Zhongli whimpers, squirming in Childe's lap, legs trembling.

"You're trembling," says Childe, dipping close to press his nose into Zhongli's sweaty nape. He licks a stripe, tasting the tang of his skin, salty-sweet coating his tongue.

"I'm—I'm—" Zhongil chokes off a moan, biting his bottom lip.

Childe shushes him. Smoothes his hands down Zhongli's nimble sides, one slipping just underneath his thick tailored overcoat to tease his stomach. The other falls lower, curving around a naked hip before digging his nails into supple flesh.

"Quiet now, otherwise Ekaterina will hear, and the door to my office isn't locked."

Zhongli knows that, so his next moan is softer, clipped short as he tries to bite it down. He wriggles and Childe's grip tightens against him.

"You've got to keep still." A honeyed sentence that drips into Zhongli's ear, dragging a groan from deep in his throat. Childe would bottle that sound up and drink it for dessert, thick and cloying on his tongue. "Otherwise things might get hard for me."

Literally. His cock is only half-filled, pressed deep into Zhongli's tight ass. Hot and slick, writhing insides—Zhongli tries his best to hold himself steady as he sits in Childe's lap, warming his dick. Childe is not immune. His breath hitches slightly and sweat beads on his brow. He manages to focus on his paperwork despite being caught by pleasure, wrapped in it, swaddled as though it's a blanket.

Zhongli whines, a soft and breathy sound. It gurgles, tumbling from his lips as his fingers scrabble against the rough wooden grain of Childe's desk.

Childe pauses, nostrils flaring. He presses his forehead against the back of Zhongli's neck, resting it against the top knob of his spine. "Zhongli," murmurs, another warning. "Still," he says firmly. A command, still warm and loving, affectionate in the way that it curls about Zhongli's being.

Zhongli shudders against him but nods. His fingers dig deeper into the wood, worrying marks into the edge, sharper than normal nails scratching over the surface, tracing and cutting into old marks of his.

It was supposed to be a tease, mostly for Zhongli. They'd done this song and dance before, Zhongli's face at his navels and knees smarting against the floor. There is a pillow for this specific purpose to cushion those old and ancient joints as Zhongli swallows Childe's cock into his wet mouth, moaning softly as he just holds it there.

And then Zhongli floats blissfully, caught between his legs, cheek resting against the thick of Childe's thigh. Childe will work, pen scratching across paper with one hand, the other petting Zhongli's hair, lulling him to rest.

They do not usually opt for this method, Zhongli half-naked from the waist down, settled into Childe's lap, filled to the brim with his half-hard cock. Zhongli is so easily stimulated. It takes nothing for him to tip over the edge over and over and over because there is no end when it comes to the adepti and their unwavering sex drives.

Zhongli is red in the face, sighing as he leans back against Childe's chest. He rolls his hips enough for Childe to drop his paper. To stop reading. To dig his fingers into his hip bone, dragging him to a halt. "Zhongli," he warns.

"So long," says Zhongli. "Too long," he continues, hips wavering slightly. Childe groans, his cock filling out more and more. He can't stop bucking against him, slipping in deeper, carving into Zhongli's plush insides. "Childe, I want—"

"A little more," coaxes Childe, thinking of his Pulcinella, naked, laying about. Anything to kill his aching erection. It eases enough for his focus to come back. "I have paperwork, baobei—" Zhongli hisses at the term of endearment, "—but be good for a little while longer and I'll give you what you want."

Zhongli says nothing, just loosing a pitiful sound. Childe lifts a hand, tugging his face towards him. "Husband," he says, smoothing his thumb over the soft line of Zhongli's bottom lip, "Mate. Do you hear me?"

"Yes—"

"And will you be good for me?"

"Yes." This time, a hiss, low and gutteral, the sort of sound that sinks into Childe's gut, stoking the flame.

Childe swallows. His throat bobs as he takes a second to ground himself. Zhongli smells like cedar and sandalwood, like the sand at Yaoguang Shoal, like the rich earth of Qingce Village. It's enough. Just barely. Childe turns back to his work and though the words bleed together on the parchment, he manages to read through them and make his notations.

Zhongli sits still, leaning back against him. He bites his lip, holding in a moan. His fingers twitch but he doesn't touch his own cock. He wants to, though, Childe can tell. Zhongli's ass tightens around his dick, reflecting his wants and needs.

