Childe collapses onto the bed, exhausted beyond belief.

The hotel mattress is a little too firm and it lacks the soft silk sheets that he usually sleeps on. Childe rolls onto his side, pressing his face into the pillow, forearm shoved underneath it. It smells sterile, lacking that heady sandalwood and sage scent that he is so used to sinking into.

"Zhongli," he murmurs with a sigh. Fuck, he misses him. It's almost stupid how little it takes. The days at the bank are already long, but Childe loathes traveling for work—particularly when it takes him away from his husband.

Being a trust officer is a nightmare of a gig, despite the decent pay, and Childe comes home at night with his head drowning in math. Childe spends hours working numbers and filing paperwork, and Zhongli is his quiet calm at the end of his day.

He'll pull Childe close, whispering his name gently as he divests him of his suit jacket. Fix him dinner and freshly brewed tea; set for him warm baths, and fuck him face-first into the bed. Childe always ends his nights boneless, and drowning in love, Zhongli's deep, husky voice in his ear.

Childe groans at the thought, his cock twitching at how Zhongli sounds. That baritone timbre as he whispers praises, and other dirty things against Childe's skin. "Gods, I'm—" Half-hard and aching pathetically. Childe drags a hand down his face.

Then down his chest, smoothing over the collar of his shirt, loosening it. Blasted work clothes. That's what's making him hot and bothered, not errant thoughts of Zhongli's voice. One button, two, and then a third—Childe's fingers slide over his collarbone and down his front.

He undoes the front of his trousers, opening the fly. Just to release the tension, he says to himself. Let his cock breathe a little. What a flimsy fucking excuse. Childe is about to rethink his plans for the evening when his phone rings.

Only one person calls him this late at night. Childe scrambles for his phone, nearly falling off of the bed. "Hey—"

"Ajax."

The effect of Zhongli's voice is embarrassingly immediate, his cock hardening fully, and pleasure seeping into his gut. Childe has it bad, but it's better to be hopelessly in love, instead of hopelessly alone. He counts his blessings every day that he's found a home in this man.

"Zhongli," he says, hoping that he doesn't sound too breathless, "Gods, it's good to hear your voice."

Zhongli hums across the line. "Rough day at work, then?"

"It wasn't the worst," says Childe. And it wasn't, not by a longshot, but it was just aggravating enough to be a bother and distraction. He sighs as he rolls onto his back, trying his best to ignore the way that his dick aches. Childe turns his phone into speaker mode, settling it against the mattress right next to his ear. "It's just—well, you know. The bank."

"Ah, yes." There is a pause, and some shuffling on Zhongli's end. "I must admit, my day was rather… Well, suffice it to say, Mr. Barbatos is uncouth at best."

Childe winces. "Aw, did you have to go and get drinks?" He knows better than anyone how networking is a nightmare. Zhongli has little patience for it, least of all when Venti is concerned—he's the type to lose himself in a bottle an hour in, rendering most work negotiations entirely moot. "Are you sure that you want to sell the company to him?"

Zhongli hums softly, and Childe can just imagine him, sitting at his desk, prim and proper. Probably drags a finger along the edge of his as he thinks. "Ill-mannered as he is, he is a good businessman. Barbatos Industries flourishes despite his rather awkward floundering about, and even with his drunken nature, clients speak their praises…"

He continues to drone on, that deep timbre of his pitched low. Childe's eyes slip closed as he just listens, smoothing a hand across his chest. He undoes the top button of his shirt, and then another, sinking into the sound of Zhongli's voice.

"Really, though, I cannot wait until the merger is complete. It will be nice to have time for ourselves."

Childe's brain trips up on that word. "Ourselves?" he asks.

"But of course. Once I retire, who else would I spend my time with?"

Oh, that makes his cock twitch. Childe is so transparent in his wants and needs, and the idea of Zhongli wanting to spend his free time indulging in mostly him hits a certain way. His chest aches. He wants with a visceral need. Before this, Childe wasn't a romantic, but he can't help the way his heart melts with how Zhongli spoils him with such sweetness.

"What a nice thought," he says quietly.

"Of course, there is your schedule to be discussed—"

"Surely you didn't call to talk about my work schedule."

