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Childe looks at him as he always does: his face full of love. Cheeks twinged pink at the embarrassment of feeling so soft, but he can’t help it. The cutthroat, hardened businessman has been tempered by his affection. Eagerly shows it in the way that his hand curls around Zhongli’s gently.
He pulls it to his face, pressing a kiss against Zhongli’s knuckles. Nuzzles the skin there softly.
This doesn’t feel like a goodbye, it feels like every other day instead. Soft, curling mornings spent with languid and lazy touches. The deep, dark nights spent sharing wine by a warm fire. Zhongli’s heart clenches as he thinks of losing these things. There is so little else in his life that’s so quiet and quaint.
It isn’t Childe’s fault. He has no control over this matter, and he’d tried. Begged for his work to reconsider and when they wouldn’t, asked Zhongli a rather life-changing thing instead.
Kept asking him, over and over, relentless in his pursuit.
It sears Zhongli’s mind, the question. He dreams of it, Childe’s words coating the back of his mind.
They stand on the dock of Liyue Harbor. Childe’s hand is warm around Zhongli’s palm as he persists in holding it. Zhongli wants to both leave and stay forever, wants to crawl into Childe’s chest and live there. But he can’t, he has obligations, he has to—
“Xiansheng,” says Childe quietly, the affectionate title rolling off his tongue so naturally. “I’m going to ask you one last time.”
No, thinks Zhongli. Don’t, don’t, don’t.
“They’re transferring me,” said Childe weeks prior, “The bank needs me elsewhere. Zhongli, will you—”
“Come with me,” says Childe in the present, worrying his thumb over the back of Zhongli’s palm.
Zhongli can’t, as much as he wants. As much as he needs, the feeling of it like a fluttering thing in his chest. But like Childe, he has his own obligations, ones that he can’t turn his back on. He’s the oldest prince of Liyue. Obligation is bred into his blood, literally. No matter how much he wishes that love could win—
“I can’t,” says Zhongli in the world’s quietest murmur.
And Childe knows it. Expects it. Still, his eyes dim just ever so slightly. He looks to the ground, his lips curling into a soft little quirk that isn’t happy. It’s strained, tortured, like his world’s just been drowned. Like he’s slipped into the Abyss, that darkened afterlife that haunts children’s stories.
Childe pets his hand softly. “Yeah,” he says, his voice a whisper, “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“Ajax,” says Zhongli. But then he stops, unsure where to go from there. A million things he wants to say but can’t find a way to do so. His tongue has never felt so tied.
Childe kisses his hand again, lips lingering for a moment that’s far too long. People around them watch and pretend not to. Zhongli’s spine tingles; always in the spotlight, even in the most private of moments. What a curse.
“I have a gift for you,” he finally says, pulling his hand from Childe’s. Zhongli reaches into his jacket pocket and hesitates. Childe watches as he eventually pulls out a box.
“Ah, so that’s how it is.” Childe laughs, short and annoyed. “Break a man’s heart and then give him a prize.”
“ Ajax—”
“I know that it isn’t you. I’m just…” Childe sighs.
This time, Zhongli reaches out to grasp his hand. Turns it over and leaves it face up before pressing the box into Childe’s palm.
“Did I pay for this?” asks Childe, amused by the idea.
“I might have billed the bank.”
Childe laughs again, this time a little more genuine. He doesn’t open it, though, just looks at the long and flat thing before tucking it into his suit pocket. Wise choice.
“One last kiss?” asks Childe.
Zhongli nearly gives into the bait but knows that he’ll fall if he does. So instead, he pulls Childe forward, just pressing their foreheads together. They’re similar in height and Zhongli craves this last moment of lingering closeness.
“Thought that might be the case,” says Childe sadly.
“Do not think that I don’t love you,” says Zhongli. “Ajax, I…”
“No, no, I get it. Why have a man when you can have a country?”
Zhongli’s gaze darkens and he pulls back. “That isn’t it.”
And Childe knows it, but he’s always been the type to goad. Pokes and prods at any underlying animosity. It’s how he deals with grief— just lets it flow into anger instead. Childe scoffs, a short noise that lifts from his throat.
Then, he presses one last kiss to Zhongli’s fingers. “Your highness,” he says instead, all the familiarity between them drying up as he places distance between the two of them. Builds a wall straight into the ground and Zhongli feels like he's already gone. Zhongli never asked for this.
But Zhongli’s hands are tied. “Goodbye,” he says to Childe, unable to meet his gaze. Childe says nothing as he steps away. Looks at Zhongli one last time before turning on his heel and boarding the boat.
It doesn’t feel like a goodbye, but it does feel like his heart is breaking. Zhongli yearns to call after him, but he clamps his eyes shut instead. His fingers curl into his palm, cutting into the skin there.
“Fortify the bones,” said Guizhong once when they were young and she was still alive, gentle and mild words that belied their core meaning. He doesn’t think about the rest of the phrase, only the beginning.
Zhongli’s heart hardens like the thick, stalwart stone under his feet as he finally looks and watches Childe leave.
