragging breaths, two seconds away from begging Zhongli to get over it and dick him down.
Because even if it's too late, he'll die a happy man at least.
They pause in another clearing, the curse finally taking its toll on them.
Zhongli isn't faring well. He's pulled not only his overcoat off, but his shirt as well, dumping them to the ground a mile back. Childe's gaze lingers as it washes over the pale skin of his chest, and where it bleeds into black at the juncture of his shoulder.
Fuck. Childe wants to know what it's like to be fucked by a god. But more than that, he wants to know what it's like to be fucked by Zhongli because he—
No, no, that'll just make this more complicated than it needs to be.
It shouldn't be simple, he thinks. Just tell Zhongli that he's cool with fucking against a tree. Or the ground. Or however, Zhongli would prefer.
Zhongli moves first, boxing Childe against the smooth bark of a tree. "Childe, I don't want to—"
"Die? Yeah, I don't want to either."
"No, that isn't…" Zhongli loses his train of thought when Childe drags a hand down his side. He hisses softly, a whistling sound as he buries his face in the crook of Childe's neck.
They don't move for an excruciatingly long moment, and Childe thinks that maybe he could die happy like this too, just pressed close enough to feel Zhongli's weight against him, to smell that scent of the rich earth.
But then desperation fills him, and his cock wins.
"I have to," says Childe, dropping to his knees before Zhongli can stop him, pressing him against the tree.
"Childe—"
"No, no, I have to." Childe presses his cheek to Zhongli's groin, fingers tight against the thick material of his trousers.
"We'll die if you don't." Zhongli's voice is surprisingly quiet.
"Yeah, but that's not—" Childe groans, frustrated. "Zhongli, I want to. I've wanted to for years. I need to, and not because of some dumb curse, but because I'm going to go crazy if I don't." When he looks up at him, Zhongli watches him back through a half-lidded, golden-eyed gaze.
Childe watches as he swallows, his throat bobbing. "Please, Zhongli," he says. "Please," he begs.
Zhongli closes his eyes, nostrils flaring. His head tips back as he thinks about his life choices, and Childe watches, his breath held. Zhongli slips a hand into his hair, tugging gently at his unruly auburn curls. "You'll be the death of me," he mutters, "I've always thought so, but this—"
"And if I told you that I love you?"
Childe doesn't mean to say it. It slips out before he can stop it, against his better judgment, against all judgment. Zhongli halts, gaping at him. Childe feels so very exposed under that unearthly stare that is as still as stone itself.
"What if I told you that I've loved you for years? For a decade? That every night I go to bed, thinking about you, wishing and dreaming that I wasn't too much of a coward to let myself have you."
Zhongli cups his chin, smoothing his thumb across his bottom lip. Then he tugs Childe's face to the bulge in his trousers, silent acquiescence to Childe's bold request. Childe doesn't think his confession has gone ignored. Zhongli's entire demeanor has changed from the way that he stands there rigidly, to the gentleness of his touch.
To how his cock twitches underneath the thick fabric of his clothing when Childe noses along the length of it.
Childe paws at him, undoing the fly with surpising deftness despite the heated pressure that fills him. Zhongli's trousers are tugged down, just past the swell of his ass. Oh, thinks Childe when he looks. His mouth goes dry like a desert and he licks his lips.
Zhongli's cock tips out, long and thick, dripping at the tip. "Fuck," murmurs Childe, much to Zhongli's embarrassment. He's red in the face but doesn't break eye contact.
Childe doesn't either, reaching out to curl his fingers around the shaft. Smooth and hot, like silk. Zhongli immediately bucks into his grasp, seeking out friction. Childe smirks before leaning in, pressing a kiss right to the base of it where it meets his groin.
"Childe," says Zhongli, tugging at his hair.
He is ignored when Childe kisses the base of his cock next. Down the length, his lips soft as they drag across it. Zhongli sighs, his head slamming back against the tree. And then—two hands against his face, thumbs rubbing over his cheeks as his mouth is guided back to the tip of Zhongli's cock.
Zhongli says his name again, his own sort of plea when it slips from his mouth in a rush.
Childe swallows him down, stretching his lips wide around the crown of his dick.
"Oh," murmurs Zhongli, petting through his bangs. Childe hums around him as he slips down his length further, taking Zhongli's cock deeper. "Oh, that's—" Zhongli moans, low and deep, the sound seemingly punched right from his gut. "Childe."
It's addicting, the way that Zhongli says his name. Childe soaks up the deep timbre straight into his soul. Zhongli's cock sits heavy on his tongue, tasting of sweat, smelling of the earth and him. Childe groans, his tongue pressed flat against the underside as he begins to bob along the length, jerking what he can't reach with his hand.
Zhongli whines, a pitiful sound that's strange coming from him. His grip tightens on Childe's hair as he does his best to not fuck into his mouth.
"Come on," says Childe when he pulls off, swirling his tongue around the tip, lapping at the precome that leaks freely. "You can fuck my mouth."
"Childe, I—"
"I want you to," he says dreamily. Childe's thought about it. Imagined it. Fucked himself on his own fingers, thinking about it. Zhongli's cock is as perfect as he imagined, and he wants to feel it pressed into his mouth so deep that he's suffocating around it.