Zhongli laughs, a short and stilted thing. "Of course not, Ajax," he says smoothly, his voice almost like butter.

Childe barely cuts off a moan at the mere sound of it. He pulls his dress shirt from his trousers, rucking it up to free his stomach. Drags his fingers across the muscle there, feeling it tense, biting at his other fist to keep from making too much noise.

"Ajax?"

"Right, right, sorry," he remembers to say at Zhongli's prodding. Doesn't stop him from sliding his trousers off and kicking them to the ground into a tangled pile. And then his boxer briefs next, his cock tipping out, hard and leaking against his stomach. "Long day."

"Distracted?"

One hundred thousand percent, and shamelessly so. Precome beads at the tip of his cock, dripping just at the sound of his husband's voice. Shameless. Pathetic. Childe couldn't ask for more.

"You know how work is," says Childe. His hand skirts across his belly, nails scratching through the coarse hair at the base of his dick, lingering. Hesitating. Waiting. "All work and no play. Numbers and forms, and nameless faces."

Zhongli laughs, a rich sound that rumbles next to his ear. Fuck, thinks Childe, biting his lip to keep from saying it aloud.

"Have you had dinner?"

"Yeah," breathes Childe, wrapping his hand around his cock delicately. For a little friction. Just to hold it, a little something-something to satiate the longing in his gut. "I'm just settling in for the night."

"Tell me that you've at least changed."

Sort-of. Childe is prone to falling into bed, still in his work clothes, passing right out. "Halfway there," he says. "But then you called and distracted me."

"Ah. Apologies then."

Childe laughs as he drags the palm of his hand across his length. "No complaints," he manages, "I miss you. It's nice, just hearing your voice. Keep talking?"

"Of course. Would you like to hear about my day?"

"Anything," says Childe, perhaps a little too quickly. He relaxes into the mattress, making himself comfortable, heat already settling into the pit of his gut. "I just… It's work. Stresses me out. Your voice though—"

"Yes, I know. I'm afraid that my day was rather boring, but if you insist—"

And so, Zhongli begins to speak in that quiet, monotonous way of his. Most might be aggravated, but Childe finds comfort in the way that his voice pitches low. Zhongli could drone on about anything, and he'd love it. And, his cock, of course—Childe's dick is just as affected, throbbing more and more with every word that drips from Zhongli's mouth.

"He might be an old friend, but truly, he wears my patience thin. I find myself often exasperated by his mere existence."

Yes, yes, Venti is annoying, but all that Childe focuses on is the soft baritone that whispers against his ear. He imagines the way that Zhongli's voice would puff against him, warm and damp. Childe twists his palm around the head of his cock, squeezing it tightly, thinking of the way that Zhongli likes to drag his fingers over him.

Fuck, his dick aches, and his hole clenches, begging to be filled.

"That being said, due to Miss Ganyu's hard-working ventures, I think that the merger will transition quite smoothly. The only potential problem is Ningguang, and her monopoly laws."

"Yeah," says Childe, his voice breathy and light, "Ningguang is… Hm, something. I guess."

The friction against his cock is good, but not slick enough. He pauses, fumbling around for his travel bottle of lube. Slicks his hand up and grips at himself tighter. Childe shifts slightly, rutting against his palm, doing his best to relieve the pressure that builds in his gut.

"She is quite vexing at times; probably the worst of the headaches that I have to deal with."

The only ache on Childe's mind is the way that his cock begs for attention as he jerks it. It feels good—great even—but his grip is nothing like Zhongli's, and it barely satisfies the pulsing quell in his gut. Zhongli's fingers are longer and slimmer. Childe would pull his hand close and kiss the soft curve of Zhongli's wrist bone. He moves his hand faster, fingers curling around himself, thumb sliding across the slit at the tip.

"She has approved the entire thing, of course, but she's keeping watch of the deal like a hawk, and—" Childe suddenly moans, unable to bite it back. Zhongli pauses, falling quiet. "Ajax," he then says, the line crackling slightly, "Are you…"

Childe lets go of his cock, pressing his palm against his forehead. "Gods, I'm—" Embarrassed, Childe is horrifically embarrassed. It isn't the first time he's done something like this, and certainly not the first they've indulged in sex over the phone together, but he's never been caught indulging in something this elicit while away on business.