Childe doesn’t even bother to look back.
#
Years pass and the pain dulls. A little bit, at least. Or maybe he's just gotten used to it.
Zhongli’s older and a little wiser, and buried up to his neck in paperwork. He hasn’t taken the throne, hasn’t truly ascended, but he won’t take the brunt of the work even when he does. Liyue has an enlightened system in which the Monarchy works hand-in-hand with the Qixing.
For the better, he thinks. All Zhongli has wanted to do since he was twenty is retire.
Snezhnaya is bitter cold and he dislikes it on principle. It’s less about the place and more about the memories that it digs up. He doesn’t like to think about Childe, but he can’t help the way that the man still claws his way deep into his heart.
Xiao asked about it once, one night. Zhongli couldn’t sleep so he drank instead, overindulging a little on wine. Xiao is a constant shadow at his side and doesn’t have off hours; so he sat with him the entire night making sure he didn’t do something stupid.
“It’s okay to remember these things,” said Zhongli to him, leaning over his balcony railing and watching the moon high in the sky. “Even if they hurt. If you feel pain it means your heart isn’t entirely made of stone.”
Easy words to say and think until he’s forced to come back to reality. Diplomacy is his strong point, but he’d wished that the Qixing had taken care of this instead. Ningguang nearly gave in, but then pointed out that it’s been too long since he’s made a public appearance for the good of Liyue.
Always for the good of their people. Her motto, not his, even though he has love for Liyue. Zhongli sighs at the thought of it.
“My lord,” says Xiao, concerned. They’re sitting in a coffee shop, just outside of Morepesok. It’s a village small enough that he goes mostly unnoticed. The people who live here don’t pay attention to the politics from elsewhere.
So, it’s nice and quiet. The perfect kind of place to clear his mind.
“I’m just tired,” he says, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. It’s been a decade of endless work and meetings and preparing to take the throne. Of talking to his brothers and trying to avoid it for as long as possible. Until recently, at least.
“Is this about Osial?”
Always My Lord when it comes to him, but first names with everyone else. Xiao is a strange, walking contradiction when it comes to propriety.
“We’ve settled our disagreement.”
Xiao frowns. “Wasn’t he complaining about your lack of…” Marriage, though Xiao doesn’t say it aloud. No one needs to; the tabloids scream Zhongli’s perpetual bachelor status from the top of Mt. Tianheng loud enough. Osial has groused about it for years.
“Yes,” says Zhongli, “And it has been settled.”
“Is that the reason for this strangely timed trip outside the country?” asks Xiao, an eyebrow raised.
Yes, but what he says instead is: “I needed a break.”
Xiao’s returning glance is a little rueful. “I don’t think that rubbing elbows with the Tsaritsa would be considered a break.”
“Of course not,” says Zhongli, smiling from behind his coffee cup. “But that isn’t until later this week. For right now, we’re just travelers watching the locals fish.”
Xiao tucks into his latte without another question, the sweet and frothy drink topping his lip with foam. Zhongli laughs at the sight, amused for what feels like the first time in a decade.
Then the door slips open with a small little ding, and Zhongli stops laughing.
Zhongli feels like his heart is breaking all over again. Like he’s about to drown in the ocean right outside. Like he’d rather be left out in the snow to be frozen, than sitting here at this table right now. This trip is a mistake.
Xiao sees the change instantly, hackles raising and his hand slipping straight to his waist where his gun sits. His gaze shifts to where Zhongli is watching, and Xiao stills as well.
The shop is small and there isn’t anyone else in there. It takes no time for Zhongli to be noticed. Sea-blue eyes that lack their usual depth pause on him, before narrowing.
“Ajax,” says Zhongli quietly.
The blonde woman next to Childe blinks. “Who’s Ajax—”
“Lumine,” cuts in Childe, looking at her kindly, “Would you excuse me?”
“Eh? We still have business to discuss.”
“Which can be discussed anywhere at any time. I just…” His eyes flash to Zhongli, and it’s a look that Zhongli feels right down to his gut. “It’s complicated.”
Lumine snorts at that, annoyed as she crosses her arms over her chest. “What, is he like an old boyfriend, or something?” She means it as a tease and it fails miserably. When Childe says nothing, she realizes exactly why, her mouth circling into a little ‘O’. “Ah, I’ll just—”
“I’ll call you later,” says Childe, “We’ll reschedule.”
“Xiao,” says Zhongli next.
“No.” The response is immediate.
“He isn’t going to hurt me.”
“That isn’t—” Xiao’s mouth curls into a near snarl as Childe steps closer. “Back off!” he snaps.
“Xiao,” warns Zhongli, reaching out to grasp his elbow, “Don’t.”
“He—”
“I what?” asks Childe, finally speaking.
“You left him,” hisses Xiao. He was there for their relationship, he’d seen how close they were. He’d been hurt by the loss of Childe too because they’d been friends, though reluctant at first. By the end, Childe was the one other person that Xiao trusted Zhongli with.
“I left him?” Childe laughs, a dark and piteous thing.