Zhongli looks hesitant. But oh, he wants it. He drags a thumb across Childe's lip, considering for a moment before pressing the tip of his cock back to his mouth. Childe swallows him down immediately, cheeks hollowed out as he slips further and further until his nose hits skin.
"Gods," says Zhongli, "look at you." He bucks deeper, the tip of his dick kissing the back of Childe's throat. "You've wanted this." It is a statement, not a question. Childe finds himself moaning around him, nodding as he squeezes Zhongli's thighs.
Come on.
Zhongli thrusts into his mouth shallowly, and Childe sputters, even though he expects him. He is treated to the slow rolling of hips. His cock spreads Childe's lips wide, which must be a sight to behold because Zhongli can't stop staring, cradling his face carefully as he fucks it.
Childe moans loudly, whimpering around his length. His own tent in his pants, and he grinds his palm against himself, trying to relieve something, anything. Tears prick the corners of his eyes, and his nose is a snotty mess. He drools, slurping around Zhongli's dick as it bruises his throat. He sputters around him, choking slightly, eyes blurring with the lack of oxygen.
It's perfect. He loves this, loves Zhongli, loves—
Zhongli pulls out of his mouth suddenly, and Childe falls against him. Then he's tugged to his feet, and before he can say anything, Zhongli grasps him by the chin and kisses him.
Teeth clash, clacking together in fevered haste. Zhongli drags his hands down his sides, clawing at his clothes, trying to pull them off. Childe laughs against him, helping, his trousers falling to the ground in a limp pile. Zhongli's tongue slips into his mouth, far too long to be human.
Childe pulls back, eyes wide. Zhongli's pupils are blown, the gold of his eyes barely visible. Geo swirls around them and his edges seem to blur. He presses a hand against Zhongli's chest, over his collarbone, to where his shoulder is, marveling at how soft the skin is.
"Are you losing yourself?"
Zhongli presses his face into the crook of Childe's neck, inhaling deeply. He nips at his throat with teeth that are no longer blunt. "You punish me with your words," he says, lapping at his skin, sucking a bruising mark there. Childe holds his face there, encouraging him for more. He wants to be marked for days, wants to see those spots dark against his skin in the mirror.
"What, the teasing?"
"You said you love me."
Oh. Oh, oh, oh. Childe swallows thickly, pulling Zhongli's head back.
Only to find a version of him that's more dragon than not, horns crowning his head, and scales dotting his cheeks. Childe raises a hand to feel them, their hardness biting into his skin as he drags a thumb around the angled corners. Zhongli nuzzles against his hand, eyes slipping closed as he soaks up the touch.
"Ajax," he says next, whispering it so softly that Childe almost misses it, "You said that you love me. I cannot express… you cannot fathom how long I've wanted to—" Zhongli's eyes open, revealing narrowly slit pupils.
Zhongli must have been afraid of this, of what he might turn into. Of how he'd struggle to rein in these instincts that go haywire.
"Gods, just fuck me already. We can talk about that later when we aren't dying."
Zhongli grunts at that but turns Childe around nonetheless. Childe knows him well enough that this isn't how Zhongli wants to do this. He'd rather wine and dine him, and then bring him back home. Probably make love in his bed, instead of fucking Childe hard against the tree—but they have little choice.
"Come on," says Childe, his stomach curdling slightly as desire threatens to burn him right down to his core.
Zhongli plasters himself across his back, pulling Childe's ass flush to his groin, grinding his cock against him. Childe leans against the tree, the bark biting into his palms. His breath hitches when Zhongli's hand dips low, his thumb dipping between his asscheeks and grazing his hole.
The touch is gone far too soon. Childe whines, bucking back. Zhongli shushes him, holding out his hand. "Hydro," he says simply. Expectantly. Childe has enough brains left to wet his head with viscous slick.
It's embarrassing, that Zhongli looks. How he stares, his asscheek pulled to the side with one hand, the thumb of his other just barely pressing against that tight furl of muscle. Then it slips into the first knuckle. And then the second. Zhongli hooks it slightly, tugging at Childe's rim, pulling it out, and pressing it back in, watching all the while.
As accustomed as Childe is to fucking himself, it's different with another person. It's different with Zhongli, who pulls his thumb out, only to slide in two fingers right back in. Longer, more dexterous, and able to work with the odd angle. Zhongli spreads them wide as he coaxes Childe's ass open, leaning close to whisper against his ear.
"I don't think it should be this easy," he teases.
Childe moans, shuddering as warm breath puffs against his ear. "I—"
"Tell me, Ajax, how often do you press your fingers into yourself? Is it always to the thought of me?"
"Yes," hisses Childe. He presses back against his hand, fucking against his fingers. He moans when Zhongli slips in a third, spreading the slick around and slipping them deep. "Oh, fuck, that's—Archons, there."
Zhongli huffs softly when his fingers hook just right, pressing against his prostate. He bullies it, dragging them across the bundle of nerves with frightening accuracy. Childe's cock is as hard as it can get, hanging between his legs. It twitches, begging for a little more, begging for release.
