The Tartali MS Paint Zine was made for shitposting, so here we are.
Childe says it to him one night, as they're sprawled across their bed, Zhongli's mouth sealed around his cock tightly.
He loves it, the weight of his dick pressing against his tongue. The way that Childe bullies that back of this throat with the wide and fat head, precome leaking everywhere.
"Celestia, you're perfect," he murmurs, cupping Zhongli's cheek, smearing the tears that dot his eyes with a quick swipe of his thumb. "Your mouth is so, so fucking perfect. Hot and tight, as you swallow me down. I could dream of this forever."
Zhongli moans, scrambling against him, nails biting into the meat of Childe's thighs. He does his best to pull him even deeper, nose buried in the coarse hair at his groin, breathing in the scent of sweat and sex and just him. The Dragon rises in him, thirsty and unquenchable as Zhongli just drowns and drowns in the taste of his cock.
"What I'd give," continues Childe, hand snaking around to press flat against the back of Zhongli's head, tugging him closer. Zhongli feels his cock nestled deep, almost to his belly, and then some. Pleasure sparks in his core as he just takes and takes and takes— "To just be woken up by something like this, you, warming my cock so well. It's always so lonely and cold, and you take such good care of me. Would you do that?"
Zhongli whines, trilling around his length, and Childe melts into the sheets, his head tipping back. Doesn't take long for either of them to fall over the edge.
#
Warming my cock.
It's a request that Zhongli thinks a little too much about. He sits there, at Wanmin restaurant with Aether, sharing a nice spot of tea and some flavorful biscuits.
"Aether," he starts, but then hesitates. Aether looks at him, eyebrows drawn. "Cockwarming—"
Aether immediately chokes on his tea, spraying it everywhere. Zhongli blinks. Aether coughs. Paimon slaps at his back, screaming about inappropriate conversations.
"I only meant to ask—would wool or cotton be a better option for a sweater?"
Aether looks at him, supremely, utterly confused. "I—um…cotton? It, uh, breathes?"
Zhongli nods, curling his long fingers around his teacup. "Right, cotton. Yes, a solid choice. Thank you, Aether."
They do not discuss this ever again.
#
It takes some time, and very specific—if not confusing details—but Zhongli manages to commission a nice sweater for what he thinks might be the perfect gift. After all, Childe complained about being lonely and cold. Zhongli is willing to take care of him, but he can't always.
And so, the sweater.
Childe snores lightly in their bed, out like the candle that's melted down on their bedside table. Zhongli peels back the layers of silk sheets, and trousers. Childe's cock sits between his legs, half-hard in his sleep as he mumbles about something.
Zhongli's fingers are deft as they coax him to life. The cotton is soft against silken, hot skin, as Zhongli carefully buttons it around the stiff erection. Cute, he thinks, Childe's length swathed in black and gold hues, and tiny little buttons. He drags a finger down the swell of it, and the shaft twitches.
And then, Childe stirs. Zhongli feels excitement rise in his chest as he leans forward, running his hands along Childe's sides.
"Hm? Mhm—Zhongli," he murmurs, his back arching, hips lifting.
"You said something about keeping your cock warm," purrs Zhongli, his voice low, near his ear. Childe smells utterly delightful as his eyes blink open in a dozeful haze.
Then he looks down to see his cock adorned with a sweater.
Then Childe bursts into absurd laughter.
And Zhongli wonders what he's done wrong, head cocked to the side.
"Celestia," whispers Childe, pulling him close, "I should've known."
"Ajax, known what—"
"Shh, shh, you tried so hard. Let's make a mess of it, shall we?"