Zhongli hates this moment, hates this trip, he’d known it was a mistake from the moment they’d left the dock. He never gets a moment of respite, even after all these years. People like him aren’t made to have happiness.
“Xiao, who do you take me for?”
Xiao flounders at the question, his brow creased. Xiao’s asked, of course. About the exact nature of their break-up. He wasn’t there that day at the dock because Zhongli requested to go alone. Xiao trusted Childe, so he’d agreed to maintain distance. He made his assumptions and it was so easy to just not say anything in contradiction.
But he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know—
“I was the one, Xiao,” says Zhongli quietly. “It was me.”
The air around them tenses. Xiao looks incredibly conflicted and Childe just sighs. Zhongli rubs at his eyes, far too tired to be dealing with this, but it’s too late to ignore it now.
“Allow us some time alone,” asks Zhongli.
Xiao’s acerbic stare is directed towards Zhongli now, but he relents. He storms from the cafe in a whirling mass of exasperation, leaving them alone.
The silence is awkward. Zhongli fidgets in his chair, something that he doesn’t often do. Childe waits for his drink, turned away and refusing to meet his gaze.
Well, two can play that game.
#
The game doesn’t last long.
They move outside where it’s less stifling and the tang of the salty sea air is comforting in a way that surprises Zhongli, who sits on an outdoor sofa, back straight and posture stiff. Childe groans, delighted as he falls against the couch. When he looks at Zhongli, it’s more with fond exasperation than anything else.
It’s so absurdly normal that Zhongli’s heart tightens just slightly.
Zhongli has imagined this scenario, of course; what would happen if they were to meet again. There have been a million different ideas that he’s run through his brain, all with different potential endings. This was never one of them.
“I didn’t expect Xiao not to know,” starts Childe. He looks relaxed enough, holding his cup between two hands in his lap, but Zhongli knows better. Childe’s a master at presenting himself in a certain way. “The entire… well, you’ve always told him everything, so I just assumed.”
“Xiao has my confidence in everything aside from this.” Zhongli is surprised by how easy the answer comes and how willing he is to talk about it. “It isn’t easy to think about how I’ve wronged you, so I let him assume and never corrected it.”
Childe starts at that. “You didn’t—” He sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. “You didn’t wrong me. Yeah, it could have gone better but I was dumb in thinking that I could make it work.”
“You aren’t dumb,” says Zhongli quietly, “You are idealistic. I've always wished that I could have such unwavering resolve when it comes to what I want.”
Childe is quiet for a long time. “This isn’t how I thought this chat would go. I expected some yelling and some anger and a lot of unresolved tension. Instead, it feels like—”
“Nothing much has changed,” finishes Zhongli. It's true, it feels like the ghost of an old afternoon spent in each others company. Insufferably comfortable despite the awkwardness.
“Except for how old you look.” Zhongli cracks a rare, real grin at that, lips spreading wide across his face. Childe leans over slightly, poking at his cheek. “What’s with these lines around your mouth? Too much frowning?”
“I don’t frown,” says Zhongli, “I retain a neutral gaze in all things.”
“You never did with me,” says Childe, pulling back and looking away. His gaze washes over the beach. “Even from the first moment we met, you gave me that dumb and goofy grin. Looked like you had no idea what you were doing.”
Zhongli snorts. “I didn’t. I wasn’t accustomed too—”
“People not knowing who you are?”
“Such genuine friendship.”
They both fall quiet, thinking.
Their beginning isn’t as strange as it is bland. Zhongli was out in Liyue market one day and forgot his wallet. The shopkeeper would have no doubt given it for free, considering he was their prince, but a stranger stepped in and kindly paid for the item— a dangling earring make of glittering cor lapis. They shared some tea, and then they shared lunch. Then they shared dozens of lunches and dinners after that, too.
It was quick, falling in love. Zhongli knew it was a terrible idea, but Childe made everything so easy, so effortless.
He treasures that earring immensely, even now.
“I won’t ever forget that fight,” murmurs Zhongli. The night where Childe found out exactly who he was.
Childe scratches his head. “Yeah, well, being royalty isn’t something you should just forget to mention. If you had, then maybe none of this…” His voice dies off and his mouth tightens. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he finishes quietly.
“You aren’t wrong. The nature of my being makes it complicated.”
“That’s not— It’s just—” Childe groans, his head falling back as he pouts. “It’s not like I can just fuck off and leave work.”
Childe is a high-ranking trust officer for the Northland bank, which is a family business. Old money, old company; really Childe’s hands are as tied as Zhongli’s, just in a different way.
“What do they call it? Star-crossed lovers, or something? I feel like I’ve read something like it.”
Zhongli huffs. “A tragedy, I’m sure.”
“No,” says Childe, a forlorn look falling across his face. “I mean, yeah, but… Wouldn’t you want to love for a little bit even if it means heartache in the end?”
“I…”
Zhongli would in a heartbeat. Has, even; and it isn’t like his feelings have just disappeared. He still burns a candle for this man next to him, despite the years that have stretched in his absence. Osial thinks it’s hilarious, laughing about it still. Azhdaha is quieter about his musings, wistful instead.
