He looks so beautiful, bruised and beaten up. Purple blooms across the rise of Childe's cheek, claiming it. Blood drips from his busted bottom lip, split from their spar and dripping vermillion into the ground. Childe moans, trying to buck his hips, trying to fight Zhongli off as his alpha instincts rage through him.

But Zhongli is too strong, fingers tight around Childe's shoulder as he slams him into the ground in a bone-crushing hold. "Do you yield?"

"Fuck you," snaps Childe, teeth gnashing. He pushes against him but Zhongli holds stock still, solid and unyielding as stone. "Come on. Let me—" Childe swings at Zhongli's face, clipping his cheekbone—but only because Zhongli lets him.

It's part of the game. Zhongli smirks, forked tongue slipping out to slick at the thin line slashed across his cheek. He'll let Childe get a punch or two in and then win the fight. And Childe knows that, anticipates it, even. And yet, he still tries, haughty in the sure way that he holds himself.

Childe rolls, slinging Zhongli to the ground. They tussle, nothing but a ball of long limbs, fangs, and growls. Perhaps it is age. Zhongli feels his instincts roar, but it's softer, more subdued than the wild storm that burns in Childe's veins. He stinks like Electro, like the bitter cold winds of Snezhnaya, like that acrid, poisonous tang of the abyss. And rage; anger soaks his being, and even if it's in good fun, Zhongli is not unaffected.

He pushes back, throwing his weight into Childe. Childe's head slams against the hard-packed ground and he groans. Zhongli's alpha sings, calls him to take his prize, and fuck Childe into the ground—but that isn't what he wants. No, no, he'd rather be filled, rather drag himself overtop and sink onto Childe's cock instead, watching him whine and whimper about underneath as he pins him to the ground, helpless.

A delicious prospect, one that has Zhongli hard in his trousers, cock twitching at the mere thought. He drops his hips, rolling them against Childe.

Childe pauses. His nostrils flare, eyes wide, dim with that dull, ocean blue. But high alert. His hands fall to Zhongli's side, gripping his hips so tight he thinks that he might throw him off but instead, he grinds against him. Childe is hard too, affected by the fight, by the adrenaline that sings in his blood. He moans, low and debauched as he drags Zhongli's crotch over his.

"Oh, you want this," says Zhongli, watching Childe through half-lidded eyes. He drags a hand down the length of him, slicing open his shirt, digging his claws into the meat of Childe's chest. Childe moans, arching into the touch, begging for more. "Have you been good enough for me?"

"I'm—"

"I seem to recall that you picked this fight."

"Zhongli."

What a pitiful sound. Zhongli clicks his tongue, sliding his hand through the blood that slicks Childe's chest, delighting in the rich color against his pale skin. It pools in Childe's scars, runs down his sides in rivulets. Any other time, Zhongli would lick him clean but he's desperate—far too desperate for that now.

Childe responds so well, so eagerly to his touch.

"Beg for it," murmurs Zhongli, gripping his cheek until Childe's jaw tenses, just this side of dangerously cracking. Childe groans, high on the pain, tongue dipping out to lick the blood from his cut lip. Beautiful, handsome, divine—Zhongli could think of a thousand different things to call him, each one capturing a different side of Childe.

Childe spits in his face like an unruly brat. Zhongli leans forward, digging an elbow into the meat of Childe's shoulder until he hisses. "Oh, darling." His voice is pitched low, dark and dangerous, so unlike the kind funeral consultant everyone knows and loves. Here, he is Rex Lapis, an old, archaic god who answers the call of his love, and his need to be manhandled.

He rubs the glob of spit from his face, scooping it up with his fingers and holding them out expectantly. "Open up." Childe does not. Zhongli pinches his jaw, forcing his lips open, shoving his fingers in to feed Childe is own spit. "There's a good boy. Wasn't that easy?"

Childe bites his fingers, hard, fangs sinking into Zhongli's knuckles and latching on.

Zhongli doesn't even budge, entirely unbothered. "Perhaps I spoke too soon," he says coolly. "Should I leave you here, then? Tie you to my statue and let the birds pick at you? You'd be a sight, gagged and prone. Or, perhaps—" His voice goes quiet as he leans close, breath warming Childe's ear, "—I'll fuck myself in front of you, hm? You'd watch and squirm about, your cock aching and neglected."

Childe immediately lets his fingers go. "You wouldn't."

"Have I not before?" Because he has, and Childe loved and hated every moment of it. Zhongli still holds his face firmly, smoothing a thumb over the high arch of Childe's cheekbone. It's a loving touch, so different than the brutal reality of their spar, and Childe leans into it, unable to help himself.

