Court days are long and arduous.
Zhongli has mastered it over the years, perfecting the solid and stonelike way in which he presents himself in the face of others. The King of Contracts, they call him. It brings a smile to his face from time to time, even if it's an exhausting title to hold.
Contracts require work. Contracts require days upon weeks of research, and quiet reflection. Agreements must benefit both parties, the one rule of his that cannot be broken.
Zhongli thinks a lot. He thinks and thinks, and considers any and all. Runs through scenarios as his people come to him with their woes. What taxes should be raised, what businesses should be merged. Which laws are outdated and what should be minted anew.
Ningguang typically handles the matter of the law, thank Celestia above, but everything is deferred to him in the end for one final approval.
He doesn't mind. Liyue was built from the ground up, etched in cor lapis by his ancestors before him. Zhongli has done his best to carry along that proud name, and he thinks that he's managed it quite well.
Still.
He is getting older. His bones ache and creak, and he rises every morning with a tight crick in his neck. He tires more easily, his fortitude dwindling. Gone are the days that all-nighters come easily to him— though he's prone to persisting through them.
"Celestia above," he murmurs, rubbing at a sore spot, just at the juncture where his neck meets his shoulders. "Exhausting."
"What is?"
Zhongli startles slightly at the unexpected voice. The throne room is empty, except for himself, a quiet moment of respite before a slew of afternoon meetings. His partner— no, his beloved— rarely finds his way in here, often too awkward to be gawked at by prying eyes.
"Ah," says Zhongli, his heart and voice warm, "The usual, I suppose. Every day." He checks the grandfather clock by the entrance. Twenty until two— just enough time to sneak in a sweet kiss or two.
"Every day, indeed." His partner huffs, but seems to agree, crossing the space before settling across his lap.
"Diluc," says Zhongli quietly, capturing his chin between his thumb and his forefinger. He's swathed in expensive, silken robes, embroidered with all manners of dragons.
"None of that," says Diluc, his lips quirking with a tease. "This is the throne room, you know."
"Which you've come far out of your way to come to." Their apartments are on the opposite side of the castle.
Diluc's gaze is sly, half-lidded, and amused. "Well, one occasionally misses his husband, one supposes."
"Hm, are we channeling _, now?" Zhongli laughs, tugging Diluc's face closer. "Don't let her hear, she might find it sacrilegious."
"I care not about the dealings of the adepti. As far as I'm concerned, she can fuck herself."
Crass words from such a beautiful man, but Diluc has never been one for the magical affairs of Liyue. The best that Zhongli can expect from him is cordial behavior at best. He wouldn't have it another way, though; Zhongli fell in love with this man's fire, and the spice of his words. The way that he presents himself as nothing else as he is.
The Liyue court is, certainly, never boring.
"Hm, I'd rather f—"
"The throne room," repeats Diluc in a hiss.
When Zhongli kisses him, though, Diluc doesn't protest, surrendering immediately to his soft touch. Their lips meld perfectly, years of practiced touch. Zhongli cradles him by the cheek, thumbing over the high arch of the bone there. Then, he licks into Diluc's mouth, deepening the kiss.
Diluc moans softly and Zhongli swallows it down. He preens, his chest light, for it's in moments like this that he feels a little bit younger, drunk on his love for his favorite person. He has a harem that goes entirely untouched, because his mind never strays from this man that sits in his lap.
When they part, Zhongli hums as he watches in, taking in Diluc's handsome face and pale skin. His bright, red hair, pulled back into a tight tail. That little scar that cuts into his eyebrow, and accident from before they met. The mirth that glints in his eyes, as he drags a hand down Zhongli's front.
Zhongli muses, feeling the corners of his eyes crinkle. "Wasn't it you who reminded me that this is the throne room?"
Diluc shifts, tucking the silk of his robes out of the way. He'd prefer less stuffy garments, but there were expectations when out and about in the court proper. "That was before— ah, see?" The heel of his palm presses against Zhongli's cock, which is half-hard and tenting his trousers.
Zhongli opens his mouth to protest, but it's cut short as Diluc slips off his lap. He sinks to his knees as he deftly pulls open Zhongli's clothing, revealing his length. "I—"
"Didn't I say that I missed you?"
"I wasn't aware that you meant my cock."
Diluc hums, licking at his lips, and then he leans forward to kiss the tip sweetly. Zhongli groans, his head tipping back. And then his eyes find the clock once more. Fifteen till.