“I don’t regret it, you know,” says Childe quietly. “Never in a thousand years. An eternity of pain is worth that one year of happiness, ‘cause that’s more than I ever thought I’d get.”
Zhongli feels like the air’s been punched from his lungs. He wants, he wants. And Childe is within reaching distance. But Childe just sits there, watching the ocean waves slap against the beach. Taps his foot with that nervous energy he’s always had. His fingers remain stubbornly curled around his take-out cup of coffee.
None of this means that he might still want it.
So, Zhongli just sits there and allows himself to imagine. Thinks of all those endings he’s dreamed where they kiss and make up. Childe is right, of course; Zhongli doesn’t regret it either.
“I should have written,” says Childe, “Or something. I mean, it isn’t like we couldn’t be friends.”
Zhongli isn’t sure that Childe believes that though, not with the kind of love they held for each other. The deep and all-consuming type, where your heart flips just at the sight of the other. Where your day isn’t complete unless you see their face.
Childe finally looks at Zhongli, his expression unreadable. There’s a crinkle in his brow as he considers something. His thinking face. Zhongli used to watch this expression late at night when they talked about everything and nothing.
“What is it?” he asks.
Childe hesitates and doesn’t wear it well. He’s never been the type to waffle back and forth and look unsure. Even that day on the dock, he’d been unerringly confident.
“You wanted to come with me,” he finally says.
It isn’t a question, he doesn’t ask it. And Zhongli knows there isn’t a reason in denying it. Childe knows him better than he knows himself, and no amount of time can change that.
“Yes,” replies Zhongli simply, knowing there isn't a point in lying.
Childe nods, a gentle swivel of his chin, and then he looks at Zhongli, a smirk twisting his mouth. “Makes it almost worse, doesn’t it? Ah, well, what’s done is done.”
Except that nothing will ever be done when it comes to the two of them, and they both know it.
It’s probably why they decide to share dinner.
#
Zhongli hates that he can’t say no.
It’s impossible when it comes to Childe, especially when he brackets him against the wall and smooths his hands down Zhongli’s sides. A ghostly touch that’s so familiar that Zhongli still dreams of it.
Except this isn’t a dream; this is reality and it hasn’t quite come crashing back down on either of them. They’re too deep into the moment, too riled up and drunk on the thought of each other— so Zhongli can’t say no.
Not when Childe brings him to his home, a delightfully tiny apartment tucked into the beach side. Zhongli thought Morepesok sounded familiar. He’d forgotten entirely that it’s where Childe is from, where he spent his childhood.
And certainly not when Childe presses him against the door the moment it clicks shut. His hands are quick to undo Zhongli’s jacket and slip inside, against his bare skin. His fingers are cold as they grasp his waist to hold him there.
Zhongli’s head falls back against the door when Childe’s mouth latches against his neck. He groans when Childe licks across the length of it, biting at the juncture where it meets his jawline.
Fuck, it’s so easy to fall back into it. Zhongli’s craved this since before Childe even left, in those middling nights right before his planned departure. He dreamt about it time and time again, year after year as he fucked into his palm to the memory of it.
This isn’t a memory. Zhongli tells himself that as Childe nibbles across his skin, biting at it gently. Marking him up in a way that sets his chest alight. Xiao will hate seeing it, annoyed by the existence of their—
This isn’t love.
Well, for Zhongli it is, likely the purest form of it. But who knows what Childe thinks. All that Zhongli knows is that he’s so very handsome and pawing at his skin. That he’s deliciously hard, grinding his tented trousers against his hip.
Childe doesn’t kiss his lips. He barely looks at them, and his face. It’s that wall he rose all those years ago, the one that hardened his resolve. So close but still worlds apart.
But, Archons, how Zhongli has missed this. He’ll take whatever he can get.
It doesn’t take much for them to switch places, Zhongli pressing Childe into the worn wooden door instead. Then he sinks to his knees and pulls Childe’s shirt from his trousers. Nuzzles his nose against his abs. They’re still defined but not as sharp as when they were younger.
Zhongli doesn’t care, pressing a kiss to his stomach and licking over the soft skin. Ignores the shock of the tiled floor against his knees. There's nothing else at the moment, nothing.
“Xiansheng,” says Childe, using that insufferable nickname. When they were younger and stupider it was only a tease, meant to bring levity into moments. Now, Childe uses it to keep that separation between them.
Zhongli refuses to give him that. “Ajax,” he says, pausing in front of his trousers. His hands hesitate as they hover in front of Childe’s fly. Then, Zhongli looks up and waits. He’s going to make him say it, going to make him—
“Please,” says Childe, his eyes bright with lust.
It’s all the confirmation Zhongli needs as he undoes the fastenings and pulls Childe’s cock free. He hasn’t changed one bit here, still long and thick, and perfect in Zhongli’s hand. He takes a moment to nuzzle the length. Even smells the same, that musk that Childe carries, that scent that’s undeniably his.
