It's been a while but the strain in his muscles is so fucking worth it.

Childe was born for this kind of thing, his blood on fire and his heart beating wildly. The lance in his hand feels as natural as it did decades ago, still comfortable despite how he lacks those callouses nowadays.

"Come on," he says with a feral grin.

Zhongli stands opposite him, his composure calm as always. But then— there it is, just the barest hint of a smirk. No one else would ever be able to tell.

Childe isn't just anyone.

"Ajax." Zhongli's voice is unwavering and calm. "The only thing keeping you up is adrenaline."

Childe hates that he's right and refuses to give in, so he goads him instead. "One more," he says, softer this time. Not nearly as haughty. "Indulge me."

Zhongli can't say no to that falsely saccharine tone, and so he moves. He's there one moment and gone the next. Childe barely has the chance to block the blow.

"You're much slower now." Zhongli's voice is near his ear, his breath warm. "Surely a great Harbinger such as yourself wouldn't have gotten so rusty."

"Retired, I'll remind you, just as you love to say about yourself," says Childe in a clipped tone, "And like you're one to talk. I saw that limp. Prime of the Adepti my ass, more like out of his prime—"

Zhongli trips him so easily, but Childe lets himself tumble. Their fight is as good as over and they both know it. They're too old and beaten to go more than a few rounds, even if Zhongli is in far better shape just by being immortal. Turns out that while hardy, Adepti age just as readily at a certain point, and Zhongli is pushing seven thousand years.

Childe would rather give in now when he's still in a good mood than later when he's too tired and sore to do anything. Zhongli presses him into the soft grass, pinning him down.

"What about that crick in your neck this morning?" asks Zhongli, eyes glittering with amusement. "I was surprised when you asked for a spar."

The training yard is quiet, just like the rest of the Serenitea Pot. There's only the two of them for what feels like miles. Childe lets himself relax as he reaches up and tugs at Zhongli's collar. "Felt like it. Old thoughts and all that. Set my blood boiling."

"Hm." Zhongli ducks near his ear. "There are other ways to settle such things than beating each other up. Far more preferable methods."

"Sue me for wanting both, then. Call up Yanfei and I'll draft the paperwork right now, oh—"

Zhongli presses a hand against his tented trousers and Childe falls quiet, his legs already spreading to allow him closer. Zhongli can't help the soft chuckle that rises from his throat. "Eager as always. Easy to please."

"You've had a long time to figure it out."

Decades, they've been together; decades that Childe never thought he'd have because the life of a Harbinger was always muted and unreliable. He resigned himself to dying young and reckless, so the fact that he's still kicking surprises him still.

Not that he's complaining.

Zhongli's gaze softens as he looks down at him. His hand shifts, dragging up his front instead before settling against Childe's heart, feeling the steady and strong beat. "I'd rather not risk your health."

"I'm still strong."

"There isn't a doubt of that."

Childe smiles at Zhongli, curling his fingers into his shirt before yanking him down.

Their lips meet in a well-practiced clash; they've kissed just like this time and time again. Zhongli's fingers grasp Childe by the chin and he holds him there, pressing his tongue against the seam of his lips. Childe opens his mouth greedily, allowing him to lick right in and curl their tongues together.

Childe's cock strains his trousers, and he can feel the well-defined line of Zhongli's as well, pressed against his hip. The two of them are beyond predictable, as this seems to always be the result of their bouts.

"What was it that I said?" asks Childe against his lips, their breath mingling. "Indulge me?"

Zhongli certainly will, Childe already knows. "You didn't lose your shirt this time," he murmurs, pulling the offending garment right over Childe's head. Childe has a penchant for stripping down when they share a good fight because he delights in the way that it makes Zhongli rake his gaze across his form.

Even now he can't stop his staring, eyes forever watching him with lust.

"We didn't get that far. You're right, I was more tired than usual."

Zhongli pauses, eyes narrowed. "Don't push yourself."

"I'm not." It's a promise, one that Zhongli seems to take at face value, returning to his very important task of divesting their clothes.

Childe swallows thickly as Zhongli smooths a hand across his chest and down his stomach. His fingers drag across his skin, nails leaving soft little marks. Childe wishes they were his claws instead, but there's still enough time for Zhongli to lose his composure.

"So handsome," murmurs Zhongli reverently, his eyes warm.

"Hardly," says Childe, "I'm all soft now." Partially so. Hints of muscle and hard-packed abs still remain because he isn't an absolute slob, but he's older and lazier. He definitely doesn't do push-ups anymore.

But, Zhongli soaks up the sight of him, sighing softly as he slots between his spread legs. "More handsome than ever, surely, with every passing year."

"Easy for the man who never changes, to say."

Except that Zhongli has changed in all sorts of ways. How he carries himself with ease and comfort. The way that there are soft little lines around his eyes and face. Erosion tugs at him in ways that Childe cannot understand or fathom, but it's left Zhongli compliant and loving instead of lost and forlorn.

