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Zhongli moved in with them the first of the month. It wasn’t the first time they’ve met, but it was the first time Xiao had fully acknowledged the weight his presence holds. The impact his living in Xiao’s home will have.
Despite being his mother’s husband, Xiao hadn’t seen much of Zhongli leading up to this point. He’s the kind of man who busies himself in work, day in, day out, the kind of man that makes lots of money but doesn’t feel the need to flaunt it. He’s the rare sort of untouchable man that Xiao hardly has the privilege of knowing; it’s no wonder his mother decided to marry him. He’s clean-cut. Knowledgeable. Holds his head high with poise.
He’s the ideal man of ideal men, and, even if just a marriage for status, Xiao can’t exactly blame his mother. He’d rather have someone like this than any other kind of man.
Zhongli is respectful, and does his best to keep things peacefully placid between himself and Xiao. If not working in his office, he tries to engage in comfortable, casual conversation, which is a lot, considering Xiao’s generally awkward demeanour. He always asks Xiao how work was, and offers him money for things he needs, and when Xiao responds in an uncomfortable stutter, he’ll smile and pretend like he doesn’t notice.
It’s all very amiable, really, to have such a dignified man living with them.
Xiao isn’t really sure when it started. When he decided that he wanted Zhongli for himself.
Because, even from the beginning, Xiao found it hard to deny the raw attractiveness of such a man, with his sharp eyes and full lips and waist accented by a tightly drawn waistcoat. He’s all long limbs and a broad chest and slender hands, the kind that gain callouses only from gripping a pen. It was easy then, to see why, among the other things, his mother chose Zhongli to wed. Harder, now, to discern the way that in a heartbeat if Zhongli propositioned him that he would not hesitate.
Not that Zhongli would ever do such a thing. It’s laughable, really, to think of a scenario in which those circumstances would end up in anything but his mother kicking him out and Zhongli looking at him with a cold disapproval in his eye. To even suggest such a dignified person would stoop so low. Xiao, as always, is the one in the wrong.
No, Xiao doesn’t quite recall when it started, but he can recall with clarity when he noticed something was wrong with him. It went like so:
“Xiao, dear, would you be a doll and ask Zhongli what he’d like for dinner?”
Xiao was at the kitchen table, scrolling absentmindedly through his phone and picking at a package of fruit snacks when his mother spoke to him, hands stern on her hips but nothing but the dull kind of kindness behind her eyes. She’s always been this way, fickle, superficial, but kind.
“Um,” he said, setting down his device. “Sure.”
It was often a thing for her to send Xiao to speak to Zhongli in her stead, and, as her son, he felt no reason to decline. They’re so rarely together despite being married; Xiao really only ever saw them converse at dinner or when his mother will go fetch Zhongli for bed when he was working too hard. Scarcer so has he seen them kiss— only ever at their wedding.
He found it odd, but similarly, found that he wouldn’t consider his mother the type to be overly affectionate, simple-minded as she is. It was never that way with Xiao’s father. And too, Zhongli seemed so distinguished that he’s almost sterile.
Pushing out his chair, Xiao began his ascent to the upstairs area of their home where, alongside a second lounge and both his and his mother’s bedrooms lie, sat Zhongli’s office, a large, spare room that used to hold a plain desk and boxes of things Xiao and his mother didn’t use until Zhongli moved in.
The door to Zhongli’s office was as imposing as it usually felt, though only made of stained cuihua wood. Inside, everything was in its place; bookshelf neat and tidy, pictures completely straight, armchair and throw blanket untouched, and, perhaps the most interesting of all, Zhongli, hunched at the desk, black shirt sleeves rolled up to show off the thickness of his forearms, his glasses perched low on his nose. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone. He glanced over the rim of his glasses tiredly, sharp eyes roaming Xiao's face.
Has Zhongli always looked like this?
“Um,” Xiao began, teetering awkwardly. Why is he so awkward? “Bad time?”
A sigh. The sound was cacophonous, even so small. “No, of course not, Xiao. What's going on?”
“My mom just wanted to know what you wanted for dinner.” Zhongli leaned back, stretching out his spine, and like this, Xiao could see the broadness of his chest, his shoulders. The dip of his clavicle where it was exposed. He swallowed thickly.
“Tell her I could eat anything, but not to trouble herself too much. And next time, please endeavour to knock before you come in.”
Right. The closed door. Indicative of Zhongli not wanting visitors. Still, why was Xiao’s mind instantly swamped with certain other things he’d like to hide behind closed doors? The flush on his face would be telltale if his cheeks weren’t ruddy all the time anyways.
“Right, of course, sorry,” Xiao said.
Those sharp eyes again, trailing him head to toe. He shifted under their gaze; what’s so interesting about his mockneck and ripped jeans?
“Was there anything else you needed?” Zhongli asked, clicking his pen. He pushed up his glasses with one finger. The movement made his muscles shift beneath his skin. Xiao swallowed again.
“No,” he said curtly, feeling undeniably that there was something else he needed— he just didn’t know what. “I’ll go tell my mom.”
“Very well,” Zhongli said. It’s the end of their conversation.
If Xiao’s ears burned hot the whole way down the stairs and into the kitchen, he chose to ignore it.
Now, he finds that it’s getting harder and harder to ignore.
It was easy for him to find placidity, to push his thoughts away and feign disinterest whenever Zhongli would offer to make him something to eat, or ignore how unusually empty the house felt when he went away on two-day business trips. He found that distracting himself in the things he liked, in video games, in going out with Ganyu and the twins would quell the fact that he has developed a crush on his mother’s spouse.
Maybe more than a crush. He doesn’t want to think about that.
It’s even harder still when in doing seemingly nothing, Zhongli riles Xiao up enough to have him flustered, tripping over himself, like a teenager. Take for instance this morning:
The hallway upstairs leading to the bedrooms is narrower than Xiao feels strictly necessary, especially with the long table decorated in knicknacks and small succulents further reducing its size, but, with Xiao’s messed up schedule, he found he never really ran into any problems here.
Zhongli, surprisingly, is on a very similar sleeping schedule to Xiao, at least in terms of staying up. This is why when Xiao slips out of his room around one to get a snack, he runs into him.
“Ah, Xiao,” he murmurs, quiet given Xiao’s sleeping mother behind the closed door of their bedroom. “Peckish?”
Xiao offers nothing but a curt nod of his head and a vague grunt, lips pursing.
“I’m off to bed,” Zhongli says, even though Xiao didn’t ask. Even if he wanted to ask, he knows he couldn’t have. “Your mother might just beat me if I came in any later. I’ll just squeeze past you.”
As he slides behind Xiao, back to the wall, his hand falls to the small of Xiao’s back, as if to keep him in place. Xiao sucks in a breath, quiet enough he can’t be heard. His hands are so big, so slender and warm, pressing firm but without any real thought to his back. Xiao briefly thinks of what it would be like if they slid under his shirt, if they gripped his hips and pulled him backward.
“Good night,” Zhongli says, safely on the other side.
“G-Good night.” Thank Celestia it’s dark in the hallway.
Another time:
The three of them are on a walk through the park that lays outside their gated community. It’s a warm day, the beginning of summer, and, though Xiao hadn’t originally wanted to go, isn’t displeased to be here.