"Do you miss me that much?"

What an asinine question. "I—of course I do."

Zhongli chuckles softly, clearly enamored by the idea of it. "Enough so that you'd touch yourself?"

"Yes," he hisses, working his hand again, fingers locked around his length as he drags them over it. They're too calloused, too rough, they lack the finesse of Zhongli's delicate hold. "It's… fuck, it's your voice. Always does me in. I can't help it."

"Oh, darling," says Zhongli sweetly, "You only have to ask."

Gods, the nickname, and the way that his voice drips affection like honey. Childe whines into the pillow as he paws at his cock. "It's late. You're tired. I didn't want to seem needy—"

"And what if I'm as needy as you?" Oh, what a thought. Childe's cock twitches at the idea of it. "Do you think that I don't miss you as well? Tell me, Ajax, what are you doing to yourself?"

No point in lying. "I'm just jacking off. You know, hand around my dick, perfunctory at best." A word that he learned from Zhongli, who snorts at its usage. "I mean, it's good, but—"

"Wouldn't it be better if you fucked yourself?" Childe's breath hitches, and Zhongli must hear it because he continues on. "Your fingers, pressed into yourself, all the while imagining that they're mine, no doubt."

He wasn't going to do that, no. Not initially. Childe is beat from work and only wanted to eke out a quick orgasm before a shower. But, now that Zhongli has said it— "Wouldn't be as good," says Childe, already reaching for the bottle of lube.

"Of course not, but it's something, yes? Just a little bit more?"

Childe's fingers are slicked before he can stop himself. The phone is still by his ear, and Zhongli soothes him over with that damned, dulcet voice of his. "Ajax, will you do that for me?"

"I'm already…" Childe swallows thickly as he trails his fingers down past his cock, ghosting over the seam of his balls. He moans in anticipation, just a soft little sound, spreading his legs wider for a better reach.

"So good for me," says Zhongli, "I wish that it were me—you know that I love to do this for you."

He does; Zhongli will spend hours finger fucking him if he so wishes. Those damnable long digits dragging against Childe's insides, curling right against his prostate, edging until he begs to comb. Opening Childe up and spreading his rim wide as Zhongli just looks and whispers soft praises into his ear.

Childe presses a slick finger against his hole, circling the tight muscle there. "Mhm, yeah," he says.

"Tell me what you're doing." There's a shuffle on the other line as Zhongli moves around. He hears the clack of a belt, and the slick slide of fabric.

Childe smirks. "Are you gonna touch yourself too, old man?" Zhongli is barely old, certainly not much older than him, but Childe loves the affectionate nickname, and the way that Zhongli's mouth twitches when he says it.

"As if I wouldn't," says Zhongli. "As if I could ignore the thought of you, spread out on the bed, touching yourself to the thought of me." A pause. "That is where you are, yes?"

"Yes," hisses Childe, pressing a finger into himself, gasping slightly as it sinks to the knuckle. The stretch stings a little, just the way Childe likes it.

"Describe it, please." Zhongli asks so warmly, and Childe's heart swells a little.

"The bed is a little too hard, and the sheets are scratchy. I prefer our own."

"Yes, I would as well. Particularly the sight of you in it."

Childe pumps his finger in and out, crying out softly as he pulls slightly at his rim. It isn't enough to satisfy him by a longshot, but it stokes the pleasure in his gut. Lets it burn hard and hot. He can feel his pulse in his throat. "Hm, it smells weird. I'd rather have your pillow. I'd—"

"One finger or two?"

Childe's hand halts. "What?"

"It is a simple question, Ajax. Have you slipped in one finger, or two? How desperate are you for release? Have you taken this slowly, or are you impatient as you often are?"

"I'm—one," he says. But the moment the word is loosed, Childe presses in with a second, moaning at the feel of it. He's loud, unabashedly so, hamming it up for Zhongli's benefit.

It must work. "That's it," says Zhongli, breathier, huskier. Childe imagines him, sitting in the chair at his desk, fingers wrapped around his cock as he touches himself to the sound of Childe's moans. Zhongli is deliciously thick, and Childe thinks about the perfect way that his cock fills him up. "Is it good?"