"There isn't much time, darling."
"You doubt my skill?"
Not in six thousand years— and Zhongli tells him just that. Diluc laughs gently, his breath warm across his cock. Zhongli already feels that tell-tale pleasure leaking easily into his gut, and his dear, beloved husband hasn't even started.
Diluc takes his dick into his mouth and sucks, and Zhongli loses whatever thoughts in his mind. Diluc rubs with his hand what his mouth cannot reach, stroking his length with practiced ease. He pauses, brushing an errant strange behind his ear. Zhongli captures a look as his pink and flushed face.
"Oh, you wanted this," he says gruffly, a hand reaching out to thread his fingers through Diluc's hair.
"Can you blame me?" asks Diluc, licking a stripe down his length until he reaches the base of his cock. He sucks a mark there, a gentle sort of bruise that most wouldn't dare to leave in their wake.
"We aren't teenagers—"
"No, we're husbands." Diluc says it haughtily as he jerks his cock, "We're allowed to indulge."
Oh, Zhongli knows this. And they have, time and time again, through the years and in a variety of places. Zhongli has been warned plenty of times by Secretary Ganyu just how unbecoming it is, to be caught in such compromising positions.
Most everyone finds it rather amusing, endearing, even.
Diluc swallows him back down, his mouth deliciously wet and tight. Zhongli's other hand finds his face as well, and he cradles Diluc's cheeks as he gently bucks against him. He can't help the way that he responds, wanting to fuck into his mouth.
Nor can Zhongli ignore the way that Diluc moans at the feel of it, one hand gripping his thigh tight, his nails digging it.
"Gods," whispers Diluc as he pulls off, lapping at his cock with kitten licks instead. He pumps him with wet and slick fingers, squeezing the head of his cock tight as his palm reaches the end. Zhongli moans, sinking into his throne, watching him through a half-lidded and debauched gaze.
"Preferable to your afternoon meetings, hm?"
"Diluc," says Zhongli quietly, petting through his hair, not caring if he ruins the styling.
His husband takes him into his mouth again, bobbing along his length. His tongue sweeps across the underside, as he takes him in deeper, and it takes everything within him to not just bury his cock deep into Diluc's throat.
Diluc chuckles at the sight of Zhongli's restraint. Then, he eases down the entire length, until there's nothing left, his nose buried in the coarse hair at the base of it.
"Celestia above." It comes out as a hiss, and Zhongli smacks his head against the hard stone of his throne. But he's uncaring, unable to think of anything apart from the warm cavern of his husband's mouth, and the sinful look of him, his lips spread wide around his cock.
"Perfect," says Diluc, when he pulls off. He says the word against Zhongli's length, pressing another kiss to the crown. "Come on, we're almost out of time."
"Darling—"
"Fuck my mouth." Diluc says it like it's a challenge as he lets go of Zhongli's dick to grip him by the thighs instead. "I want to see my husband come, losing himself in such a public place. Does wonders for the ego."
Diluc is so rarely mouthy— but he's emboldened by his lust, and he gets off on watching Zhongli come undone. He loves watching that stony exterior crack entirely, falling away to reveal something warm and soft underneath. The Stone-Cold, King ofd Contracts, nothing but putty beneath his fingers.
The world doesn't even know, thinks Zhongli. They cannot begin to fathom, the hold that this man has over him.
Zhongli shifts in his throne, planting his feet and sitting at the edge of the seat. Diluc opens his mouth readily, watching him with a sly gaze. Zhongli thumbs across his lips, dipping his thumb into Diluc's mouth. "Unfair, how beautiful you are. How am I to say no?"
"You don't," says Diluc, pressing closer, making his intent all the more apparent. Zhongli can imagine it, how hard he must be too, the way that his own cock presses against the soft silks of his robes. But Diluc makes no move to touch himself, he only waits for Zhongli to press his cock back into his mouth.
When he does, Diluc moans, his mouth willing and accepting. Zhongli fucks into him slow, cradling his face gently. He rolls his hips, each thrust slipping a little bit deeper. Diluc's nails dig into his tense thighs, dragging at the fabric of his trousers. He whines around him, a keening and pitiful sound in which Zhongli only delights in.
"Perfect, for me," he says, hushed. It's still loud in the empty throne room, as is the wet and slick sounds as he ruts against his husband's face.
