A/N: Don't take this fic seriously. It was written for a project where the goal was to write the most cringe, cursed thing we could come up with.
The idea of having children was something that Childe long threw out the window for three main reasons:
He's a dude—specifically a dude with a dick.
He likes dudes—and he initially thought only dudes with dicks, but Zhongli showed him the way of the cunt, and well, let's just say he's now a fan. Specifically in terms of Zhongli. Anything about Zhongli and he's a fan. Childe has yet to come across something about the man that rubs him the wrong way and they've got decades more to figure it out—
Right, the third reason:
He's a Harbinger. Or he was. Apparently, all it took was one threatening, albeit, kindly-worded letter to the Tsaritsa, and the next thing Childe knows is that Capitano comes to deliver his retirement letter personally. ("Ridiculous," he'd muttered the entire time, his voice tinny and annoyed behind that mask of his. "I've been reduced to an errand boy because the youngest can't keep it in his pants". It wasn't a very nice thing to say, especially because Capitano is worse about that when it concerns a very specific man of hulking muscles and a distinctly Monstadtan accent).
The three reasons went out the window the moment Zhongli told him that he could bear children.
("What do you mean by 'live children'? Ajax, I'm a dragon, but you've made love to my vagina." Which is true. Childe had, and still does enthusiastically enjoy that side of Zhongli).
He'd thought it'd involve eggs on account of the whole lizard thing.
("Did you want it to be eggs?" asked Zhongli with a raised brow. No, Childe had not. Maybe. Childe is unsure but curiosity piques. Another time, he tells himself.)
Zhongli wore pregnancy well. Childe's still embarrassed by it and the way his gut churns at the thought.
(Like, yeah, the kid is great. Really. Childe loves him. Cute as a button, looks just like Zhongli, has adorable little antlers even if his teeth are vicious little things that tear into flesh— right, right. That's probably his fault. Childe only encourages it in creative games of tug-o-war, much to Zhongli's annoyance.)
It's been a week since Yuan was born and neither of them has slept because even the sons of gods have no sense of time.
(Yuan is loud. Childe's ears ring even during the day, which says something because as far as he's concerned, he thought himself desensitized considering all the siblings he's lived through. He's been proven wrong.)
Worst of all is work. Childe might no longer be a Harbinger but the trade-off is slumming it at the bank. Pantalone is, regrettably, his boss. The hours are cruel. Definitely intentional.
("What? You don't like the late nights and early mornings? Clopens should be illegal, you say? Nonsense, Tartaglia, you know I won't trust anyone else." Nonsense indeed because Pantalone's entire life goal is now to fuck with him. Childe has barely seen his partner and their child since the day the kid was born.)
Zhongli is a sight for sore eyes. Yuan too, pressed to his chest as Zhongli cradles him there, his palm flat against their baby's head. Childe is quick to swoop in for a kiss, to which Zhongli laughs against his mouth. "I didn't think you'd still be awake," he mutters against Zhongli's mouth.
"Hm. Yuan was fussy. I'd prefer if he kept a feeding schedule, but—"
"He's a week old. Cut him some slack." Zhongli sighs tiredly and Childe kisses the sound away. "Is he eating well, at least?"
"As well as can be. As I said—fussy."
"He doesn't bite, does he?"
Zhongli's expression curls slightly. "Bite? He's adept at licking, I suppose, but perhaps he gets that from his father." A light-hearted tease.
(It's strange, though, the idea that Zhongli can feed their child. Yes, yes, he's decidedly inhuman. Childe isn't sure why gifting himself a vagina raises no questions but he draws the line at milking. Still, Childe wonders. Curiosity rages through his veins. What does it taste like? He'd happily sweep his tongue around a nipple and suck it dry. Probably tastes sweet. Maybe tangy. He's dying to know.)
Come to think of it, Childe hasn't seen Zhongli feed Yuan, far too busy at work and being stuck at the office. Zhongli's been kind and letting him catch sleep when he can, so he's never been around for any feedings.
(The thought of Yuan latching on is almost too much to bear. Sweet and endearing. They've made this child together, progeny shared between them. And, of course, the thought of Zhongli's chest swollen with milk. He never leaked during their pregnancy but Childe never questioned it. His cocks swells. Later, later, he'll talk Zhongli into indulging, for now—)
His gaze tips down to find Yuan licking Zhongli's bare chest which is covered in a sweaty sheen. A sweaty sheen, glittering and pearlescent in the low lamplight of their room. His nipples are not swollen. Milk doesn't flow from them.
Childe's boner dies as his curiosity grows.
"Um, Zhongli…"
Zhongli blinks. "Yes?"
"Yuan is… licking you?"
"Yes?" Zhongli's brow is furrowed. He has the audacity to look at Childe as if he's the one that is off, and not him. He, whose chest is covered in milk that is seemingly pulled from the air. "How else would he eat?"
(It is at that moment that Childe remembers a conversation in the middle of that night. He'd asked about this—feeding their son. "What do you mean my breasts will swell? Childe, that is not how I will feed our child. I don't relish the thought of a sore chest when there are easier ways." Childe is so used to just nodding away Zhongli's concerns about his adeptal nature that he didn't even think about it. No, Childe forgot entirely until he was forced to remember when faced with the strange.)
"Where is… I mean, there's milk. I see it. But where is…" His words are lost. So is his erection, which Childe greatly mourns.
Zhongli's gaze then shifts into something amused. "Oh," he breathes. "I didn't consider that this might be odd. I don't have mammary glands and so—"
"You gave yourself a—"
"I am aware of what I've done to myself, and what I am capable of, darling." Zhongli's tone holds a dry timbre. "Have you ever had a dragon bite your chest?"
Of course, he has. He gives Zhongli a pointed look.
Zhongli huffs, cheeks tinting pink. "Nevertheless, I don't relish the thought of our son sinking his teeth into me. So, like the platypus—"
"A platypus?"
"—I sweat my milk. It's a mess, but only a temporary one. Yuan seems to enjoy it all the same."
Childe presses a palm to his forehead. "Unbelievable," he says. "I—and to think—"
"You wanted a taste, hm? There's nothing barring you from it."
Aside from the fact that his husband is casually sweating milk.
(And really, Childe shouldn't be shocked. He wasn't shocked at the two dicks, the dragon tongue, the spontaneous vagina; what's a little bit of chest milk that seeps from the skin? Probably tastes the same. Childe will still give in, no matter what he does, and Zhongli will forever tease him about it.)
"I'm—I'll leave you to it."
"He's done, actually. Look at his face." Yuan pulls away from Zhongli's chest with a bleary, drunken gaze.
(When handed their son, Childe takes him with no question, pressing him against his shoulder and patting his back. Several burps. A soft sigh. A quick bundle into a blanket before being laid in the crib. Childe is exhausted just watching the poor boy.)
He's sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling open his shirt when Zhongli climbs onto his lap. "You like the strange, you know."
(Zhongli will always be able to read him like a book, and when he tugs Childe's face to his chest, well—as always, he gives in to his curiosity.)