"I'm good," he says quietly. "I'll be good for you, so please—"

"You can beg better than that, I think." Zhongli's hand dips to his chest, flicking a nipple, tugging at the metal speared through it. Childe whines, hips bucking underneath Zhongli, seeking out friction, anything to soothe his aching cock.

"Please."

"A decent start." More tugging at that piercing, circling his thumb around the stiffened, pink nub.

"I yield—fuck, I yield, I—"

Zhongli hums but makes no move to ease his stress. He just continues to play with the piercing, pulling at it, rolling it between his fingers, flicking it until the metal twangs.

Childe stills, then, melting against the ground. He whines, baring his neck, the long length on display in the ultimate show of submission. His muscles are tense, thick cords warping as he strains, trying to not fight the instinct—but he holds there.

What a perfect sight. Zhongli doesn't think he's ever loved his mate more than this moment, prone and ready below him. "Just what I wanted." He drags Childe's arms up above his head, shackling them to the ground with a thick cuff of Geo. "If you stay good, I'll let you come."

Zhongli makes quick work of his trousers, opening them far enough to pull Childe's thick cock out. He jerks it once and then twice. Lets a glob of spit drip from his mouth to slick it, far too impatient to procure something more viscous. It'll do.

"Zhongli—"

"I'll do as a wish," cuts in Zhongli, kicking his own trousers off and settling back over Childe's lap. It's too public and Childe squirms, uncomfortable at being in the open. "Easy there. The only ears here are—"

"The other adepti. I don't want Cloud Retainer to—Ow."

Zhongli pinches a nipple, claws digging into the skin. "This isn't about what you want. You yielded and so, I'll claim my prize. I wish to do so here, in this field, where you so prettily submitted. Mhm, what a vision and sight. Utter perfection."

Before Childe can retort, Zhongli lines himself up against the tip of his cock. He slides onto him, taking him slowly. He moans, a drawn-out sound as Childe's dick spears through his insides, dragging right across his prostate.

"Oh fuck, that's—" To tight, not as slick as he likes, but it's perfect for Zhongli who wants to feel every sting and stretch of Childe's thick length as he fucks himself open on it.

The alpha inside Zhongli murmurs, pulling at his gut, begging for him to fuck Childe instead. He pushes it down, raising his hips until only the tip is left, the round head of Childe's cock pulling at his rim. Then Zhongli slams back down, forcing his length deep, moaning as he rolls his hips and begins his ride in earnest.

Childe struggles against his restraints, his own alpha wanting control. He whines, trying to remain still, trying to be a good boy, but his muscles bulge, tense as he tries to hold back. He bucks, rutting against Zhongli, forcing his cock deeper into his white-hot heat.

"Behave," hisses Zhongli as he fucks himself roughly. He sets a brutal pace that will leave him feeling this romp for days, but it's the sort of claim that he craves even if his instincts fight it. His cock twitches, bobbing between them, slick at the tip as precome drools in a thin line.

"Gods."

"Have you so quickly forgotten?" Zhongli's breath hitches as he grinds down, Childe too full in his ass, nudging at those perfect spots. "You have only one god."

"Yes, yes—"

"And it's?"

It's cruel to expect an answer when he rides Childe so roughly, but his mate comes through, finding his words despite his distraction. "You, it's—fuck, Zhongli. It's you—"

"Zhongli?"

"Morax. Morax—"

The way that his name tumbles from Childe's mouth fills his chest. Zhongli watches him squirm, slack-jawed, tongue lolling out as his cheek pink with arousal. Childe moans, arching his back up from the ground, pert and perky nipples on display. The metal of his piercings glints in the bright sunlight and Zhongli can't help but pull at them both.

"You really just sit there and take it, don't you? You love this, being underneath me. I wonder though—which do you like better? Me riding you until you can't think, or when I fuck you, face-first into the ground?"

Childe's cock twitches at that, the base of his cock swelling with the telltale signs of his knot. And Zhongli knows the answer—Childe puts up a big fight when he comes to losing himself in this way, but he's keener to present his ass, hole slick and waiting to be pounded.

"Next time," says Zhongli, dragging his nails through the mess of his chest, clawing through the dry and flaking blood that's clotted. "If you're good for me until the end, that's what I'll do for you next time."

Childe curses, a moan dripping from his mouth like thick molasses. He bares his neck again, trying to be good. Zhongli's eyes track the length of him before settling on the smart curve of his jawline and the smooth skin below it. That bulging vein. The way that Childe swallows, his throat bobbing.

Zhongli rests his hand there, gently, hesitating. "Ajax," he murmurs in a sweet-tinged tone that belies his actions.

"Do it," says Childe. "Come on, do it."

Zhongli squeezes, catching the soft sides of his throat underneath his fingers. Childe moans, letting out a stuttering breath, rolling his hips as he fucks up into Zhongli.