Which is why it's cruel when Zhongli pulls his fingers out.
"No, no, no—"
"Shh," soothes Zhongli into his ear. "Hydro," he requests once more, holding out a finely boned hand. Once wet, he slicks his cock, pressing the tip to Childe's hole.
Childe clenches with anticipation. "Relax for me," says Zhongli, kissing his neck, nuzzling the soft skin as he presses in slowly.
He feels the stretch in his gut. Childe's thighs tremble as he tries to hold himself up against the tree, Zhongli's cock slowly filling him. Thick enough to feel in his throat. Long enough to wonder if he'll feel empty when Zhongli pulls out. Childe whimpers when Zhongli bottoms out, groaning softly against his ear, holding Childe's hips flush against him.
"Ajax, you feel—"
"Please move." Childe squirms against him, and Zhongli's grip against his hips tightens, claws digging into his skin hard enough to leave marks. "I'm begging you, please just fuck me."
Zhongli is a pleaser. He kisses the back of Childe's neck before pulling out until just the tip is left inside. When he thrusts back in, it isn't gentle. His hips smack against Childe's ass with fevered haste. His claws grip at him tighter, drawing blood.
Childe doesn't care. Childe moans loudly, unabashedly, his embarrassment having evaporated the moment Zhongli's dick filled him. "Gods," he murmurs, nails scratching against the tree, struggling to meet the roll of Zhongli's hips as he tries to hold himself up on wobbly legs. "Fuck, you're—"
Zhongli fucks him quickly, his cock dragging across his prostate with pinpoint accuracy. Childe's cock leaks down his thighs, dripping onto the ground. Pleasure curls in his gut, boiling now with every punch against his sensitive insides.
"Fuck." Childe doesn't think he's ever heard Zhongli curse. "Ajax, you're perfect," he says against his hair, his voice hoarse. Zhongli ruts against him like a man starved, like he didn't know what he was missing, like he couldn't fathom that Childe would have wanted this.
"So good, so full, so—so—" Childe's words bleed away as his orgasm creeps up on him. He might've cursed the Abyss and the Lector before this, but now he's cursing himself for not insisting upon this sooner. His fingers will never be the same, it'll have to be Zhongli and his cock. Only him, for more reasons than just one.
It ruins Childe, all of it. The feel of him, plastered against his back. The way that he can taste the Geo that swirls around them on his tongue. The quiet, dirty praise whispers into his ear, things that the proper Mister Zhongli would be mortified to admit.
"I love you too," says Zhongli then, his thrusts slowing to a crawl to grind into him deep.
Childe comes, the confession doing him it, his ass squeezing around Zhongli's dick like a vice grip. Zhongli moans, biting at his earlobe, tugging at it with his sharp teeth. He starts to thrust again, fucking Childe through his orgasm, beyond the point of overstimulation.
"Yes," cries out Childe. "Yes, yes—" He chokes on his words. Tears prick his eyes again and everything becomes blurry. His chest is tight because Zhongli loves him, he loves him too. And he believes it because Zhongli treats him like he's precious with the way that he slides his cock in as deep as it can go.
When Zhongli comes, Childe can feel himself filled, wet warmth painting his insides. He moans at the thought of it, of Zhongli's cock dragging through his ass, his come settling deep.
Childe collapses against the tree, legs tired and knees sore. Zhongli loops an arm around his waist to hold him up, whispering praise against the meat of his shoulder.
And just like that, the fire of the curse that burns through them is gone. This time, when Childe moans, it's due to the soreness that begins to seep deep into his being. "Gods, I don't think I've ever been so tired."
Zhongli laughs against him, scratching through his hair. And then— "A moment," he says as he pulls out.
Childe whines with the loss of Zhongli's cock. His ass feels as empty as he thought it would.
Zhongli procures a teapot from thin air, likely some strange adeptus ability that Childe has never seen before. It's old and a little cracked, but looks well-loved. Childe feels the power that pours from it.
"You have a—"
"I don't often use it, admittedly." He sets his Serenitea Pot onto the ground.
Childe looks around, looking for the insufferable Abyss Lector. "What about…"
"I don't think he'll bother us." Zhongli lifts Childe's hand and kisses his knuckles. "And if he does, he is a fool to think that I am a slouch in my retirement."
"You love me too," says Childe, wonder slipping into his tone. He never thought he would, actually. "I thought you were too practical to make such a dumb choice."
Zhongli grins against his hand and pulls back. "I suppose that I am senile, then." Another kiss to Childe's knuckles. "We should talk, though."
"After a nap. Preferably a naked one."
#
Later, after a warm bath and airing out old and out-of-date clothing, Childe and Zhongli find themselves wrapped in slightly musty silk sheets.
"He was right, you know," says Zhongli, conversationally. "He could have cursed us with worse."
"Didn't he say that he was friends with the Traveler? Did they complain, or something?"
Zhongli contemplates the idea for a moment. "Looking back… suddenly, the aggravation of our peers makes more sense."
"He was right about us being idiots, though."
"What is the mortal adage?" Zhongli then asks. "Better late than never?"
It's the hardest that Childe has laughed in years.