Zhongli hasn’t forgotten.
He tugs Childe’s trousers down past the swell of his ass, freeing his balls too. Childe’s breath hitches as Zhongli smooths his hand over his cock, pumping the length with slow and careful reverence.
“Ah,” murmurs Childe.
Then Zhongli wraps his mouth around the tip of his cock, swirling his tongue around it. He hasn’t done this in years, but it’s like riding a bike; he knows all of Childe’s tells and exactly what he likes. So he seals his mouth around him tight and slides down, sucking.
“ Fuck.” It’s a punched hiss, deep from the back of Childe’s throat. His hands reach down to thread into Zhongli’s hair, tugging at it harshly. Zhongli moans around his cock, taking him deeper, relishing in the way that his scalp burns.
He’s missed this, he’s missed this— the delightfully feral feeling of swallowing down Childe’s cock. The way that Childe yanks at his hair and tries not to fuck into his throat, small, aborted little motions that he does his best to hold back.
Childe's dick is heavy on his tongue and tastes just like he remembers. Slightly salty, but all him; overwhelming and all-powerful as it permeates Zhongli’s mind and makes his brain fog. He bobs along his cock, sucking and licking around him, his hand jerking the part that his mouth doesn’t reach.
“Gods,” whispers Childe, his fingers tightening in Zhongli’s hair, “Fuck, fuck—”
Zhongli lives for it, when Childe gets like this. Fucked stupid and unable to think of anything else aside from the way that he takes his cock so well. And yes, it’s only his mouth— but it’s his mouth that’s doing this to Childe, and it’s a matter of pride that sinks deep into Zhongli’s heart.
Childe bucks into his mouth. He can’t help it, and Zhongli widens his lips and does his best to accommodate it. Pulls back and coughs slightly, more unprepared than expected.
“Been a while,” he murmurs, annoyed at himself, heaving a sigh against Childe’s cock.
Childe’s hand grips his chin, thumb smoothing over the arch of Zhongli’s cheek. Watches him from above, his eyes half-lidded with longing. Zhongli’s heart flips over at the sight.
“Try again,” says Childe, practically pleading it.
Zhongli does. Slips his mouth around the crown of his dick, pressing his tongue flat under his length. And slides down and down, taking his cock right to the root until it’s thick and invading his throat.
“Oh, Gods,” says Childe, his head falling back to slam against the door. He winces, but he doesn’t care, his hands slipping around Zhongli’s head to hold him there. His fingers thread into his hair, stroking through it as Childe just melts into the warmth of his mouth.
“So— so perfect, fuck. I just—”
Zhongli swallows around him, his throat tightening around his cock, nose nestled into the thick ginger curls at the base of it. His eyes burn as he tries to breathe through his nose, tears leaking from the corners. Zhongli slides his hand up Childe’s thigh, squeezing at the meat of the muscle there as he slides back. Bobs his mouth around his cock properly as he comes and goes, over and over.
Childe fucks gently into his mouth, never too far, just enough to meet his movements. A tease of what’s surely to come because they’re too far into this to leave it with just a messy blow-job. Childe guides his head, his thumbs smoothing over his cheekbones. He watches him carefully as he slips into his mouth, and Zhongli moans and moans.
His cock is hard in his trousers, trapped painfully against the fabric there. Zhongli knows that he must look like a ruddy, debauched mess. Worth it, he thinks, as he hums around Childe’s cock and fondles his heavy balls. Licks up the precome, delighting in the taste.
“Fuck, you’ve always been so— Perfect, Gods your mouth is—”
Childe’s always been vocal in bed, a fan of giving and receiving praise. Zhongli eats it up the same that he swallows his length, eyes slipping closed as he just remembers what this is like. Never thought he’d experience it again. Wants to tuck this away to forever remember.
“It’s always been you,” says Childe suddenly, and just like that, Zhongli is paying attention again. “Never anyone else, it can’t be, it can’t—”
Zhongli pulls off of him, coughing in surprise. Childe grips him by the face to keep him from running. “Wait,” he murmurs, his voice suddenly panicked, “Wait, just listen—”
“Ajax—”
“I’ve never stopped,” cuts in Childe.
Zhongli falls deathly quiet, still on his knees before him, fingers desperately grasping onto Childe’s thighs. Childe looks at him fearful, like he’s about to fuck this up.
“Gods, I tried to forget, but I couldn’t Zhongli; I can’t. You’re just—” He lets out an aggravated groan as he drags his hand down his face. “This was a terrible idea,” he murmurs. “I should never have—”
“Ajax,” says Zhongli, pressing a kiss to his hip bone. Childe’s cock has flagged slightly in the moment, and he does his best to soothe whatever this is away. He stands, taking Childe’s face into his hands. “It’s okay—”
“Don’t you get it?” Childe’s voice cracks slightly as he presses their foreheads together. And fuck, this is what he used to do in those quiet moments where he just wanted to feel Zhongli’s presence.
“Zhongli,” he says, murmuring his name into the quiet space of the foyer, “I still love you. I’ve never stopped loving you.”
