It goes like this:

Zhongli rises early in the morning, and Childe rolls out of bed at the last possible moment. They work their respective jobs as they pine for the other all day. Then, they share a nice dinner underneath the soft lantern light of Wanmin Restaurant.

There are lingering touches as they hold hands, fingers curling around palms, and soft little kisses snuck when no one is looking.

And then, they retire to their home, and those touches become heavy and wanton instead. The is the slide of slick skin against skin, and the curling of toes as pleasure mounts, over and over. They're left bone-weary and satisfied, the kind of exhaustion that Childe loves the best. The type that makes its home right in his heart.

They end their nights on a lazy note, typically. They read a book together, flipping the pages as they barely pay attention to the words. Or, Zhongli chatters as his eyes droop tiredly, Childe pressed into his side. Childe hums softly as he sinks into the feel of it, wholly enamored by this man that he loves so much.

Once, what feels like an age ago, all he thought about was a good fight. Now, he's mellowed out, preferring Zhongli's ramblings. Childe could drown in them, and he'd die a happy man.

Sleep comes easily to him now, something he never thought possible. Soft and quiet, Childe enjoys the deepness of the night as he curls around Zhongli, his chest flush against his back, and their knees spooned together. Zhongli snores— just a little bit, enough to drag a smile across Childe's face as he nuzzles Zhongli's neck, and closes his eyes.

He sinks and sinks, and the day begins anew.

Sometimes, though, he awakes during the in-between; the twilight realm right before the bloom of dawn. The sky outside the windows is still dark. Half of the lanterns have burned out entirely. Zhongli still snores, but it's soft and whistling.

And Childe's cock is hard and aching, begging for another release.

Zhongli shifts slightly, and Childe grasps at him, holding him there. He grinds against his plush ass and moans softly, pressing his forehead against the sweaty nape of Zhongli's neck. It's hot in the room, blisteringly so, being tucked against him so tight.

But, fuck, he wants him again. Always does, and always will.

"Hmm?" Zhongli stirs, his eyes blinking open blearily. Childe's arm is wrapped around his waist, and Zhongli presses a hand to his wrist, thumbing at the bone there. And then— "Oh," he murmurs, sleepily.

"Zhongli." Childe says his name against the back of his neck, nipping at the skin there slightly, "Again."

Zhongli sighs softly. Childe splays his hand wide across his taut stomach, and Zhongli just seems to melt into the silk sheets, awake enough, but his brain mildly dozing. "Tired," he murmurs.

Oh, Childe knows. He remembers every inch of skin that he explored earlier, thoroughly and with care. Zhongli keening, back arching underneath him, chest pressed into the mattress as Childe fucked him from behind. It isn't always so feral, but there are nights where it is just what they need, biting touches and dirty words.

But now, Childe wants to bask in this slower, reverent sort of praise, smoothing his hands across soft skin as he fucks into Zhongli nice and slow. "Like this," he whispers, pressing his cock between Zhongli's thighs, "Just like this."

Zhongli hums, content. He arches back against Childe and spreads his legs a little wider to allow easier access. He floats in the drowsy haze of soft-handed pleasure, still a little drunk on what's left from earlier that night.

"Yes, darling," he says, squeezing at Childe's forearm, "Do as you like. I'm… mhm…"

Childe loves when he gives permission, just letting go of all that well-honed, age-old control that he often has. But here, in their bed, he's pulled at by slumber, his brain fogged and fuzzed by the warmth of Childe's body, and the comfort of their space. Zhongli trusts him with any and all, and sinks back into his sleep in a drowsy haze.

"Gods, I love you," whispers Childe against him, kissing at the back of his neck. Zhongli purrs gently, a trilling sound that slips from his lips, and Childe's cock twitches. Fuck, the noises that he makes; be it wanton gasping, or the chanting his name— or even these strange, quiet little sounds that Zhongli has so little control over.

They make Childe's gut burn with heat.

He rolls his hips slowly, gently, his dick swaddled by Zhongli's plush thighs. It's slick enough, with sweat and precome. Childe moans softly as skin slides against skin. His fingers curl around Zhongli's hips, and the tip of his cock nudges Zhongli's balls.

Zhongli sighs, lifting his hips, pressing back against him instinctually. It takes everything that Childe has to not fucking lose it right there. "Gods, gods—"

Even something as simple as this is enough. His cock, squeezed tight by his legs, rutting gently into that soft space; the smell of Zhongli, rich and earthen; the way that Zhongli's fingers curl into the silk sheets.

Childe tightens his arm around him, tugging him closer, Zhongli relaxed in his grasp. Childe cants his hips slightly, changing the angle until the tip of his cock just barely ghosts Zhongli's hole. Not enough to slip in, but just enough for the barest amount of pressure.