The flowerbeds are well kept and lively and waft a lovely scent to Xiao, who strolls beside the two with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He feels slightly awkward, but then again Xiao is very awkward in general, so despite the cause of his awkwardness being apparent to him, the others don’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary.
“What a beautiful day,” Xiao’s mother sing-songs. He watches as she takes Zhongli’s hand in her own, that same hand that a few days earlier held him by the small of his back, and finds himself growing prickly. Zhongli seems minutely startled by the affection, but intertwines their fingers regardless.
Xiao looks away.
He’s so petty. So petulant, like a child not given what it wants. That is his mother, and Zhongli is her husband. He has no right to be envious of anything.
“That it is,” Zhongli agrees.
Xiao reckons that Zhongli’s hands are big enough to hold both wrists in one, to hold his arms down, to—
He palms his mouth furiously. They are in public, and he is a good for nothing degenerate who is fantasizing about what Zhongli could do with his hands. Clean cut Zhongli. Step-father Zhongli. He’s so vile. Xiao really ought to hit himself.
“Yeah,” he bites, stilted, sharp, throat tight like it’s closing up, “it’s nice.”
Zhongli looks over at him, amber eyes seeming to glow under the warm midday sun, and he cocks his head. “Oh, Xiao, you’ve…” he leans down, picks something off of Xiao’s head. He smiles, almost condescending, and Xiao would be lying if he said it didn’t make his stomach twist. “You’ve a leaf in your hair.” He spends a moment after letting the small leaf flitter to the concrete smoothing down the strands of Xiao’s hair that had gone awry upon picking it out.
Xiao is going to die. Zhongli is petting over him, making him presentable like some show dog while they’re on a walk in the park and his mother is holding his other hand. He’s seriously going to die like this. His head feels like it’s going to explode.
“T-Thanks,” he manages, stepping away so Zhongli will stop touching him. The man’s hand hangs in the air for a moment, almost like he’s disappointed, and then he lets it fall to his side.
“Of course,” Zhongli says. He turns his attention to Xiao’s mother. “I believe that was an Otogi leaf. Did you know, the leaves of Otogi trees have many…”
Xiao can’t listen to him prattle, too distracted by the rushing of blood in his ears and the tight feeling worming around his spine to pay attention. As much as he feels like he’s going to pass out, he’s seriously appreciative of Zhongli’s encyclopaedic knowledge of things that don’t matter, for it takes the attention off of him and the fact that if one were to listen closely, they could absolutely hear the pounding of his heart against his rib cage.
He really needs to get a grip.
-
Later that night, his mother is invited to go out with some friends, which leaves the two of them alone together in the home. It isn’t much of a bother, for despite their interactions being blundering, the interactions themselves are so scarce that even when they’re alone they don’t see each other often. He is more likely to find Zhongli either working on whatever it is he does, reading a book, or watching a documentary than genuinely seeking Xiao out for some kind of activity. And likewise, Xiao is much more likely to be brooding in his bedroom than subject himself to the grief of listening to himself fumble in front of Zhongli.
Since the walk, Xiao hasn’t seen Zhongli, for he instantly retreated to the comfort of his room to hide under his blankets and wallow in self pity as he played a rhythm game on his phone. He’s been there for hours, it now being some time into the evening, and, as he clears a level, his stomach grumbles.
Xiao pats it pitifully. He is absolutely not going to cook, but the snack cupboard does seem to be calling his name.
Trekking down the stairs, he manages three steps into the kitchen before Zhongli calls out for him. His shoulders slump. To think he was so close to victory.
Walking backward, he pokes his head into the lounge. “...Yeah?”
“Xiao, since your mother is out, I thought we could order something for dinner.”
The sentence is said lucidly, plain in that bland, emotionless way Zhongli always tends to speak. He’s sitting in the large corner chair (old enough it has a permanent indent from his actual father), still in his slacks but with the top button of his shirt undone, vest still on, one leg crossed over the other and a television program Xiao doesn’t recognize on the TV.
He’s never once seen Zhongli in loungewear. Not even in the early morning or late at night. He’s always well put together like he’s on his way to a meeting and not watching a drama in a lounge chair. Xiao would find it pretentious if he didn’t find it ridiculously attractive.
“Oh, um,” Xiao says, rocking on his heels. He’d come this way to get an energy drink and junk food, something to snack on to drown his sorrows of being alone in the house with Zhongli again. It appears there’s now a wrench in his plans. “Sure, that’s fine. What did you want to get?”
“I was thinking of trying that Natlanian place that opened not long ago. Would that be something of interest to you?”
While gorging himself on junk did sound appealing, Xiao also isn’t going to say no to a free meal, even if he’s going to be forced to eat it with Zhongli. If he pushes aside his unfortunate feelings, he can somewhat act like a normal human being in Zhongli’s presence. Usually. Most of the time. Regardless, it’s only for the night he’ll be without the buffer of his mother.
“Uh, sure. Sounds good.”
“Great. Then, would you be so kind as to go and fetch my wallet from my desk? I’ll need it for my credit information.”
A nod, and Xiao turns on his heels. Now away from Zhongli, he lets his shoulders fall slack, heaving a small sigh. Zhongli doesn’t even need to do anything for him to feel like this, all tight and icky, like he needs to walk on his toes, lest he let something show. It’s remarkable to him that he can even manage this much, given how awkward he is without the presence of a forbidden attraction looming overhead.
It’s odd to find himself in Zhongli’s office by himself. It’s a very neat and sterile room, as per usual, and the thought of rifling through his belongings, even with permission, feels wrong. Xiao toes over to the desk, settling in front of the bookcase that holds encyclopedias and the certificates of Zhongli’s various academic degrees and achievements. Chewing his lip, Xiao pulls open the top drawer of the desk.
Zhongli’s desk, like the rest of the room, is clinical and pristine, not a pen out of place. Xiao notes the non-cluttered items laid atop it: closed laptop, stationery cup and a neat stack of business cards, for some reason. A small jar of qingxin salve, used to moisturize his hands. A single fountain pen, capped next to a closed notebook. It’s all very orderly, all very Zhongli.
Xiao shakes his head and moves to begin to dig around in the drawer, in search of Zhongli’s wallet, and, in his midst of searching, is distracted by the buzz of Zhongli’s phone.
It’s not that he means to look. In fact, Xiao is a firm believer in privacy, and it’s not like he doesn’t know better. It’s just that it happens to be there, and his eyes happen to fall to the screen which is still illuminated, and the font is so big on Zhongli’s phone that he can’t even help himself— it’s just unavoidable.
It’s a handful of messages, all from an app Xiao doesn’t know and from a username he can’t make sense of.
I miss you. When are you going to see me again?
This misses you too.
Xiao has to squint to figure out what the small preview is, and when he does he nearly throws the phone across the room in shock.
They’re sexts. From someone who is not Xiao’s mother. From a man.
A man.
It’s no surprise really to Xiao that Zhongli practices infidelity like this, knowing his mother does the same. It’s that Zhongli is talking to men online that boggles his mind. Zhongli. Straight cut, calm, knowledgeable, perfect Zhongli. He’d never pictured the man as anything but the prime example of a man his age— the ideal for many mothers’ sons. To think he’s been doing this for who knows how long… it makes Xiao’s stomach twist.