Oh. Zhongli swallows thickly, his fingers reaching out to curl into Childe’s shirt. He looks a little ridiculous, so disheveled, and his pants halfway around his thighs; but his eyes are bright and he hiccups as he speaks, and he blabbers on and on about all the mistakes he’s made.
“The chopsticks,” says Childe, his voice dropping to a pained whisper. “I sit here in my bed, night after night holding those damned chopsticks, and I just—”
“You still have them?”
Childe laughs, incredibly unamused. Drags a hand through his hair as Zhongli pulls back. “What kind of question is that? Of course I still have them. I know what they mean.”
Zhongli stops breathing for a moment as cold dread washes over him. Xiansheng was a lighthearted nickname that stuck because Zhongli was his elder in just about everything. He thought he could give him one last gift that would slip unnoticed, one last confession, but—
Well, he’d clearly underestimated how much Childe learned during his time working in Liyue.
“Did you mean it?” asks Childe, his voice breaking, “Please tell me that you meant it.”
Zhongli kisses him fiercely, all tongues and teeth as he nips at Childe’s mouth and pulls him close. And Childe responds, oh— how well he does. Opens his mouth wide so that Zhongli can lick right in. Their tongues tease each other as their teeth knock together.
Childe pulls away long enough to say, “Bed.”
And Zhongli lets himself be led away, pulled through the cramped space. Childe's apartment is lived in and filled with all sorts of knick-knacks and what-nots. He paws at Zhongli the moment they find his room, tugging his shirt from his trousers. Their clothes come off easily, like they’ve just fallen back in time and their habitual routine.
It’s easy in his bed too, thinks Zhongli, pressed into the mattress with Childe hovering over him. It feels so heartrendingly familiar that Zhongli wonders if the last decade has been nothing but a bad dream.
And the way that Childe looks at him, Zhongli can die a happy man. He looks older too, more mellowed and filled out than in their youth. Soft little laugh lines around his mouth, and the beginnings of crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes.
Childe hesitates as he takes in the sight of him, running a hand down Zhongli’s side.
“I meant it,” says Zhongli impulsively.
“I know,” says Childe, leaning down to kiss him again. This one is softer and sweeter. Lingering. Childe tips his jaw up for a better reach and licks into his mouth like he’s searching for treasure. Maybe he finds it; all that Zhongli knows is that he yearns for this.
Childe travels down, kissing along his neck and sternum. Swirls his tongue around a rosy nipple and lapping at it until it’s peaked, stiff. And then downward, downward—
Zhongli sighs when he sucks a mark into his groin, right next to the base of his cock. Moans when Childe licks across his length, lapping the precome from his dripping tip. Childe’s hands find his ass, squeezing, then move to push at his thighs.
“Are you still flexible?” he asks, teasing.
“No,” murmurs Zhongli. Who would he have down this with? But he tries his best, lifting his legs and folding up as much as he can.
“Perfect,” says Childe in wonder, spreading his asscheeks wide and—
Embarrassing, thinks Zhongli, the way that Childe stares. Childe rests a thumb against his hole, pressing at it just slightly. There’s so little give, but Zhongli can already imagine that stinging burn, how delicious the stretch will be.
It’s been too fucking long. And he tells Childe that.
“Yeah,” he says, leaning over to grab a vial of oil from the drawer. “Same.” Childe looks a little bit sheepish at the thought. “No promises, you know? I might come the moment I press into you.”
There’s something smug that blooms in Zhongli’s chest at the idea of it; that Childe’s just as touch-starved as he is and for one reason only. The only touch they crave is their own, and Zhongli delights entirely in the fact that Childe has his hands on him once more.
And in the idea that he loves him, that he never stopped, that he still has the damned chopsticks.
Childe’s head dips forward and he licks across his rim, surprising Zhongli in the best of ways. Swirls his tongue around, circling across the tight muscle. Warm and wet as he fucks his tongue into him, Zhongli arches against the bed, pressing his ass closer to Childe’s face.
A slick finger joins his mouth, teasing Zhongli’s hole as he pulls at it. Childe sinks it in slowly, wriggling it around to loosen the tight clench.
“Oh. Oh—”
“Gods,” Childe murmurs against him, “You’re… Hah, I just—” He doesn’t finish the thought until he fucks a second finger into him gently, a stinging pace brought on by impatience. But Zhongli relishes it, keening at the touching, fucking back against his hand as Childe drives his fingers deeper.
“Yes,” he hisses when Childe spreads his fingers wide, loosening his rim, trying to make room for his cock.
“So tight,” murmurs Childe, leaning back in to lick at him again, his tongue joining his fingers as he slowly fucks into him. “God, I can’t wait until I get my cock into you.”
“Please,” begs Zhongli, past the point of caring about how desperate he sounds, or how hoarse and raw his words are.
Childe ignores him, twisting his fingers instead, curling them in the most perfect way. Zhongli cries out, clenching around them tightly, and Childe huffs a laugh against the inside of his thigh. “Didn’t take long,” he says into his skin, pressing a kiss there.