Zhongli insists it's because he isn't alone.

"I do not lie, Ajax, least of all to you." He pulls Childe's hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to the ring that sits there, the kind of claim that is forever thought of every time the gleaming silver catches the light. "I love you."

"Sap," says Childe, but he yearns for it, for those soft words and touch. He bucks his hips to get the point across. Zhongli is quite the devout listener, his eyes narrowing as he sits back and paws at the front of his trousers.

Damn bastard doesn't even take his clothes off, just undoes his collar and shimmies his trousers down past his ass. "Unfair," says Childe, pawing at him. He manages to get Zhongli's shirt off at least.

"Impatient," says Zhongli.

"Only because you're so slow."

Zhongli nuzzles his neck, biting at the skin there gently. "I'd rather enjoy this."

"Do you ever not?" A tease, of course, because Childe doesn't think there's a man more enthusiastic about the idea of fucking him. They have enough children to prove it.

"Incorrigible."

Zhongli's hand finds Childe's cock, fingers wrapping around it. Childe groans, his head tipping back. He's been hard and leaking for long enough to hurt, and Zhongli takes a second to spread the precome around. "I thought this sort of thing became more difficult with age for mortals."

Let it be known that Zhongli's brand of humor is rusty at best.

Still, Childe plays along. "Yeah, but have you seen yourself? Swoonworthy. The only thing that's getting harder around here is my—" He's choked off by a moan as Zhongli squeezes just a little too tight.

Childe loves it, craves it, bucks right into his hand just as is expected. "Zhongli," he moans, gripping at his powerful shoulders. "I—"

"A relief, I think," says Zhongli, "That I won't have to fear losing this—"

"Okay, okay, enough with the teasing. Please just— Gods, yes, that, that—"

Zhongli's hand slick with precome and spit, and he palms around the tip of his cock with utterly delicious friction. Childe already feels pleasure building in his gut, far too quickly and much of an annoyance. He wants this dragged out, he wants to be edged until the end of the day.

He also knows that'll never happen the moment he catches sight of Zhongli's glimmering eyes. They glow like burnt gold, melted coins, simmering with geo as his tight composure slowly slips away. Literally at just the sight of him and the feel of Childe's dick, thick and heavy in his palm.

And people wonder why Childe married him.

"This is what I love most," muses Zhongli as he jerks his cock, "The way that you fall apart so readily. What was it you said? Decades of practice."

Childe barely hears the words but gleans enough to crack a joke about his age. "Yeah, I get it, I'm old— please don't stop."

"Hm." Zhongli's purrs against his neck, licking a stripe along the smooth line of it. "No, not old. Seasoned, I think. Well aged. You only get better the older you are, and I love you more and more for it."

Normally, Childe likes the down and dirty fucking that comes after a spar. They're usually desperately clawing at each other, still half-dressed as they fuck because they can't even get that far. But Zhongli must be in a sentimental mood with the way that he croons such things in his ear.

Childe eats it up like it's the finest dessert, moaning as Zhongli strokes his cock with an annoyingly light-handed touch.

It isn't enough. "Zhongli," he says. Zhongli presses a kiss to his jawline, tongue snaking out to trace behind his lips. "Zhongli," he says again, a little bit firmer, "Just fuck me already."

Zhongli laughs into his neck, but pulls back all the same. Slides down Childe's body as he kisses along those softened curves that he claims to love so much. He licks across Childe's cock and swirls his mouth around the crown of it before going lower.

"No," murmurs Childe, "Gods, I tell you one thing and you do another. Fuck."

Zhongli licks across his hole, his tongue sinfully wet. He thumbs over his rim, tugging at it slightly, delighting in just how relaxed and pliant Childe is. And really, what does he expect? Zhongli has spent the better part of three decades fucking him into the ground. Or the bed. Or anywhere they deemed fit.

Probably why it takes no effort at all to reduce Childe to a whining, whimpering mess. His hand slams back into the ground, eyes slipping closed as he lifts his hips. Zhongli presses his tongue against him harder, trying to wriggle in past that spit-slick rim.

A finger is what does the trick. Zhongli slides one in, and alongside it, his tongue. It's filthy in the most pleasing of ways. Childe moans wantonly, bucking against Zhongli's face while laps at him like a man starved.

"Gods," Childe's voice in punched and cracked, "Zhongli—"

A second finger slides in easier than it should. It occurs to Childe that Zhongli had a bottle of oil shoved into his pocket, something that he'll tease him about later. For now, all he thinks about is the pressure of his fingers in his ass, and the sinful way that Zhongli spreads them wide to stretch him.

Zhongli watches as he works, holding his asscheeks spread as he fucks him open on his fingers, face resting against the inside of Childe's thigh. Childe reaches down and threads his fingers into soft hair, pulling.

