"Darling," says Zhongli quietly, tugging Childe to his side, arm snaking around to thumb at his hip.

Childe starts at that, his gaze narrowed. "Do I want to know?"

The gift is suspicious.

It isn't that Zhongli doesn't procure items for him, he gives him gifts; but they're usually small little trinkets that usually mean more than meets the eye (Childe eyes those blasted chopsticks, set about in a lacquered case, nestled into the bookshelf in a prime spot for display).

This, however, is large. Covered by a silk sheet, looming about ominously. Zhongli cleared out several potted plants to fit it in the corner.

"I swear upon my status as an Archon—"

"Former."

Zhongli sighs, affectionate. "Former Archon— Something small for you."

Childe eyes the lumpy sheet warily. "Small," he croaks, "Right."

Zhongli looks eager, though. He shuffles over to yank the sheet away, revealing an armchair. Soft leather with bulbous knobs just underneath the cover. Childe blinks.

"Is that—"

"That inventor— the one from Sumeru, all those summers ago. I remember how much you liked the trinket. However, I think that I have improved upon the design."

Childe's mouth goes dry at the memory of it. A chair, full of Vision runoff, massaging away at his sore neck and back. Childe spent one too many nights dozing in the chair the last time they took a vacation. Zhongli complained that the bed remained cold.

"I— you made this?"

Zhongli hums, running his hand across the back of the chair, gold and black fingers smoothing over the soft leather. He doesn't bother hiding them anymore, not in the privacy of their home, or this late in their lives.

"Come, give it a try."

Childe nearly trips in his haste, dropping into the chair. The leather molds against his back neatly, the spindly knobs digging into the meat of his back. Zhongli waves a hand, and the chair rumbles slightly underneath his sore spine.

Zhongli leans over the back of the chair, his voice near his ear. "There are Geo constructs under the slipcover, carefully measured to very strict specifications. Only the best for you—"

"Shush, I'm trying to enjoy this."

Zhongli, instead, drapes his arms across Childe's front, his fingers teasing as he tugs at his shirt. And boy, is it blessed, the way that the chair rubs against his backs. The pressure is perfect, just like Zhongli's hands when he digs his fingers deep into his lower back sometimes.

Then, it shifts. "It's warm," says Childe in soft wonder.

"I may have recruited our favorite Miss Xiangling to imbue it with Pyro as well. There is a mechanism that can control—"

Childe has found it, fingers fiddling with the buttons at the side. The chair radiates a little hotter than before, easing his sore and stiff muscles, and he moans at the feel of it. "Fuck, this is—Look, I won't say it's as good as some things, but it's definitely as good as—"

Zhongli covers his mouth, already embarrassed by what he's about to say.

Childe kisses the skin of his palm. "I love it," he says against his hand, truthfully. And then— "But what's the occasion?"

"You," says Zhongli simply. His voice is low and quiet, so fucking tender. Just when Childe thinks he's too old to feel like a teenager who's fresh in love, Zhongli proves him wrong. His heart warms at it, that soft and curling feeling.

Zhongli hesitates, and then he says, "I know that time isn't kind to you. And you neve took care of your body—" Oh, Childe takes offense to that— "The aches and pains of your joints… I just thought—"

Childe turns his face and kisses the wrist that's settled across his collarbone.

It's sweet. And Zhongli is right, Childe is in his forties and his body is utterly shot. Years of wasting others as a Harbinger has wrecked him, and not that good kind of wrecking that leaves him with toes curled in the sheets.

Instead, he wakes every morning, stiff and in pain. He does his best to stretch the aches away, but it's harder the older that he gets. At least Liyue is kind with its warm weather.

Childe moans softly, his head slipping back as he enjoys the soft vibration of the Geo construct chair behind him. Digs into his skin, just right, but—

"I still prefer your hands-on massages."

Zhongli nuzzles the crown of his head with his nose, and chuckles. "I assure you, those will never stop." His hands move, ghosting along the back of his neck before squeezing at the juncture. The pressure at which he digs in, the soft hook of his thumb into the wide planes of his shoulders is heavenly.

"Oh, oh— that's the—"

"Incorrigible," says Zhongli, amused. He kisses Childe's head and rights himself. Ruffles his fingers through thick, auburn curls, nails scraping across his scalp. Childe leans into it, sighing, content.

And then he says, "You love me for it."

"Hm. Yes."

Childe cracks open an eye, and looks up. Zhongli watches him back with a warm gaze, soft little crinkles at the corners of his eyes. "Love you," says Childe quietly, "And we'll explore that later. For now—"

He sighs, long and drawn out, incredibly dramatic. Then, an obscene sounding moan lifts from his lips, as he wriggles about. "This hits all the right spots. Perfection, as always, crafted by your marvelous hands."

"Ajax."