“There,” says Zhongli, “ There—”
“I’ve got you.” Childe’s fingers slip deep again, pressing against his prostate with a teasing touch. Zhongli writhes against him, trying to get as much friction as possible. And Childe delivers; he fucks his fingers against the bundle of nerves, delighting in the way that Zhongli's ass sucks them right in.
Pleasure pools in his gut, pulling Zhongli deep undertow. Washes over him as it rises higher and higher. Childe’s fingers are relentless in their pursuit, hungry to see him tip over the edge. It won’t take long because Zhongli is so, so—
“Close,” he says, moaning the word as Childe stretches him out. Spreads his fingers wide, fucks them in and out, drags them over his prostate with practiced precision. Incredible, how he hasn’t forgotten, how he can still play Zhongli like a finely crafted instrument. “I’m so—”
“Come on, then,” says Childe, biting at his groin, sucking a mark there. Goads Zhongli on as he whispers encouragement against his skin while his fingers do the devil’s work in his ass.
Zhongli’s orgasm sneaks up on him and he comes so easily, his come shooting across his chest and slathering his skin. He can feel the way he clenches tight around Childe’s fingers. His brain drifts in the afterglow of pleasure, punch-drunk on it.
Childe watches him, pupils wide as he drinks up the sight. “Perfect,” he says as he pulls his fingers out, “So, so perfect for me.” He leans over and licks across his chest, lapping at Zhongli's come, savoring it like it's divine.
It's filthy, and it isn’t enough, thinks Zhongli. This one orgasm, or watching Childe eat his come. “Ajax,” he says as he shifts.
Childe leans over him, settling between his legs, hiking them over his hips. He slicks up his cock and teases Zhongli's hole with the head of his cock. “Again, no promises—”
“I don’t care, just make love to me.”
Childe chuckles, tugging his ass closer. “Make love,” he says, teasing, “You really do sound old.”
“ Ajax.”
“Say it again,” says Childe, his voice husky as he nuzzles Zhongli’s neck.
“Make love?” asks Zhongli, momentarily confused.
“No, not that.” The tip of Childe’s cock just barely slips in, the stretch of it already overwhelming. Zhongli moans. “You know what I mean,” says Childe into the crook of his throat.
“I love you,” says Zhongli, and Childe slides into him. On and on until he bottoms out. Zhongli feels full, so utterly full, the pressure of Childe’s cock pressing in all the right places. He keens, his back arching, fingers scrabbling for purchase against Childe’s arms.
“Oh, my gods.” Childe curses it, his voice strained and eyes screwed shut. “You’re so tight, fuck.”
“Ajax, please.” Zhongli moans again when Childe pulls his cock out to the tip, only to fuck right back in. “ Ah—”
Childe buries his nose against his neck as he moves. Zhongli shifts immediately, pulling his hips up and wrapping his legs tight around his waist. Childe’s cock slides deeper and they both groan, filthy sounds rising from their lips as they fall back into the familiar dance.
It’s the same— and so good, always so good. Zhongli’s nerves tingle right down to his toes and fingertips, still high in the aftermath of his orgasm and overstimulated as Childe ruts into him. It’s fast and a little bit dirty. Childe’s thrusting has no meter or rhythm, too lost in the feel of Zhongli— something they both thought they’d lost.
“More,” pleads Zhongli and Childe huffs a laugh.
“Greedy,” he murmurs, licking across his neck and biting at his Adam’s apple. Zhongli tightens in response, leaving Childe stuttering slightly in his thrusts. “Not that I’m complaining. Fuck, you feel so good. Just like I remember.”
Childe’s cock fills him so well, shaped just for him. Zhongli meets his thrusts eagerly as he wraps his arms around Childe’s neck. He pulls at the hairs at his neck, digs his fingers into the meat of Childe's skin.
“Shh,” says Childe into his ear, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” And other praising words, the kind of filth that would normally turn Zhongli’s face cherry red. But here, in the quiet space of shared intimacy, he basks in it.
Childe hikes his ass into a different angle and thrusts directly into his prostate.
“A- Ajax,” he cries, his voice fizzling out into a debauched moan. Childe moves faster and fucks into him deeper. Holds onto him in a tight grip, like he’s afraid to let go. It’s too much; it isn’t enough and Zhongli wants more, more, more. Begs for it in low, debased moans. “Ajax, please,” he murmurs, his cock filling out again.
Childe notices, sweeping a hand over it. “Another one,” he says, his tone soft and encouraging. “Come on, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you come on my cock. Too long. Too, too, long. Give me just one more.” Childe works his cock lovingly, his hand slick with spit and tight around the crown.
“So big,” says Zhongli, “I’m so—” His head slips back and he cries out, cresting that wave once more. He comes all over Childe’s hand, his spend thin and wet, but Childe loves it. Zhongli knows that look on his face, the dangerous one where he’s entirely lost in him.