Xiao sets the phone down with shaking hands. Does this mean… he possibly has a chance?
It takes every fibre of his being not to punch himself in the head. No, of course he doesn’t have a chance with his mother’s husband, even if the fact that Zhongli likes men has just been established. It’s a laughable thing to think, let alone fantasize— imagining the possibility that his creepy feelings have any semblance of weight behind them. That Zhongli could possibly look at him as anything but someone he’s bound to by association.
Xiao clicks off Zhongli's phone and sets it back into the drawer, tongue darting out to wet his lips.
How is he going to face him? How can he possibly meet Zhongli’s eye knowing now that all of those overnight work trips may not have been what they seemed? How will he manage to have a normal conversation with him now that his mind is going to be plagued with nothing but thoughts of him laying other men down?
He swallows as he locates the wallet, pulling it out and shutting the drawer once more. The trek downstairs feels long and harrowing, eerie with only the sound of Xiao’s socked feet padding along the dark hardwood. He finds Zhongli sitting in the same place he left him, completely placid and unaware.
He hands him the wallet. Zhongli smiles. It makes Xiao’s chest lurch. “Ah, thank you, Xiao. I assume you were able to find it with relative ease?” Xiao offers a pitched up hum and a curt nod of his head as his response, wringing his hands. Curiously, Zhongli tilts his head. “Is everything alright?”
“Fine,” Xiao tells him. “Good. Great. You can decide the food. You know what things I like so… yeah. I’m going to go upstairs.”
“All...right, then.”
Great save. As repentance, Xiao does end up hitting himself as he trails back up the stairs.
-
Living abroad from the rest of his family is something that had never bothered Xiao. As quiet and secluded as he is, not being forced to go to family get-togethers was something he appreciated. His mother, on the other hand, was not so similarly inclined. As he grew into an adult, however, her ability to force him to go dwindled to the point that she just stopped asking entirely.
Halfway through the summer, his mother lets him know that she isn’t going to be home for three days, off to see her sister and play catch up. It’s all very amiable of her, really, and she even promised to bring him something back from Liyue, knowing he wouldn’t want to go and listen to them gab about things he’s not interested in.
However.
Three days without his mother also means three days alone in the house with him.
Xiao reckons it a death sentence, even if he’ll probably survive. Keyword: probably.
The first day passes in a blur. The first half of the day. Ever since he’d seen the messages on Zhongli’s phone, Xiao has been walking on eggshells around Zhongli. Not that the man would know— not that he could possibly know, but it still makes Xiao anxious.
Each time he sees Zhongli, his mind is ridden with the thought of him with other men, how he must treat them. Xiao thinks he’d be gentle, wouldn’t he? Cruel only in the ways he is now. He’d kiss them slowly and hold them gently by the waist and wipe their tears when it felt too much. He’d speak quiet, a low drawl, and say the kinds of things that would have Xiao shaking, embarrassed.
He smooths a hand over his face. Xiao is getting ahead of himself.
It’s a Friday, so Xiao doesn’t expect to see Zhongli until later in the night; at the office until five and then another hour or so of paperwork done quietly in his office, after which he’d bound to come down and ask if Xiao has already eaten dinner. If Xiao were less of a masochist he might hide in his room to avoid all contact, but he is a masochist, so he’s sitting at the breakfast bar picking at the almond tofu his mother had made him before she left.
It’s around eight-thirty. The socked padding of Zhongli’s feet is telltale.
“Xiao,” he starts, like he always does, placid and even and so warm where his voice curls around Xiao’s ears. He takes another bite, humming so he doesn’t have to look at him. “Good evening. Have you eaten?”
“Yeah, a while ago,” he says. “Just came for a snack.”
“I see. Well, it’s far too late to be cooking, so I may just follow in your footsteps.” He goes to walk past Xiao, then stops, turning around.
Xiao blinks at him. “Is something wrong?”
It takes every ounce of self control Xiao has not to gasp outwardly as Zhongli picks up his hand, careful, like he might break. He inspects his fingers, on which the nails are painted black with his middle finger green, courtesy of Lumine, who got a new LED lamp and needed a test subject.
“When did you do this?” Zhongli asks, curious, dragging his thumb over the nails. It’s so hot, the first time Zhongli has ever touched him with purpose, and Xiao is so starved that even something as mundane as this has his head swimming.
“L-Lumine did it for me,” he explains, “She got a new light and wanted to test it. I was going to, um, take it off soon anyways.”
“Why?” Zhongli questions, dull, flat, like he doesn’t understand why Xiao would possibly do such a thing. “It suits you.”
He drops Xiao’s hand, and with it, Xiao’s stomach out of his ass.
“Aha,” Xiao laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You think?”
“Yes, the colours… they match your style, don’t you agree?”
Lumine had said the same thing when she had presented the gel polish bottles to him, insisting that the black would go with his dreary wardrobe and the green would compliment his tattoo— not that he ever really wears sleeves short enough to show it off. He’d relented, allowing her this, under the guise of being her test subject but in reality liking the cosmetics more than he felt he should.
“I thought you might… find it weird.”
“Why would you think that?” Zhongli asks. He steps away, breaking whatever it was that had begun to build up between the two of them. Xiao watches as he opens the cupboard, rolling his neck as he searches for a suitable meal replacement. “I don’t care what you do with your body, Xiao. It wouldn’t be my place to say anything, anyways. I have no jurisdiction over you.”
Xiao’s face is hot. He can’t help himself. “Do you… like it?”
Turning around, Zhongli leans back against the counter. When he crosses his arms over his chest, it makes the fabric of his shirt pull taut over his biceps. Xiao’s mouth floods. “I do,” he says. “It’s pretty.”
Pretty. Pretty. Zhongli thinks something about him is pretty. He’s going to suffocate.
“Thanks,” he manages, swallowing spit. “Maybe I’ll keep it.”
“Oh, am I the deciding factor?” Zhongli teases. His grin is going to be imprinted behind Xiao’s eyelids for eternity; full berry lips and sharp white teeth. “I didn’t realize my opinion meant that much.”
“No, it’s just… I’m self conscious, I guess.” Pathetic. Not self conscious— he’s just pathetic.
“Well, that isn’t good to hear.” Pushing himself off the counter, Zhongli moves to open the fridge, from which he pulls out a single apple. “You worry too much.”
It’s not as if he has any control over that, does he? “I’ll… try to be better.”
“You don’t have to promise me anything, Xiao.” He peels the sticker off the fruit and shines it with his sleeve. “I’m going back to my office. If you need anything, don’t be shy and ask.”
“Okay,” Xiao says, and Zhongli is gone.
He shoves his face into his hands and wishes he could scream.
-
He doesn’t expect to find Zhongli on the patio the next day, but then again, Xiao doesn’t really expect to find him anywhere. It’s a hot day, one of the hottest of the summer so far, and Xiao had been determined to lose himself in the cool water of the oblong pool in their backyard, to get tipsy on vodka mixers and pretend like being alone in the house with Zhongli isn’t the most harrowing thing he’s ever had to do in his entire life.
Of course, as Xiao pads out to the backyard, in his black swim trunks with his towel over his shoulder, sunglasses low on his nose and 50 spf in his hand, everything has to be ruined for him.