Do as you like, he'd said, and while sleepy, Childe knows that it's a command. Zhongli is intentional with his words, and this is an indulgence that they occasionally take advantage of. He leans back, spreading Zhongli's cheeks, watching the puffed and swollen rim flutter. Still loose and slick from earlier, ready to be taken again.

Childe groans and nearly comes from the sight alone. He slips a thumb in, testing it, finding it still oiled and primed for his cock. "Perfect," he murmurs as he eases his dick in next, feeding it in slowly, inch by inch.

Zhongli is so relaxed that Childe slips in to the hilt, bottoming out. "Zhongli," he murmurs, burying his face into the fine baby hairs at the back of his neck. "Fuck."

He doesn't need much, just the gentle roll of his hips as he ruts into Zhongli's tight and warm heat. His insides flutter, curling around him as Childe carves his way in. He holds Zhongli close, an arm around his waist, his hand pressed against Zhongli's stomach. Childe imagines it, the press of his cock, how it'd swell within him, twitching with every thrust back into Zhongli's hole.

An addicting thing, something Childe will never get enough of.

He fucks in deep, stilling just slightly, grinding his cock right against that bundle of nerves— and Zhongli stirs. His ass clenches slightly, hugging Childe's cock. And Childe curses, biting at his nape, trying to ground himself before he tips over the edge.

It's too soon. He doesn't want to come with Zhongli still asleep, he wants him awake, arching into his touch.

Eventually, Zhongli comes too. Childe thrusts into him languidly, aiming for his prostate. Zhongli's cock stirs, and Childe's hand inches down to curl around it. When he pumps it, Zhongli whines, a pitiful sound as he starts to awaken.

Childe still moves at an unhurried pace, but he feels the pleasure coiling in his gut with every new stroke. He jerks Zhongli's cock, which is now fully hard and leaking. Zhongli's eyes flicker, opening slowly. He trembles slightly in Childe's hold and then—

"Ah, Ajax—"

Childe loves it when he calls his name. To everyone else, he's Tartaglia, or Master Childe, titles swathed in formality. But with Zhongli, it's Ajax, his given name, uttered so sweetly in that deep, baritone timbre.

"Love you," says Childe, licking across the sweaty skin of Zhongli's neck. He holds him close enough that his nose sinks into the spot just under his ear, and all Childe smells is sage and the earthy scent of dirt. "Gods, I love you so fucking much."

Zhongli's hand covers Childe's which still holds his cock. He squeezes at Childe's palm, forcing his grip tighter. "Please," he begs in a daze, his voice punched and drunken.

Childe does as he's told, his grip constricting as he pumps Zhongli's length with intent. He fucks into him faster too, and Zhongli meets every one of those thrusts, trying to pull Childe's cock in deep.

"So pliant," says Childe, nipping at his earlobe, "So perfect for me. Made for this, weren't you? To just be loved and fucked?"

Zhongli keens in the affirmative. "Yes, yes."

It's a fun little game they play. Childe teases him about how tightly he's got Zhongli wrapped around his finger. But really, it's the other way around. Childe would rend the earth for him, if he could. He'd crack mountains right in two, if that's what it took.

The room is filled with the wet slap of his thighs against Zhongli's ass. Zhongli moans and moans as he lifts his hips to match everything that Childe gives him, forcing his dick in as far as it can go. Childe clings to Zhongli, melting against him. All that he can think of, is Zhongli, and how he's just lost himself entirely.

Childe comes first with a cry of his name, and his hand on Zhongli's cock. His thrusts are staggered, the last few pressing in with bruising force.

"Yes," Zhongli moans into the pillow, welcoming the way that Childe keeps fucking him through it, his hips stuttering as his cock drags along his guts.

It's almost too much. Childe's cock twitches as he fills him up, Zhongli's warm depths clenching around him. He grinds against him, unwilling to pull free, tugging at Zhongli's dick, thumbing the slit of it.

Zhongli is right behind, going taut as he orgasms. "Ajax," he cries, his voice scratchy with sleep. Childe soothes him through it, whispering against Zhongli's ear, his cock settled deep in his ass.

And he stays there like that, opting to just take his soiled shirt from earlier, and wipe them down.

"Just like this," he says again, peppering Zhongli's neck with kisses as he combs fingers through his soft hair. Zhongli sighs softly, sinking against him, Childe's cock still wedged in, stuffing his hole.

Zhongli hums, content as he floats in the hazy afterglow. He drags his fingers along Childe's forearm, his nails raising gooseflesh. "Love this," he says, sleepily, already slipping back into his well-earned doze. "Love you." Then he yawns.

Childe chuckles against him, nuzzling his skin. And then he's slipping too, tiredness pulling him under.

They both fall asleep, intertwined in what's left of the soft lamplight, hopelessly, recklessly in love.