Childe fucks his fingers in deep, spreading them wide. "Yes," he says, crying out, "Yes, it's—"

"Are you touching your cock as well?"

He wants to, but— "No, not yet."

"That's right, not yet. Not until I say so."

Childe groans, rocking against his hand. His cock bobs against his stomach with every press of his fingers, straining with need, dribbling precome. "Zhongli, please," he begs, a little pathetically.

"Shh," hushes Zhongli, trying to soothe him. And then, Childe just barely hears it, the slick squelch of lube over the phone line.

"Zhongli, are you—"

"Pretend it's me," cuts in Zhongli. "That's what I'm doing—pretending that my hand is you. Hot, and slick, tight around my cock. Those sounds that you make, and how well that you take me." Zhongli groans, a fleeting sound that nearly has Childe coming right then and there.

"Can I please—Zhongli." Childe pulls his fingers out and presses back in with three, digging them as deep as he can. He curls them, hooking his fingers, angling the best that he can to fuck them against his prostate. He releases a garbled version of Zhongli's name, voice cracking. "Fuck, fuck—please, just let me—"

"Are you close?" Zhongil sounds breathless, like he's just barely hanging on himself, "Ajax, I'm—"

"Gods, yes." Childe whines. "Zhongli, I'm—please, let me—"

"Go on," says Zhongli, "You can touch yourself. Think of me, and how I take care of you."

Childe wraps his free hand around his cock, pulling at it. Fucks his fingers in deep, rolling his hips against his hand. He's full, and while it isn't as good as Zhongli's cock, it's still satisfying enough for Childe to get lost in it. Heat permeates his belly as he listens to Zhongli's voice crackle through the speaker.

"So, so good; I can't wait for you to come home so I can properly fuck you; Come on, Ajax, come for me—"

Childe slips over the edge and spills all over his stomach, cock throbbing. His ass tightens around his fingers, and he moans, crying out Zhongli's name as he keeps them settled deep. "Fuck," he murmurs, riding the high of his orgasm, "Archons, Zhongli—"

He can hear the slick movements of Zhongli's hand on his own cock, and his stilted breaths as he groans into the phone softly. Childe closes his eyes, dreaming of the pinched expression that usually flits across Zhongli's face. "Ajax," he hisses, "Oh—"

Childe knows that he comes right then and there, his name lingering on Zhongli's lips. The sound of it is sinful, and Childe's cock twitches, overstimulated and wrung dry. He considers for a second, pulling another wrecked orgasm from himself—but then thinks better of it. Childe sighs, the sweat clinging to his brow cooling as he lays in the bed like a pool of jellied limbs.

He listens to heavy breathing, and soft movements from Zhongli's end as he cleans himself up. Childe pulls his fingers from himself, groaning as his hole clenches around nothing, insufferably empty.

"Ajax?"

"I'm here. Sorry, I just—man, I'm beat now."

"Hm, yes, I'm rather tired as well." A pause. "Do you feel better?"

Childe hums softly as he shrugs out of his shirt, using it to wipe up his mess. "I hate that I can't curl up next to you."

A soft chuckle. "In due time. You'll be home tomorrow night."

"And then you'll fuck me until I can't remember my name, right?" Childe wants that, to come home to Zhongli's warm hands and lingering touches, and the soft filth that he likes to utter into Childe's ear. The way that he kisses across his skin, and how he sinks right into Childe's pliant body the root of his cock—

No, no, stop.

"If you think like that, you won't sleep," teases Zhongli. And then, quieter, "But yes, I'll do as you want. I love you."

Childe's smiles, even though he knows that Zhongli can't see it. "I love you too," he says.

"Go clean up. I know you made a mess."

"Naturally." Childe smirks. "Thanks to you, of course." He pulls himself from the bed onto wobbly legs, rolling out his shoulders. His ass stings, but in a delightfully used, formally stuffed sort of way; the kind of ache that's good, that stays with him, that'll throb a bit every time he thinks of Zhongli.

"Good night, darling."

It's hard to hang up, but Childe goes to bed feeling warm.