Childe fucks into him with renewed vigor, hips snapping against his ass. Zhongli clenches around him, mewling and whimpering, oversensitive. His head spins. He’s drunk on it; the way that Childe looks, the things that he says to him, the way that he ruts in deep.
“I’ve missed this,” he babbles, “Gods, I’ve missed this. I love you, I love you—”
Childe presses in as far as he can go, thighs tense as he comes. Fills Zhongli up, and he can feel it so deep that he nearly tastes it. His eyes slip closed as Childe moans into his shoulder before he falls against him in dead weight.
And then Zhongli feels it, the twitch of Childe’s shoulders as he lets out a sob. “Oh,” he murmurs, reaching up and threading his fingers through Childe’s thick and curly hair. “Ajax—”
“I thought— That day on the dock, I thought that was it. But you’re here. This isn’t a dream, you’re here and you—”
“Shh,” soothes Zhongli, scratching at his scalp.
“It can’t work though.” Childe’s voice is all choked up. “It’s no different than before, this can’t work, it won’t ever work. We’ve been doomed from the start—”
“I’ve abdicated the throne.”
Childe stills immediately. There’s a pause, an exhalation against his neck and then Childe pulls back, sitting up properly. His cock slips from him and Zhongli winces slightly, but Childe ignores it. “ What?”
“You know that I’ve never…” Zhongli sighs, rubbing at his face. This is a terrible time to explain such a thing. He doesn’t even know where to start.
Childe realizes it. He rubs at his red, leaking eyes, smearing the tears across his face. “Okay, just— let’s get you cleaned up.” Which he does. Childe wipes him down and takes such good care of him that Zhongli nearly slips into sleep as he’s being tended to.
When Childe settles into the sheets, wearing fresh clothing and smelling like the soap he just washed his face with, he yawns. Zhongli presses into his side and he lifts an arm without a thought, the motion automatic, like there isn’t this decade-long absence that’s stretched wide between them.
“You know that I’ve never wanted any of that,” says Zhongli finally, his voice tired and dragging. Childe says nothing, just drags his fingers through his hair lazily, combing out the tangles. “You know that I was only picked due to my age.”
“And the fact that you’re smart. People listen to you. You’re calm and collected, like the stone that Liyue is so known for—”
“Ajax.”
Childe sighs. “Sorry, just— go on.”
“We tried to not fall in love, I think.” Zhongli feels Childe swallow, his throat bobbing against the crown of his head. The way that his fingers tighten in his hair. “We knew it wouldn’t end well. There isn’t happiness for people like me; we’re nothing but political pawns.”
“Zhongli—”
“I wanted to go with you the moment you asked me. Not on that dock, but weeks earlier, the very first time. And every time after that. I’ve never known such happiness, being wanted for who you are, not what you are.”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t know that,” says Childe softly.
“After you left, things changed. The Qixing pressed for me to marry and I refused. I kept refusing. Osial eventually cornered me about it, citing things like responsibility and how I’m the eldest.”
“Always a sour man, that one,” says Childe under his breath.
“I cried. I broke down and I cried and cried and cried. Four years after you left and it was the first time I allowed myself to truly feel it. Osial never mentioned it again until he had an idea. He combed through old laws and learned that he can easily take the throne if everyone was in agreement.”
“So you—”
“I haven’t told Xiao yet. He thinks this is a political excursion with a few extra days for ourselves.”
“But it’s…?”
Zhongli smiles against him, burying his nose into his chest. “The beginning of my retirement.” A pause. “At least it was. You’ve effectively ruined that.”
“So, a honeymoon instead, then.”
Zhongli pulls back and looks at Childe. “We aren’t married.”
Childe blinks at him, smiling softly. “You’re the one that asked me to, though. A ring would’ve been more useful.”
Zhongli reaches out and grabs Childe’s hand. Worries his thumb across his knuckles before bringing it to his lips. Just like all those years ago when Childe held onto him, refusing to let go until he had to.
“I never properly asked,” he says against Childe’s skin.
“I can just call you my husband, settling it.”
Zhongli laughs, a soft snort of a thing. “Do you really look at the chopsticks every night?”
Childe nods, gesturing for him to look to the other bedside table. A long and flat black box sits there, propped open. And nestled gently in the silk are two intricately carved sticks.
“I’ve got the receipt as well, tucked away somewhere. Had Ekaterina find it.”
“Ah, well—”
“Worth it,” interrupts Childe. “Honestly, you’re worth just about anything.”
“I never stopped loving you,” says Zhongli, pressing a kiss to his knuckles again.
“Which is why I’m declaring us husband and husband,” says Childe.
“Husband,” murmurs Zhongli, testing the word.
Childe’s eyes soften as he settles back into the pillows. Tugs Zhongli to him and he goes willingly. Their bed is soft and warm. Zhongli is comfortable and content.
Xiao is likely out of his mind with worry, but—
Zhongli doesn’t care. His eyes slip closed as Childe hums under his cheek, the gentle rumble of his chest lulling him. The soft drag of his fingers through his hair is mesmerizing. Zhongli slips more and more.
And, for the first time in a decade, he’s finally home.