Diluc takes it so well. Zhongli's cock fucks deeper and deeper until he hits the back of his throat; but he's gentle with it, coaxing him along with soft and praising words. Diluc slaps at his thigh, a clear request. Zhongli huffs a laugh, smoothing a soft touch over his cheek. Then, his hand curls around the back of his head and curls into his hair.
This time, he thrusts into his mouth faster, with a heavier strike. Diluc moans, loving it, his mouth tight around him. "Gods—" Zhongli cries it, his voice more than a harsh whisper, "Fuck, you're just—"
Diluc goads him along, widening his lips and swallowing around him. Zhongli hisses, coming before he can warn him. But Diluc is ready for it, feeling the way that Zhongli's thighs tense underneath his hands. He moans as he swallows down his come.
Zhongli moans, his touch softening. He smooths his fingers through Diluc's hair instead as he sinks back against his throne. Diluc licks his cock clean, and then pulls back to wipe at his mouth.
"Dirtying such beautiful silk," says Zhongli, sighing at the sight.
Diluc snorts, but tucks Zhongli's cock back into his trousers, before righting everything. Then, he settles across Zhongli's lap, arms around his neck as he presses their foreheads together.
"Did you truly miss me that much?" Diluc laughs, but he doesn't answer, pulling away from him entirely. "Wait, what about you—"
"Later," says Diluc, tipping Zhongli's chin up with a fingertip. He leans down to kiss him, just a soft peck against Zhongli's lips.
The clock strikes the hour, and Diluc smirks, knowingly. The first of Zhongli's afternoon appointments enter the room, milling about. Zhongli doesn't look like an entirely fucked out mess, but he still combs a hand through his hair and double-checks his clothing.
When he looks back, Diluc is gone.
#
Once, when Zhongli was a young king, he spent an afternoon as he often did— listening to the complaints of his citizens and beyond. And then, in barged a foreigner, not born and raised within Liyue, demanding to speak to him. He knew nothing of courtly customs, or how long one usually waits in line for Listening Days.
He stood there, in the throne room, entirely lacking in grace. He was tall and lean, and dressed in sleek trousers and a waistcoat. Zhongli had never seen hair such a fiery red, the color of the deep horizon when the sun sets at dusk.
The man had the audacity to yell at him, snarking about how his taxes were raised without his knowledge, and that his Winery now had an unexpected bill to foot. The palace guardsman set to action, lances at the ready— but Zhongli waved them away, opting to hear the man out.
This was news to him as well; Zhongli had never approved of such a thing.
So, the man ranted. He needled and he jabbed, and he called the young King Zhongli a variety of nasty and sordid names. Zhongli watched him with a placid look, his elbow on his throne arm, and his chin resting upon it.
When the man was done, he stood there in the room, his chest heavy and his face pinked with anger.
Zhongli turned to his secretary and asked who was in charge of such a missive— and she replied that was unsure. He then said to the sommelier, "I will look into this. Until then, worry not about the fee."
The man harrumphed, still angered and annoyed. "You've heard it here first, Your Majesty— I won't shut up until this is fixed. You haven't heard the last of me, that is for certain." And then he turned on his heel and left without even a proper bow.
The court was in a tizzy and Zhongli just watched the man leave, a smirk subtly hidden behind the palm of his hand.
It was love at first sight.
#
Later that night, in the here and now, Zhongli slips into their apartments on tired feet.
The fireplace is lit, casting an orange glow about the room. There is a pot of tea on the table, cold and half-empty. Diluc sits on the lounge, reading a book, dressed in his usual fare; black, tight-fitting trousers, and a loose, white linen blouse. Familiar clothing from his home, rather than the silks expected of the Prince Consort.
Zhongli doesn't mind— and if he had more of a say, he'd allow Diluc to wear what he wishes in public too. His proposition was outnumbered by the Liyue Qixing, a council with nearly as much power as he.
He prefers this, though; Diluc, comfortable and pliable. Quiet and softer. There is love and affection for that more sly side Zhongli saw earlier in the throne room; but once his layers are peeled back, Diluc becomes a man with quite the soft heart. Zhongli loves him so.
"Later than I expected." Diluc isn't angry, he isn't even exasperated— he sounds amused, judging by the teasing quirk of his lips when he turns to look at Zhongli.
"Ningguang," says Zhongli, groaning as stretches his neck. Here, in the confines of their rooms, he can relax a little, and shed his stoic and prim disposition. "A stack of papers, all new tax laws."