Xiao’s never seen sunkissed skin like this. Never seen a man over forty look like this outside of magazines and on TV screens. It’s almost statuesque, the way Zhongli lounges on one of the cushioned pool chairs, nose in a thick book and sun reflecting off of his oiled skin. There’s nothing quite like the way his sun-rosy flesh melts into his loose shorts, nor the way the rucked-up fabric offers Xiao a glimpse of the pale skin where the sun doesn’t quite reach. He swallows thickly. He should have just stayed indoors.
“Ah, Xiao,” Zhongli murmurs, not looking up. He draws a hand up his own bare abdomen mindlessly, as though inviting Xiao to look. How painfully oblivious he is to the way every fibre of Xiao’s being is insisting he drop to his knees this instant. “Out for a swim?”
“That was, um,” Xiao starts awkwardly, “the plan, yes.”
“Well, don’t mind me. I’m just enjoying the sun.”
Xiao forces his eyes to the red-toned interlock beneath his feet. If he pays attention to the small weeds that have begun to sprout through, he can somewhat erase the image of Zhongli’s partially nude form from his mind— or at least rid himself of it for the moment.
Who is he kidding? This is all he’s going to think about for the next six months.
Setting down his towel, Xiao pours some of the sunscreen into his hand and spreads it over the skin of his arms. It’s cool against his heated skin, slightly tacky as it dries from white to clear, and, once he’s ensured he’s got an even coat, Xiao moves onto other parts of his body. It’s mechanical, clinical, brainless the way he uses it as an excuse not to look at Zhongli. He focuses on the shiver the cream sends down his spine instead of the one Zhongli does. And it works.
For about two minutes.
“Your back,” Zhongli says, voice dripping like honey. Xiao wasn’t aware that he had been watching him apply the sunscreen, but the implication makes heat prickle under his skin in the sort of way it always does in Zhongli’s presence. “You’re missing spots, you know. Come. I’ll cream you up.”
Xiao nearly chokes on his own spit, heat flooding to his face. No way— absolutely no way those words just left Zhongli’s lips. And absolutely no way that a man of his age doesn’t know the double entendre there. He has to know, has he not?
Xiao makes the mistake of glancing over, meeting Zhongli’s blank expression where he’s looking over the rim of his sunglasses.
“Unless,” he says, “you’d rather burn in patches.”
Apparently he doesn’t know. Which is fantastic. Just incredible.
Xiao sees no way out of this, so he purses his lips and walks over, holding out the bottle. “Okay.”
Zhongli takes the bottle and stands, towering over Xiao. His eyes glow amber in the sun. “Go on,” he says, gravelly, making Xiao’s toes curl into the patio. This is how he’s going to die. Zhongli hasn’t even touched him yet. “Turn around, Xiao.”
It’s somehow more daunting not being able to see Zhongli. He can feel him, the size of him, a head and a half taller than Xiao, heat radiating off of his sun kissed skin. He smells like tanning oil and whiskey and the scent is positively intoxicating.
“Do you burn easily?” The click of the lotion bottle: firm and final, like death bells. Xiao swallows. “You’re so pale.”
“I just,” Xiao starts, listening to Zhongli squirting out lotion into his hand. “I just rarely go outside.”
Zhongli hums. There’s the sound of him rubbing his hands together, both to spread the product and warm it before his palms meet Xiao’s shoulder blades and it takes every fibre of Xiao’s being not to stutter out a sigh. Zhongli’s hands are large, the kind with big, flat palms and long, delicate fingers with knuckles that aren’t too knobby. They glide over his back like they own him, and something sick and violent within Xiao wants them to.
They slide down, down, down, over each bump in his spine until they reach the small of his back, and Xiao startles, only minutely.
“Cold?” Zhongli asks, rubbing small circles in an attempt to make the cream evaporate.
“F-Fine,” Xiao mumbles. It feels so good, and Zhongli isn’t even doing anything. Why is he so vile? Why must his desires run so sick? Why must it be something like this that makes heat curl in the pit of his stomach?
Out of nowhere, Zhongli’s thumbs dig into his lower back. It makes Xiao hiss, arching away from the touch.
“You’re so tight,” Zhongli states, completely placid, almost brainless, and it makes Xiao’s head spin. He’s seriously going to die like this. If he has to spend another two seconds in Zhongli’s presence he’s going to drown himself in the pool. “You should use some menthol rub after your swim, hmm? Loosen up your muscles.”
His thumbs keep digging, and Xiao keeps going up on his toes, like that might get him away from it, like it might quell the heat in his groin.
“I have to use the washroom,” he bites, jumping away. He doesn’t look back to see Zhongli’s face as he scuttles shamefully into the house.
Xiao has never run to his bedroom faster, slamming his door shut and immediately shoving a hand into his shorts, nothing but tan skin and deft fingers plaguing his mind. He’s so pathetic.
-
Dinner is chicken and rice, and Xiao spends the first ten minutes of it unable to meet Zhongli’s eyes. He finds that every time he looks up from his bowl, Zhongli’s golden gaze has already found him, as though unyieldingly watching him pick through his meal. It makes his stomach twist, makes him dig his fingers into his thighs under the table.
“Is it alright?” Zhongli asks eventually, likely noticing the way Xiao has spent more time pushing around his food than eating it.
“It’s good,” Xiao responds placidly, trying his best to quell the tightness in his throat. It is good, but eating in front of Zhongli makes him feel like a science experiment being observed for changes.
“Are you alright?” Of course he isn’t. Xiao hasn’t been alright since Zhongli came into his life. And he especially isn’t alright now, sitting in front of the man who earlier was the reason he came. “After you came back out for your swim you seemed a little off, and now too.”
“I’m fine,” he tells Zhongli, shoving a piece of chicken in his mouth. “I think I’m just tired from the heat.”
“Oh, is that so?” Zhongli hums. “That’ll do it, I suppose.”
Something touches his ankle. It’s solid enough that Xiao doesn’t startle, but he does question it a little bit. The thing drags slowly up his his ankle and over his calf, gentle and with intent— it’s Zhongli’s foot. Xiao is going to pass out.
He’s touching him. Under the table. And pretending like he isn't. Zhongli’s expression is blank as per usual, as though he isn’t making Xiao’s gut clench, as if he isn’t a menace, as if he isn’t playing a goddamn game of footsie with his wife’s son. Xiao is left to do nothing but flush and stuff his face full of food to distract himself.
Surely Zhongli doesn’t know what he’s doing, right? Surely he must be doing it absentmindedly, unaware that the thing he’s touching is Xiao’s leg, right? The foot trails higher, almost to his knee, then back down, dragging back and forth along his calf.
He says something, but Xiao is much too distracted to make sense of it.
“W-What?” Xiao asks, the most placidity he can manage.
“You got sun,” Zhongli repeats. “A tan.”
“Oh, r-really?” He hadn’t really noticed, but it’s hard for him to notice anything other than the way Zhongli’s foot is playing with his pants seam.
Zhongli hums with a nod. “Yes. A little more sun and you’ll end up like me.”
The foot leaves his leg, and with it, the air is sucked out of Xiao’s lungs. He’s hard. He’s hard in his jeans under the table because of Zhongli. And Zhongli is sitting across from him none the wiser. He’s going to hell.