But Zhongli is good—he's so good as Childe does his best to ignore it.

When his work is done, Childe takes his time stacking his papers and tidying his desk. Pens away in the drawer, the inkwell stoppered, every file in perfect order so when Ekaterina comes to complain later, she'll have no leg to stand on.

He shifts, his cock grinding deeper and Zhongli gasps. Cheeks weeks and eyelids teared. Fingers wearing tracks into the desk he clips his curse, muttering it lowly under his breath. "Ajax." A quiet plea, his patience beyond having been worn thin.

Childe chuckles and kisses the side of his neck. One hand presses flat against Zhongli's stomach, feeling the way that his muscles tense and shift. He opens his mouth to speak but Zhongli cuts him off. "If you say patience one more time—" A huff, breath whistling through his teeth. "I've been patient. You are done so fuck me."

Zhongli moves, rolling his hips, sliding up until just the tip of Childe's cock remains before falling, taking him deep in one fell swoop. The intent is clear. This will not be love-making—Zhongli is beyond the point of something loving and sweet, he's desperate to be man-handled, fucked, and filled.

Childe shoves him forward until Zhongli is lying prostrate against his desk, chest pressed against those papers he so carefully stacked. He takes Zhongli by the hips, fingers curling around the grooves of the bone there. The perfect fit, thin and wispy, easy to hold onto.

Zhongli hisses in pleasure, already bucking back against him, already trying to shove Childe's cock in as deep as it'll go.

Childe dips low, mouth near his ear. "Have you forgotten?" he asks, licking the shell of it. "We have to keep quiet otherwise we'll get an earful from Katya." One arm scoops around to press his fingers into Zhongli's mouth. He sucks them right in, worrying his tongue across the joints, moaning around them as they press his tongue flat.

And then they move, harsh thrusts of Childe's cock, the slap slap of slick, wet skin. Zhongli keens, the sound of it muffled as his canines prick Childe's knuckles. Childe fucks in quickly, fast and sharp, the head of his cock sweeping over the damned bundle of nerves that makes Zhongli's toes curl.

Zhongli holds on to the desk, the wood creaking under his inhuman grip. His chest slides against it, making a mess of the paperwork, paper and parchment crinkling underneath. The inkwell spills, liquid black staining everything about, including Zhongli's palm.

The only thing is the two of them. The hot, tight heat of Zhongli's ass, gripping Childe's cock, pulling him deep. How his rim is stretched loose, pinked and puffy around his length. Zhongli's hole clings to it, but his insides giveaway, soft and inviting. Childe loses himself as he fucks him deep, balls slapping against Zhongli's with every thrust.

Zhongli meets every movement, every rut. He cries out his name, whimpering curses, muffled by Childe's fingers. His cock twitches, hanging heavy below him, aching and aching with the promise of release.

"I want you to come on my cock alone," hisses Childe against Zhongli's sweat-slick skin. "You've been so good for me, warming my cock as I worked. Come on, baobei," his mouth curls around the endearment uttered in his terrible accent, but Zhongli loves it judging by the way he clenches.

Childe comes first, pulled over the edge by the sight of Zhongli stretched wide and thin below him. He grinds in deep, filling Zhongli up, spilling hot into his ass. Zhongli fucks back, wringing him dry, begging and begging for more. One, two, three, and he's coming too, spending himself all over Childe's desk. Paints his work white and sticky.

The room falls quiet save their heavy breathing. Childe slips from Zhongli's ass. "Gods," he murmurs, pulling an asscheek aside to look. Zhongli's hole is gaping, slick, pink insides on display as his seed dribbles down the smooth skin of Zhongli's perineum and thighs.

Perfection, utter, pristine perfection. Childe sighs gently, pressing his fingers to his rim, smoothing his fingers over the swollen edges, and Zhongli whines, eagerly fucking against them. Insatiable. They don't clean up and Childe leaves himself a note to give Ekaterina a bonus before Zhongli whisks them away into his old and cracked teapot.

"Darling," says Zhongli once they're stowed away, properly hidden. His thighs are still slick with Childe's semen. "Breed me," he continues. It is not a question but a demand, one that pulls Childe right back into that hazy, lustful pleasure that boils hot in his gut.

"Yes," he says, kissing him sweetly, blindly fumbling for the door handle of the bedroom. "Yes."