Diluc's nose crinkles as he stands. "Not that I preferred the man before her, but she isn't much better."
Zhongli chuckles softly as Diluc's hands smooth over his shoulders, squeezing. Then, he pushes the outer layer of Zhongli's robe off, the silk fluttering to the floor. Fingers curl into his collar and Diluc pulls him forward.
"Impatient," says Zhongli, his voice affectionate.
"I already had to wait, due to your insufferable kingly duties." True. "And now that woman—"
"Hush." Zhongli's voice is quiet as he kisses the tip of Diluc's nose. "I'll take care of you."
Diluc's mouth snaps shut and he swallows thickly. His hair is down and unbound and pooling around his shoulders. Zhongli brushes his fingers through the soft strands, scratching at his scalp. "Bed?"
The kiss at the door frame of their room. Diluc's fingers slip into the layers of silk that Zhongli still wears. Each one is peeled away, crumpling to the floor until all that is left is a bare chest and trousers.
"Better," says Diluc, dragging his fingers down Zhongli's front. He groans, the soft little pinpricks rising pleasure in his gut.
Zhongli tugs Diluc's blouse from his trousers, splaying his fingers wide across his warm skin. "Gods," he murmurs, as he pulls at him, settling their hips close together, leaving nothing unaware.
"Already," muses Diluc, his hand snaking down, squeezing at where Zhongli's cock is already hard and aching. "Takes so little."
"Of course," says Zhongli, stepping back and bringing Diluc's hand to his mouth. He kisses his knuckles and presses him back to the bed. Diluc falls without resistance, spread out onto the mattress like a feast.
Zhongli looks and looks, taking in his appearance. He rucks up Diluc's shirt and his gaze washes over his skin, fingers following. Diluc smirks back, his head tipped against the sheets confidently.
And then, his trousers, tented tight by his hard length.
"Most kings would find such expected devotion beneath them," says Diluc, teasing.
Zhongli leans over him, nuzzling at his neck, pressing a kiss there. "I am not most kings." Zhongli married a man— who, while considered a merchant lord, was far below his station, and non-native to boot. Zhongli didn't care and he still doesn't. It matters not how he's pestered about his harem, or expected children, or whatever is deemed necessary of a king; the only person who will ever find his bed is the one that is currently laying before him.
"I love you," he says sweetly, nipping at Diluc's ear.
"Yes, yes, I know—"
"Let me indulge."
Diluc stops protesting, opening up to him. And indulge, Zhongli does. He worships him, as one would a God, with kisses and light touches, and kneeling prostrate between his legs. The rest of their clothing is divested, and skin is pressed to skin. Diluc watches with a heated gaze as Zhongli's face dips down, nuzzling at his stomach. He keens as Zhongli kisses him there, and then downwards and downwards—
Until he's met with the base of Diluc's cock.
"Zhongli," murmurs Diluc, his fingers already curling into Zhongli's long and fine hair.
Zhongli takes his cock into his mouth, wrapping his lips tight around him. Diluc cries out, bucking into the heat, unable to sit still. Zhongli's hands smooth over his sides, rubbing circles there, dragging nails across the soft expanse and until he cups his firm ass.
Diluc moans again as Zhongli dips his finger into the cleft of it, thumbing across his hole. Which comes back slick with oil. His rim is more pliant than expected, yielding to Zhongli's touch almost immediately. Zhongli huffs a laugh against Diluc's cock as his thumb sinks into the tight, warm heat.
"Ah—"
"You truly are impatient," he says, kissing the tip of Diluc's cock as he fucks his thumb in and out.
"I didn't— It was just a little— oh."
Zhongli hums as he pulls his thumb out and presses back in with two fingers. The glide is still slick, and Diluc moans loudly, his head flopping back against the mattress as his hips buck to meet Zhongli's hands.
"It isn't a complaint. I love when you seem so desperate."
Diluc doesn't warrant that with a response, he just yanks at Zhongli's hair tightly and cries out his name. Zhongli's fingers settle deep, pushing and pulling at his ready, spreading it wide as he enjoys watching his husband fall apart.
He leans back, and finds the bottle of oil whose home is underneath the pillow. He slicks up his fingers and presses in a third.