“If you’re done eating, should we watch something? I saw there was a new documentary you might like.”
Xiao presses his lips together tightly, offering a curt nod. “Y-Yeah, okay. I just… have to go do something first.”
Zhongli doesn’t seem to notice the urgency in his voice. “Do what you need.”
He scrambles away from the table. Back to his room for the second time today.
-
Xiao comes to the conclusion the following day that he can’t take it anymore.
He realizes some time between rubbing his dick raw and making himself sick with anxiety that if he doesn’t have Zhongli once, or at least get these feelings off his chest he’s just going to wallow in self pity until he dies. Is it socially acceptable to admit to your parent’s spouse that you’ve had feelings for them for months? No, but it also isn’t socially acceptable to behave the way Xiao has been. It isn’t socially acceptable to become a hermit at twenty-three, which is certainly the route he’s going down if things continue as they are.
The preparation for the confrontation goes as follows: cigarette, shower, two minute staredown with himself in the mirror, shot of tequila chased with water to get the taste out of his mouth, another two minute staredown. He doesn’t dress up, just throws on an oversized black and white striped t-shirt and his usual black ripped skinny jeans, barefoot and shaggy-haired from a lack of product. He dresses how he feels. Pathetic.
The door to Zhongli’s room feels thick and impenetrable, like it’s ten metres thick and one knock will shatter all of the bones in his hands, so he doesn’t knock.
Again, everything is in place: bookshelf, armchair, Zhongli. Nothing has moved since the last time Xiao was in here but it doesn’t make him any less worried for what’s to come. For what he’s about to potentially ruin— his family, his home. Not that he thinks she’ll particularly care. It doesn’t make it any easier.
At the sound of the door, Zhongli’s head lifts from where he’d been immersed in his paperwork. His mounds and mounds of paperwork. Zhongli sets his pen down.
“Xiao,” he says; even, stern. The mere sound of his voice sends a tremor down Xiao’s spine. “I thought I told you to knock?”
Xiao doesn’t answer, can’t, he thinks. The words will come out garbled and ruined if he doesn’t say exactly what he practiced. His bare feet pad against the hardwood, the only sound in the otherwise quiet room. Zhongli sets his pen down.
“Is everything alright?” he asks. He folds his hands together atop the hardwood. “Xiao?”
“You’ll hate me,” Xiao tells him, though Zhongli may not hate him as much as he currently hates himself. He keeps walking and walking until he reaches the edge of the desk, focusing on the dark cuihua wood so he doesn’t have to meet Zhongli’s steely gaze. “You’ll despise me. I’m going to ruin everything and I absolutely do not care because you’re driving me up the fucking wall.”
A stagnant pause. If Xiao were looking, he’d see Zhongli’s pursed lips. “What are you on about?”
“I know you like men,” Xiao tells him. “I know you do. I saw your phone, I saw the messages.”
Another pause. The silence is deafening. He’s going to die like this: flustered and shaking with nothing but sick want curdling in the pit of his gut.
“Just what are you trying, Xiao?” Zhongli asks. “Are you here to blackmail me?”
“No!” Xiao shakes his head frantically, eyes wide. “I know my mother only married you for business and you both have been having affairs since your arrangement began.”
Zhongli doesn’t respond.
“And— and,” Xiao stammers, clenching his fists. “And I know this is horrible and you have every right to hate me as much as I hate myself but I have never wanted anyone more than I want you.” Zhongli just looks at him. Looks and looks until Xiao is convinced he’s seeing through him. “So, please either just shun me or take me me because I can’t put up with this any longer. I can’t be around you without going insane.”
“You think that because you saw some messages on my phone that it means I might like you, is that it?” Not completely, but that was the gist of it, Xiao figures. If Zhongli likes men, that’s half the battle, is it not? One third of the battle. A sliver of the battle. “You do realize,” Zhongli says, leaning forward over the desk, “that I am married to your mother?”
“It hasn’t stopped you from sleeping with people before,” Xiao says before he can really think about it.
“Those people weren’t the children of my spouse.” The baffled humour in his tone stings as much as a knife would, slicing him up and leaving him to bleed dry.
There are tears welling in Xiao’s eyes. He needs to leave. He needs to be anywhere but here. “Forget I said anything,” he grits. What was he thinking? “Please. I never should have come here.”
As he turns heel, one hand furiously rubbing at his eyes, a slender hand closes around his wrist, halting his movement. Xiao turns back wearily to find Zhongli with a conflicted expression on his face.
It’s silent for a few moments until: “I didn’t say no.” Another pause. “I didn’t say no,” he repeats. It’s almost as though he’s trying to convince himself.
Xiao lets out a pathetic excuse of laughter; completely flat. “Don’t force yourself. It’s more hurtful than any alternative.”
“I’d never,” Zhongli tells him. “Did you honestly think I didn’t know?”
Xiao just blanches.
Zhongli tugs him closer; on the same side of the desk, now. “I’d always taken it at face value,” he begins, leaning back in his seat. “I’d figured you were awkward because I was a new addition to your household and you didn’t like me imposing. I kept my distance. You kept seeking me out. It was only a matter of time before it dawned on me why you were always so jittery in my presence.”
“That’s— that’s—” true.
Closer, still. Their knees touch. “Unethical as it may be, I thought I was clear in my stance.”
As if! Zhongli is the steeliest person Xiao has ever met. He could never get a read on that man’s emotions, on his opinions, always monotonous and uninterested even when conversing the topics he relishes in. How could Xiao have possibly known what he was thinking?
“How?”
“That day, at the pool,” he smooths his hands over Xiao’s shoulders, as though smearing sunscreen. Close attention to the knots in his lower back. “How when I slip past you in the hallway my hand always manages to hold you here.” His hand presses firmer at the small of his back, pulling him forwards. His eyes appear golden under the dim light where it reflects, carved from stone where he’s craning to look up at Xiao. He draws his foot up Xiao’s calf. “Our feet at the dinner table.”
Xiao’s breath stutters, eyes fluttering for a few moments as his eyebrows draw together. He hadn’t been imagining, after all?
“If I indulge you,” Zhongli tells him, “you mustn’t tell a soul.”
“I won’t,” Xiao says, leaning forward with wide eyes. “I’d never. But promise me this: you won’t use and discard me after the fact.”
“What a petulant, greedy boy you are, Xiao.” It sends a shiver down his spine to be called a boy by Zhongli, as though he isn’t an adult, as though he doesn’t pay his share of the bills and go to work every day. As if he were nothing but a bratty child, throwing a fit because he isn’t getting his way. “I offer myself to you to satiate your need and here you are asking for more? Do you understand what situation you put me in?”
He is, though, isn’t he? A greedy child. Sure, he pays his share, and sure, he goes to work, but he’s never needed to do any of that. Everything has always been handed to him on a silver platter, wealth and poise coursing through his veins, is it any surprise he’s trying so desperately to keep Zhongli now that he has him?
“And you do realize,” Zhongli says, drawing his long fingers up Xiao’s arm, pushing up his baggy shirt’s sleeve. “That it isn’t going to be what you think, yes? I won’t hold your hand in public, I won’t touch you when I’m not absolutely positive we’re alone. No one but you and I will know. This is, and forever will be, a secret.”
Xiao swallows thickly. He doesn’t care. “Of course.”
