Zhongli works a schedule that could be considered on-call.

During what Hu Tao likes to call the busy months (and really, that's a grim sort of thing to consider even if Zhongli is pragmatic enough to know that death has a bit of a schedule) he pulls long hours on his feet from sun up until sundown. He dresses tiredly in the morning. He turns in at night with aching feet and sore bones. It's always rinse and repeat, and all for a paycheck that he won't see most of (superfluous habits will always get the best of him, it seems).

The winter is dead. Not in people but in business. While sickness is more common, the merriment of the seasons pulls people from those darker places. It's a time full of gift-giving and adoration, something that used to tire Zhongli out.

He loves to see people happy, but happiness is hard to watch for weeks on end when it reminds him of the loneliness he dwells in.

Yuletide this year is different, of course. Zhongli spends his days in the care of strong, freckled arms. He presses his face into curling auburn hair and soaks up warmth cultivated by silk bed sheets. He sleeps in on cold mornings. He spends the bitter nights folded against Childe, melting into the warmth that he instinctively leans into.

Childe hisses when Zhongli presses his cold feet into his calves. "Hey."

"Oh, you're awake."

"You knew that." Childe huffs. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have bothered." He shifts, rolling over in the sheets.

Zhongli can just barely see the outline of his face in the candlelight when he leans forward for a quick kiss. Childe huffs again, but kisses back, even as short and sweet as it is.

"You okay?"

"Hm? I'm fine." Zhongli chuckles softly as he presses closer, resting his cheek on the edge of Childe's pillow until they're sharing it. "It's the Winter Solstice, a night meant to be spent in the company of loved ones."

Childe's expression melts into something warm. "Should I beat the cold away?"

Zhongli doesn't immediately answer. He lifts a hand and traces the arch of Childe's cheek with his fingertips. "You know that I've been lonely until meeting you. This, though—I haven't spent midwinter with another being in centuries, and when compared to then, this is different. You are that warm hearth, Ajax, the one that we sit by on these bitter nights. It's like coming home."

Childe's lip wobbles just slightly at that. He's another man displaced in a different sort of way, so he must know how Zhongli feels.

This time, when Zhongli presses his frigid toes against Childe's legs he doesn't pull away. He just laughs and kisses him again, legs tangled and hands wandering until the room is too hot, and Childe is writhing underneath Zhongli's expert touch. The way he opens up so readily—first those powerful thighs, then his ass on Zhongli's fingers.

When Zhongli slides in, he moans, his cock swathed in that tight heat. Childe watches him warmly; clings to Zhongli, tracing those blackened edges of his skin, and those golden marks that glitter in their dark room. It is midwinter, a time for remembrance on a bitter-cold night, but all that Zhongli can think about are Childe's nails that dig into his back, and the sounds that tumble from his mouth unbidden.

They fuck roughly, quickly, with powerful thrusts and loud moans, and Childe cries out his name until Zhongli's sure the neighbors will complain.

It isn't enough—it's never enough for either of them. When Childe rolls Zhongli over, Zhongli goes, letting himself be pressed into the soft bed. Childe takes his time as he spreads him open on two, three, four finger, until he's shaking in the sheets, begging for more. Zhongli bares himself like this, lies there like an open book, and lets Childe read him thoroughly.

When Childe fucks him, it's grounding. His cock settles deep in his gut and all that Zhongli can focus on is how good it feels, and full he is—both with love and Childe's cock. Childe whispers into his ear, filthy, loving things. He steals Zhongli's breath away with every kiss against his mouth, every suckle against his neck, tongue teasing his skin as Childe marks up every inch of it.

This time it's quieter. Gentler. Unlike the way Zhongli rutted into him, Childe rolls his hips languidly, his cock bullying Zhongli's quivering insides. Zhongli moans, fingers curled into the sheets. His cock twitches, leaking between them.

"Fuck," mutters Childe. His breath is hot against Zhongli's neck as he moans. "Zhongli, fuck."

Zhongli's legs rest on the rise of Childe's hips, the heel of his foot pressed into the small of Childe's back. A hand on Childe's ass, claws digging into it. Zhongli's come leaks from his hole and down his thighs, making a mess.

It's perfect. This is home, he thinks, tears welling in his eyes. Zhongli comes first with Childe's hand squeezing his cock tight. Childe fucks him through it until Zhongli's gasping in the sheets, cheeks wet and ruddy. "Ajax—Yes, yes—"

Childe nearly stops when he sees Zhongli's face. He stares, taking in the sight of him, his gaze sharp.

"Don't stop. Don't stop."

Childe doesn't, pressing Zhongli's legs back, palms against his thighs. Several more thrusts and he's coming too, slipping over the edge with a grunt as he paints Zhongli's insides white. He smooths his thumb across the soft skin of Zhongli's thigh, trailing the length of it down to his ruined hole.

"Look at you," he murmurs, touching where they're connected, Zhongli's rim stretched tight around his cock.

Zhongli whimpers, utterly spent. Childe kisses his forehead sweetly and slips out, watching the way Zhongli's hole tries to clench tight, dipping his thumb back in to relish how well-fucked he is.

A wet cloth and moments later, they're nestled back into the sheets. Childe combs through Zhongli's hair, humming softly. Zhongli listens to his heartbeat, counting each one like their sheep, willing his brain into a lolling doze.

"You said it's like coming home," says Childe eventually.

"Hm?"

"Earlier." Childe pauses, staring at the ceiling as he thinks. Then he turns, pressing his lips against Zhongli's sweaty forehead. "You're my home, you know? No matter what, I'll always come back here."

There are times that Zhongli wishes they could just melt into the same being. This is one of them. He buries his face into Childe's nape and breathes in, savoring his scent. His fangs drag over Childe's neck, thinking about it. Mate. He'd wear his mark so well.

Later. Another time. For now, Zhongli sighs, kissing the spot there instead. "I love you," he says. "Happy Yuletide. Merry Midwinter—"

"You sound ridiculous," groans Childe.

Zhongli laughs at his grumbling and the way that Childe yelps when his cold toes are shoved against his heated skin once more.