"Zhongli," hisses Diluc, his name dissolving into an annoyed groan. "I'm ready, just—"
"I'm not." Zhongli's voice is quiet as a stone. He watches as his fingers fuck into him, Diluc's rim puffy and tight around them. Addicting, watching how easily Diluc just seems to fall into pleasure. He raises his hips to meet his hand, over and over as he whines for something more.
Eventually, Zhongli cannot ignore his own cock, and how it aches to the point of pain. He slicks himself up and settles between his husband's legs. Diluc watches him, flushed pink down to his chest, his eyes half-lidded with lust. He responds eagerly, raising a leg, allowing Zhongli in close.
Zhongli rubs the tip of his cock against his hole, just barely pressing it. Diluc moans, long and drawn out as Zhongli slides his way home. His cock is taken straight to the hilt. Diluc's insides flutter around Zhongli's dick, gripping it tight.
"Perfect," says Zhongli, moaning as he pulls back, nearly to the tip, "Celestia, so, so perfect for me."
Because he is. No one can handle him like Diluc does, who is always cross with him, and speaks to him plainly and with sharp words. Who, from the moment that they met, expected to be treated as an equal, who took the King of Liyue down a peg with little more than tactless wit.
Zhongli loves it, loves him, this fiery, ginger-haired man who lays beneath him, wanton and willing. Who scrabbles against him with every thrust of his cock, and keens his name with breathy moans. Zhongli fucks into him at a languid pace, the grip on Diluc's thighs bruising.
He kisses him, bent forward as he grinds him deep, their tongues swirling about as Zhongli swallows up Diluc's moans.
"Fuck, fuck—"
"Divine," says Zhongli, moving to bite at his neck, nibbling at Diluc's jawline as he thrusts him nice and slow. "Tight and warm, so very wonderful—"
"More," begs Diluc, his eyes slipping closed. His legs tighten around Zhongli's waist, and he lifts his hips, trying to meet every press of his cock.
Zhongli delivers, hiking up his legs and changing the angle. He thrusts into him faster, his cock grazing that blessed bundle of nerve. Diluc howls, his voice punched and pinched. Zhongli's name is called hoarsely, and Diluc curses with what feels like every slide back into him.
"Full," he blurts, "Fuck, so, so—"
Diluc's cock bobs with every roll of Zhongli's hips. Zhongli feels the pleasure the burns in his gut, how it mounts and coils tightly in him.
Zhongli leans back and watches. Diluc looks perfect, lost in his debauchery, whining with every thick press of his dick. Zhongli thumbs at it, circling around his rim, watching as it gives way. His hole, loose around his length, yielding and welcoming with every thrust right back in.
"Darling," he whispers, "There is nothing better than this, seeing you as such." He drags a hand down Diluc's front and grabs hold of his cock, pumping it in time as he fucks him faster and deeper.
The feel of everything is overwhelming, the bliss of their lovemaking nearly suffocating. Zhongli would drown in it time and time again, if it means he gets to take care of his husband in such a carnal, and loving way.
Diluc comes with a cry of his name, just as Zhongli palms over the crown of his dick. His ass squeezes his tight, milking him for all he's worth, and—
Zhongli is coming too, his thrusts stuttering as his hips lose their cadence. He grinds into him deep, spending himself, coming as he rides the wave of his own orgasm to the sight of his beautiful husband below him.
Diluc groans softly, wholly satiated and covered in a sheen of sweat. And Zhongli isn't done taking care of him— not yet, not until he's wiped down clean and nestled into the blankets with care.
It takes some time. Zhongli wipes him down with the sort of reverence typically found in worship. Diluc sighs softly as he sinks into the soft touch. Zhongli knows most wouldn't do this, lease of all a king.
But he wants to. This is his favorite part, really, the pampering. The quiet aftermath as they soak up the remaining glow.
The bed is warm when Zhongli slips back beneath the covers, tugging his husband flush to him. He rubs circles into Diluc's skin, and nuzzles the back of his neck, pressing kisses against the fine baby hairs there.
"You're quiet," says Zhongli.
"Tired," replies Diluc. And then: "Gods, I love you."
Zhongli chuckles against his neck, tucking him in close. Diluc will remain here, because these are their shared chambers. The rooms of the Consort have always been, and will remain, entirely empty.
"Yes, love." Zhongli thinks about it a lot, the day that they met. Those weeks afterward, where Zhongli would sneak out to the Winery and do a terrible job of pretending to not be himself. It wasn't quick. Diluc is the most stubborn man that he knows.
Zhongli will never need anything else.