Zhongli’s mouth curls, some sort of sly smile, the kind that makes Xiao’s stomach twist. “Good,” he says. “Good. I suppose, then, that you’ve waited long enough?”
If he waits any longer, he’s sure he’ll die. A nod, and it’s all over for him.
The kiss pressed to his mouth is warm and knowing, experience evident in the way he strokes Xiao’s cheekbone and coaxes his lips apart like it’s the easiest thing in the world. His tongue is soft, running softly against Xiao’s upper lip to further open him up, to get him weak in the knees and trembling in the hands.
Zhongli slides his hand around Xiao’s waist, holding him by the small of his back and ushering him further even more. Like this, he’s forced to kneel on either side of Zhongli in his desk chair. The fit is a bit awkward at first, but Xiao manages, too busy with his head swimming full of Zhongli to really notice. Settling into his lap, Xiao holds Zhongli by the shoulders; an attempt to ground himself and convince his brain that this isn’t some cruel lucid wet dream.
He starts only minutely as Zhongli’s hands slip under his sweater, feeling out his heated skin where goosebumps rise beneath the touch, where he shivers at the feel. Zhongli’s hands have always been a point of interest for Xiao. They’re long and elegant, not unlike the rest of him, with clean, manicured fingernails and the sorts of knuckles that aren’t too knobby. He’s always longed for the feel of them dragging across his quivering skin, sinking into his mouth.
Xiao has never been kissed in a way that’s had him feeling as drunk as Zhongli does. He can feel how flushed he is, blood ringing in his ears, so unbearably hot he feels like he might combust. Zhongli’s hand slides up his chest mindlessly, brushing a nipple on the way, and Xiao makes a pathetic noise into his mouth.
He parts only to tease. “Do you always get so worked up just from kissing?”
What is he to say? If he says yes, it makes him seem easy. If he answers truthfully, it gives Zhongli the means necessary to tease him even more. Xiao solves his own dilemma by saying nothing.
Thumb over spit-slick lips; Xiao opens his mouth to take the digit inside. It seems as though Zhongli no longer wants an answer, easily distracted by the way his finger slips between Xiao’s full lips. Xiao swipes his tongue over the pad of Zhongli’s thumb, tasting salt and the diluted qingxin oil he uses to moisturize his skin. He lets his eyes flutter close, relishing in the flavour that is undeniably Zhongli.
“You’re a menace,” Zhongli tells him, but he doesn’t sound too offended. Enthralled, maybe. Encaptivated. Aroused. Definitely aroused. The thought sends a tremor of heat down his spine. “You know what you’re doing, don’t you?” Xiao blinks open his eyes, stares at Zhongli. The digit leaves his mouth, leaving a trail of saliva where Zhongli smoothes it over Xiao’s cheek. “Hmm. Maybe you don’t.”
If he were trying to be seductive, Xiao is sure it would be a lot more awkward than this. Is what he’s doing really that teasing?
“I’ve…” Xiao murmurs, sliding his hands so they’re flat on Zhongli’s chest. “I’ve always wanted to taste you.”
Something darkens in Zhongli’s eye. “Taste, you will,” he says. “Come.”
All Xiao can do is squeak indignantly and hold on to Zhongli tightly as the man stands with Xiao still on him, hands under his thighs to support. He carries Xiao like he’s nothing, holds him so casually one handed as he opens the door to step out of the study and into the corridor. He tucks his face into Zhongli’s shoulder, beyond embarrassed and unable to look him in the eye.
As the walk, one of Zhongli’s hands plays with the waist of his jeans, dipping below to touch heated skin almost absent mindedly, though he walks with purpose. Though, Zhongli doesn’t turn at the end of the hall, the way in which he’d take to get to Xiao’s room. He goes straight. To their room. Zhongli and Xiao’s mother.
Xiao looks at Zhongli in bewilderment. “Zhongli?” Nothing. The look in his eyes has Xiao’s stomach twisting. “Zhongli?” He squeaks as Zhongli drops him onto the bed. Xiao can’t do this. Not here, not this bed, the bed Zhongli and his mother sleep in— she’ll know . Xiao lets Zhongli know this, trying to scramble away as Zhongli crawls atop him.
“She won’t know,” Zhongli says easily, pinning Xiao to the mattress.
“She’ll know, she’ll be able to tell, Zhongli, please— ”
“Doesn’t that make this more fun? Isn’t that what you’re getting off on?” Xiao stops struggling. Zhongli raises an amused eyebrow. “Oh?” he asks. “Too on the nose?”
“You’re wrong!”
Zhongli ignores him. “That’s why you’re so hard in your jeans, isn’t it, Xiao?”
Xiao squirms beneath Zhongli’s scrutinizing gaze. “Y-You’re wrong."
A hum that sends chills down his spine. Zhongli trails wet kisses up his neck, falling in place next to his ear, where he asks, “Am I?” and grips Xiao through his pants. Xiao sucks in a sharp breath, hips kicking. “If that isn’t the case, why are you so eager to be touched? You gave up quite fast, don’t you think?”
Xiao whines, kicking his feet petulantly. “I did not expect you to be like this.”
“You expected anything but a dirty old man?” Xiao shivers again. Dirty old man. Zhongli really is, isn’t he? “But you like it, don’t you?” He punctuates it by slipping his hand down the front of Xiao’s pants, palming him.
“F-Fuck,” Xiao grits, tipping his head back. Zhongli bites him. “Yeah. Yes. I like it.”
“Of course you do,” Zhongli murmurs. His tongue is hot and leaves cooling trails of saliva where he drags it over Xiao’s collarbones, exposed from his oversized shirt. “And what a good boy you are. So obedient. I bet you’d let me do anything I wanted to you.”
Yes, Xiao would like nothing more than for Zhongli to take his body and use him however he pleases. He wants to be useful. He wants to be good. The sound of Zhongli’s praise makes him giddy in ways he’s never been before, small and blank minded and starving. He’s so hungry for more. A nod makes Zhongli grin.
“Perfect boy,” Zhongli tells him. “Now, should we get these clothes off of you?"
Zhongli peels him out of his jeans with the utmost care, gentle hands working the fabric off of him, trailing kisses in its wake, over his chest, his thighs. It brings goosebumps to his skin; Xiao arches under him. He seems hungry, but kind, as though waiting patiently to devour.
A slender finger in the waistband of his boxers. “These as well?” Zhongli says. He pulls back the elastic and lets it snap against Xiao’s skin.
“What about you?” Xiao dares to ask, voice trembling. Zhongli sits back, an amused smile on his face.
“Ah,” he murmurs, “of course. How could I be so daft?” Slipping off the bed, he beckons Xiao forward. “Would you like to help?”
Yes, absolutely he would. He’s dreamt of peeling Zhongli out of his ridiculous clothes for months.
Xiao’s feet pad against the hardwood when he slides onto it, stepping into Zhongli’s space. He starts with his watch, a gaudy gold thing embezzled with small diamonds, not flashy enough to be tacky but enough that anyone looking would be able to tell its worth. He unclasps it delicately, smoothing his thumb over the unblemished skin of his inner wrist. After setting the watch on the bedside table, Xiao undoes the latch clasp on the front of Zhongli’s brown and black waistcoat. He slips it off his shoulder with little preamble, folding it over the back of the lounge chair before beginning to work on Zhongli's shirt buttons.