"Please, please," he begs, already thinking about the delicious friction that Zhongl's cock would create instead of his fingers.

Zhongli curls them, finding his prostate, pressing against it hard. He smoothes his touch over the bundle of nerves, milking it until Childe's a blubbering mess, his voice cracked and spent. And then he comes, white-hot and suddenly. Unexpectedly.

The snap happens so quickly that Childe is left as nothing but a keening lump when Zhongli pulls his fingers out and wipes them on his trousers.

"Perfect," says Zhongli as he slots between his legs properly. Childe looks at him through the hazy afterglow of his orgasm, moaning when he sees his cock. Heavy and hard, deceptively large.

He needs it in him now.

"Ajax," says Zhongli, hefting his leg over his shoulder and settling the tip of his cock at his hole. He teases the loosened rim with the head, just barely pressing it in and out, tugging at his entrance.

Childe could nearly cry in frustration. "Archons, just— husband please."

It's always the husband that does the trick; Childe doesn't think there are many words or phrases that he loves more than that. And Zhongli delivers, sliding his cock right in, hiking Childe's hips up for a very specific angle.

Childe cries out all sorts of things; curses, filthy words, but mostly Zhongli's name. "Zhongli, Zhongli—"

Zhongli fucks into him with a hurried pace, fingers tight against Childe's thighs. "Ajax," he murmurs, turning his face to the side, pressing a kiss to the soft inside of his knee. And Gods, the intimacy of it, the way that he looks at him.

Zhongli watches his face through narrowly slit eyes and a ruddy face. Then, he gazes slips down as he watches the way that he fucks into him, just how well Childe takes him still.

Childe has never loved a person so much in his entire life and never will again. His chest aches with it, and the thought of being without him. Zhongli leans forward slightly, knowing Childe's limits and how he's not nearly as flexible anymore, but—

He's so overstimulated. The cooling come that slicks his chest; the way that Zhongli claws at him with sharp pinpricks of barely contained nails; the way that he fucks into him and the drag of that deliciously thick cock that renders Childe hopeless again and again.

Childe is hard once more, his cock bouncing between them with every thrust Zhongli gives him. The pleasure is addicting, but not as much as the feel of his husband over him, pulling him close, rutting into his ass like he's about to breed him full again.

Zhongli is nearly there, judging by the uneven stutter of his hips and the way that he reaches between to grasp at Childe's cock once more, jerking it with a disgustingly gentle hold.

Tears leak at the corners of his eyes as Zhongli fucks right into his prostate, and Childe is gone, he's gone as he tips over the edge a second time, dribbling watery come all over Zhongli's fingers.

It doesn't take long for Zhongli to follow, fucking deep into his ass and holding right there. He spends himself, coating Childe's quivering insides, and fuck, Childe could die a happy man right then and there.

Zhongli breathes hard. Childe collapses against the ground, tired and aching and entirely boneless. Zhongli slides his hand across his front gently, as if he's in awe of him. Probably is. Those are the kinds of words he often whispers into Childe's ear in moments like this.

Childe waits for a beat before he asks. "What was that about? What's on your mind?" Because that certainly isn't the feral sort of fucking that typically comes hand in hand with their occasional bouts.

That's the kind of lovemaking that finds them in their bed, those lazy mornings where they don't leave the silk sheets for an entire day.

Zhongli pulls his cock out with tenderness before hiding his face in the crook of his neck, embarrassed. Childe reaches up automatically and combs through his grimy hair. "Shh," he says, "Whatever it is, it's okay."

"I'm just a sentimental old dragon. It got to me today." Zhongli whispers the words directly into his sweaty skin.

Childe sighs content, gripping Zhongli tight to him in a fervent hug. "I'm not going anywhere, despite all the teasing of my age."

"I know," says Zhongli, "Ajax, I know."

They both sit up and Childe groans at the way that his muscles protest. He's stiff and achy, and not just because he was railed into oblivion— just about everything hurts. Zhongli offers him a soft smile as he leans forward and presses a kiss on his forehead.

His fingers linger around the back of Childe's neck, pressing into another claim, one worth more than any wedding ring could ever show. Childe can still feel the phantom pain of Zhongli sinking his teeth in there deep. "Sometimes I wonder just where the years have gone," he says against Childe's sweaty forehead.

"Nowhere but here." Childe pulls Zhongli's hand to his mouth, kissing his wedding ring to mimic that well-honed affection. "Mate," he murmurs against his knuckles, knowing that it satisfies some of those deep-seated and ancient, draconian instincts that Zhongli tends to hold.

"A bath," says Zhongli, but the most that Childe does is turn to tuck his face into Zhongli's chest.

The ground is hard and his hips ache. Even Zhongli is mildly stiff and rubbing at his knee idly. But it's nice, the warmth that they share.

They just lay in the grass entirely spent as they watch the neverending sunset of the teapot's horizon.