"More," continues Childe, wheezing softly. "I can take it. Squeeze tighter. Xiansheng."

That's one of the few things that will undo him. Zhongli grunts, sinking down on Childe's length. He squeezes tighter, restricting the blood flow until Childe is a gasping, keening mess. He struggles. Tears prick at his eyes, streaming down his face. Zhongli loosens his grip and Childe sucks in a breath, just quick enough to catch until Zhongli's hand is tight around his throat instead.

Childe's knot is full, tugging at his rim, and Zhongli hisses as he forces himself to loosen, taking it, rim split wide by its hefty girth. "Xiansheng," chokes Childe, the word caught underneath Zhongli's hand with remains wrapped around his throat, pinching the blood vessels until Childe's eyes are glassy.

"Look at you." Zhongli alternates his fingers, loosening and squeezing. He moans, Childe's knot slipping in, filling him beyond his limit. The alpha in his chest rages, angry, but Zhongli tempers it.

He wants this, Childe's knot pressing against his prostate until he can barely think. Face slightly swollen. Split lip still bleeding. Bucking against him as Zhongli chokes and rides him until Childe's coming with a cry. Zhongli lets go, brushing his knuckles over the purpling skin of his neck, a gorgeous necklace designed by his fingers alone.

Childe falls quiet, slack underneath him. His moan is soft. He melts like liquid into the ground, putty underneath Zhongli's as he fucks him through overstimulation. He's close too, cock twitching, insides clenching, pleasure burning through his gut. His alpha rages with the need to claim, to bite, to scratch and shear—but Childe's been good—so, so good for him.

So Zhongli whispers that, leaning forward and petting Childe's hair. Dirty, debauched words, dripping with sin as Childe's cock carves through him with every slick grind. Zhongli comes like that, moaning, Childe's knot plugging his ass, keeping his spend from dripping out.

Childe is still quiet, having dropped into whatever space he often does in feverish moments of brutal fucking like this. Zhongli leans forward, pressing their chests together, uncaring of the mess he's made with his come. His breath hitches, Childe's knot still thick, pressing against those good spots.

"Good boy," whispers Zhongli, kissing his cheek, his nose, his split lip. He licks at his blood and pets his hair, soothing him as he floats about. The Geo cuffs are undone and Zhongli massages the blood flow back into them. "You were so good for me."

It takes longer than normal for Childe to come back to him. Zhongli's face is tucked into his neck, nuzzling the bruising that slowly darkens. "Zhongli," he croaks. And then: "Shit."

Zhongli hums, stroking his side. Childe tries to move, his flagging cock slipping out of Zhongli's ass with a rush of come. Zhongli still hangs over him, his alpha tired and well-satisfied. Childe snaps gently, but it's more bark than bite. When Zhongli kisses him, he responds eagerly, all teeth and tongue as they lick into each other's mouths.

"When's our next spar?"

"Ajax, you cannot possibly—"

"I was good, right? So when's the next time?"

Zhongli sighs, amused. Drags his fingers across his skin, thumbing over scars and dried blood. "That desperate for me to fuck you?" he muses. He grasps him by the chin and turns Childe's face from side to side. "Perhaps you weren't as good as I thought. You let me go too far. I don't like marking you up."

"Liar." Childe grins knowingly. "You love it. And I love it."

Zhongli's thumb digs into the split of his lip and Childe hisses, woozy with pain. "You submitted so well," he praises, giving a little something to take the edge off. Childe moans—but then snaps his teeth, jerking. "Ah—behave."

"Fuck, when you say that—-" Childe moans, his cock already half-full once more, hard against the back of his thigh. "Gods, I want—"

"Me again? That can, perhaps, be arranged." Zhongli's fingers ghost Childe's throat. "This time, however, somewhere more private. Shall we go home? You're a slut for my eyes only—" Childe whines and Zhongli smiles. "I'm only teasing."

"I'm not. Get a move on, otherwise, I'll flip you over and fuck you again, right here. We'll see who's a sobbing mess, then."

Something about that strikes a chord in Zhongli's being. He pulls off, letting Childe rise on aching, sore joints. "Do you think you're in shape for another spar? Because I'd like to see you try."

Childe's gaze turns feral then. When he wipes at his lip, his knuckles come away, smeared with blood. "Two minutes. That's your head start. I might've submitted but the rest of me wants its revenge."

Zhongli smirks, accepting the challenge. Childe doesn't want a chase, he wants another fight. He's pesky when he wants to be, young and stupid at times, a true rascal at his core. Zhongli loves it, loves him, loves the wait they bicker and bite, but trust each other fully. "Well, then, on your count."

Childe doesn't expect a tackle the moment he begins.