“You wear too many damn layers,” Xiao murmurs, dipping his fingers inside the half open shirt to run his fingers over Zhongli’s abs. They contract beneath his touch.
An amused hum. “You think so?” Zhongli asks. “Doesn’t it make the end a little more exciting? Aren’t you just thrumming with anticipation?” It’s teasing, almost sarcastic, a kind of tone Xiao has never heard from Zhongli before.
“You certainly gave me an eyeful at the pool,” Xiao mutters, finally slipping Zhongli’s silk shirt off his shoulders. It flutters gracefully to the ground, and, with all the skin now exposed to him, Xiao busies himself with smoothing his palms over Zhongli’s warm, tanned skin.
“And did you like what you saw?”
Xiao chews his lip. “That day… after seeing you, after you touched me… when I ran off to the washroom, it wasn’t because I had to use it.”
Zhongli tips Xiao’s chin up with his finger, an eyebrow quirked in curiosity. “You mean to tell me that you slipped away to touch yourself, Xiao?” The heat that rushes to his face is sweltering, enough to make him dizzy. Zhongli grips his chin with a vice, so when he tries to look away in embarrassment, he’s unable. All he can do is nod. “Then, too, after dinner, when you disappeared it was to get yourself off?”
To hear it said aloud brings shame curling down his spine, but not the kind that belittles him, instead the kind that comes from men like Zhongli telling him how pathetically desperate he is. And he does feel pathetic. Though, now he thinks Zhongli might like that about him.
“Yeah,” Xiao admits. “I did.”
With the hand not gripping his chin, Zhongli takes a handful of Xiao’s ass in his palm, kneading the muscle absentmindedly, though it makes Xiao gasp, pressing up on his toes. “Do you often touch yourself to the thought of me?”
More often than Xiao can easily admit aloud, so instead of speaking, he nods once more. Something ignites in Zhongli’s eyes.
“Show me,” he orders, eyes flicking to the bed. “Show me how you touched yourself.”
Ah. Xiao’s cheeks burn, but he crawls on the bed anyhow. As he settles into the pillows, Zhongli drops something in his lap, pulled from the bedside drawer: a bottle of lube. It’s the expensive, long lasting kind. The tube is a third empty— how many people does Zhongli use this with? Or is he instead using it on himself? The thought is tantalizing.
Zhongli sits near the end of the bed, close enough that if Xiao stretched an arm he’d be able to reach him, but far enough away that he has a good view for the show. His hands are splayed on either thigh, index fingers tapping an unrecognizable beat. Xiao’s hands tremble.
He’s never felt more looked into than when he lifts his hips to remove his underwear, uncharacteristically shy under the scrutinizing gaze Zhongli holds on him.
“Do you use your hands?” Zhongli asks, eyes flicking down to Xiao’s shaking fingers. Xiao nods, dragging a digit over his cock. “The front or the back?”
“Both,” Xiao tells him. He’s spent countless nights with his face buried in his mattress, fingers pressing inside of himself and hoping for something more fulfilling.
“Go on, then,” he says, “Don’t be shy.”
The lubricant is cold on his fingers and quickly warms as he spreads it over three of them. Xiao positions himself so he’s got both his knees up, heels planted in the mattress, one hand absentmindedly stroking himself off as the other dips down to smear lubricant around his hole. He wastes little time in sliding the first one in, his eagerness getting the best of him, and his jaw falls slack at the intrusion, a stuttered breath leaving his lips.
He’d fingered himself not that long ago, so it causes him little discomfort to move right away. If anything, Zhongli seems pleased by this, watching with rapt attention as the finger disappears within him.
“When you touch yourself to the thought of me,” Zhongli murmurs, voice honeyed and rough, the lowest Xiao has ever heard it. It makes his gut clench tight just to hear the raw want beneath his words. “Do you ever use toys?”
Xiao adds a second finger, panting out a moan. He thinks of the dildo he’d bought when he turned eighteen, the one that sits well loved and hidden on the top shelf of his closet. He thinks of all of the times he’d press it into himself and wished he could feel the weight of Zhongli draped over his back. “Y-Yes,” he says, breaking off into a whine.
Zhongli is hard. Xiao can see the outline of him through his slacks and finds that even without seeing it properly that he’s absolutely massive. It’s mouth watering. “Is it big?”
“N-Not big enough.”
Zhongli lets out a stilted laugh. “When you use your toy,” he starts, a low drawl, “do you wish it were my cock instead?”
The lewdness of his words makes Xiao moan, adding another finger as though to satisfy. It’s not enough, it won’t ever be enough. He wants Zhongli to touch him so badly, wants to feel the weight of him hovering over Xiao, to grow goosebumps at the feeling of his breath on the shell of his ear. “Yes,” Xiao whines, “yes, yes, I wanted it so bad.”
He would kill to have Zhongli’s fingers instead of his own. They’re so much longer, slender, but still thicker. He’d reckon they’d reach deep inside and press into all of the spots he couldn’t get at himself. The though makes him whimper; Zhongli holding him down with one hand and finger-fucking him with the other, so hard he couldn’t do anything but cry and take it.
“I’ll give it to you,” Zhongli says, “but not quite yet, lovely. Show me a little more of yourself, would you?”
“I want your fingers instead,” Xiao cries, twitching under his own touch. His cock feels raw and sensitive, even though it hasn’t been that long since he last got off, and he can’t get the right angle to feel as good as he wants to. “Please, Zhongli, please.”
“Dear me,” Zhongli murmurs, “how can I possibly refuse when you beg so sweetly, Xiao?”
He opens his mouth instantly when Zhongli pulls him in for another kiss. The slide of their tongues, so wet and lewd, is enough to have Xiao going dizzy. He can hardly even keep up with their kiss, this odd, messy, and slick slide of their mouths, and Zhongli must take pity on him because he takes Xiao’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugs instead.
A squeak is the only noise Xiao can produce when Zhongli easily manhandles him until he’s on his elbows and knees, hips high in the air, showing everything off to him.
“You really are beautiful,” Zhongli tells him. Xiao’s hands fall limp to his sides, fingers twitching in anticipation as Zhongli smooths his palms over the swell of his bottom. “Such a lovely creature.”
His fingers are better than Xiao could have imagined. Zhongli presses in three right away, and the palatable stretch has him twitching, teeth digging into a pillow to muffle the pathetic sounds that threaten to spill. He’s skilled and experienced, if the way he’s managed to quickly locate and torment Xiao’s prostate is anything to go off of, and when he senses Xiao is getting a little too worked up, he’ll grip him by the base of his cock to stave him off.
Xiao feels like his brain is melting and pouring from his ears, stuffed so full, he can do nothing but cry and grip the sheets as Zhongli works him open.
“Look at you,” Zhongli coos as he grinds his fingers downwards. Xiao shakes like a leaf, biting out a cry that strains his throat. “You take it so well.”
Still, he wants more. He wants fingerprints and bite marks and Zhongli’s cock so far in him that he can feel it for days. He wants to be fucked stupid, reduced to nothing but a babbling mess of himself, and when it’s all finished he wants Zhongli to clean him up and kiss him slow and pretend like this never happened— at least until the next time they’re alone. Then, he wants it all again. Rinse and repeat. Clean and simple.
“It’s g-good,” Xiao manages, pressing his forehead to the wet spot on the pillow from his drool. He can feel Zhongli’s hardness through his slacks, can feel the slow, residual grind of him against the back of Xiao’s thigh. He’s getting off to this. To Xiao’s pitiful moans and flushed, sweat-tacky skin. He finds it all arousing. The thought makes Xiao’s gut clench.
“Xiao,” Zhongli murmurs, voice but a mere lull seeping into the base of Xiao’s skull, “do you think you’re ready for me?”
He’s never been more ready for anything in his life, he thinks. Nothing can compete with the giddiness he feels at finally having the real thing. He nods shakily. “Yes. Yes, please.”
The fingers leave him, and Xiao can feel himself clench at the loss. He shifts his body so his chest is flat on the mattress, knees splayed wide to accommodate the rise of his hips. Listening, Xiao can hear the telltale clink of Zhongli’s belt as it’s unclasped, then his zipper, and then the sound of the belt hitting the floor.
The bed dips under his weight, making Xiao heave a stuttered breath, startling only slightly when Zhongli’s hand slides over the swell of his ass again. The weight of his cock is heavy where he rests it over Xiao’s hole, like he’s letting Xiao psych himself up for it by feeling its girth and not allowing him to see it. Xiao knows that if he saw it, he would insist it wouldn’t fit.
Still, even if he thought that, he would do everything in his power to make it fit.
Zhongli thrusts shallowly, his cockhead catching on Xiao’s rim every time it slides by, and it shouldn't be as hot as it is. It makes Xiao desperate, makes him make an impatient noise into the pillows, makes him writhe around under Zhongli’s warm glare.
Zhongli offers only this: “Use your words.”
He wants Xiao to beg. Zhongli wants Xiao to beg for him to put his cock inside. He wants the pathetic quiver of Xiao’s lip as he stutters out a half-whispered request and the embarrassed tears that spring to his eyes when he inevitably says it’s not good enough. Xiao is going to be good. He needs to be.
“Please,” he starts, voice trembling. “Please, please. I want your c-cock in me. I want you to fuck me.”
The pitiful words are dignified by the low, appreciative hum that comes from Zhongli. “Good,” he says. “Good boy. I’ll give it to you.”
The press inside is delicious, if not winding. Xiao can’t even make a noise, though his jaw is slack, brows furrowed and eyes squinting as he attempts to get used to the girth splitting him open. Zhongli moves so slow it feels like it takes forever, and Xiao wouldn’t mind it if it did. His brain has started to go soft around the edges, already fuck-drunk, even if he hasn’t really been fucked yet.
He lets out a breath when Zhongli’s hips finally meet his skin, a tiny appreciative mewl as Zhongli leans down to kiss in between his shoulder blades.
“Give me your hand, Xiao,” Zhongli says, and though Xiao is currently stuffed so full of Zhongli’s cock he can taste it on the back of his tongue, he does have the clarity to shakily hold out his hand. Zhongli takes it in his own and presses it firmly to the flat of his stomach. “Do you feel it? Do you feel how deep I am inside of you?”
It puts enough pressure that Xiao can definitely feel something, but realistically, he can’t actually feel how far Zhongli’s cock is buried in him. The thought, however, that if he were just a little smaller, he might be able to feel the bump of it is enough to have him moaning pathetically into the pillows.
This is like a brand, like a claim, that he belongs to Zhongli and Zhongli only, even if he can’t have him outside of this.
Zhongli pulls out a little, presses back in slow. The drag of the head of his cock along Xiao’s walls is hot, so hot he doesn’t know what to do with himself other than cry.
“Shh, shh,” Zhongli coos, “beautiful boy, I’ve barely even started with you.”
“If I do it like this,” Zhongli starts, dragging his cock slowly in and out, careful to avoid the place inside Xiao wants him. His fingers bite the sheets as he moans begrudgingly. “You’ll go crazy. Look, you already don’t know what to do with yourself. You’re shaking, Xiao.”
“N-No, please,” Xiao whines, pressing his own hips back as though to get Zhongli to fuck him how he wants. “More.”
“I thought you just wanted me to fuck you,” Zhongli says. The grind of his cock inside is fluid, hips moving almost like a dance, so calm and calculated. He’s hardly winded and Xiao is but a puddle below him. “You never once specified how.”
Tears are gathering at his waterline, dripping down onto his forearms. “Please.” He sounds so defeated, so pathetic, so worthless under Zhongli. But that’s what Zhongli is here to fix, isn’t it? He’ll mould Xiao into something better than he is by reducing him to such a mess. Xiao will be perfect for him.
“Tell me,” Zhongli murmurs, leaning over Xiao’s back, “how you want me to fuck you, Xiao.”
The crudeness would make him blush were he not already flushed. Dirty old man indeed.
“Hard,” Xiao pleads. Zhongli is so cruel. “Make me cry.”
It seems to please Zhongli to hear these words, based on the way he lets out a low noise, something akin to a chuckle, and smooths his hands down over Xiao’s chest. He brushes over his nipples, flicking them once, twice, before his hands settle on Xiao’s waist. When Xiao clenches around him, he lets out a sharp breath through his nose.
“I can do that.” He uses his thumbs to spread Xiao open, looking to where his cock disappears within him. If Xiao could see his face he would see adoration. “But don’t go changing your mind.”
It’s like nothing Xiao has ever felt before, so hot and all-consuming. None of the men he’s been with or the brutal way he fucked himself with his toy in the past could ever amount to the way that Zhongli is spearing him open, so hard and fast his vision whites. He can’t seem to keep his mouth closed, can’t even think to try and stop the cries that bubble from his chest, so weak and high pitched and completely unlike him.
Each thrust overwhelms him further, and Xiao finds his hands shaking, no longer able to grip onto the sheets for some semblance of grounding. He realizes, in a tired, braindead sort of way, that he could die like this happily. Fucked within an inch of his life by his mother’s husband. Hell wouldn’t bother him if it means his life is to continue like this.
Zhongli’s cock hammers directly into Xiao’s prostate, the force of it making him tremble, crying out his appreciation. “D-Daddy,” he cries, the name slipping out before he can stop himself. Shame runs hot down his spine, and he buries his face in the mattress, a futile attempt to hide from the reprimanding Zhongli is no doubt going to give him over such a thing. The man behind him stills almost completely to a halt, and Xiao can’t help the stifled whimper he lets out.
Leave it to Xiao to ruin everything with his vile wants. He’s already come this far, already done enough fucked up things for the day, but he just has to go and—
Zhongli cuts off his mind’s ramblings. His fingers dig roughly into Xiao’s lithe hips, threatening to leave bruises. “Again,” he says, voice rough and thick. Xiao doesn’t respond, unsure if he’s heard correctly. “Again, Xiao.”
“Daddy,” Xiao says, still unsure of himself, but the uncertainty is quickly washed away with the brutal pace Zhongli begins to fuck him with. Zhongli’s hand comes under his chest, lifting him so they’re back to chest and taking him in hand. “Ah, shit, daddy, fuck, fuck, please .”
“You’re so good,” Zhongli tells him, voice hot and heavy as it curls around the shell of his ear. It sends a tremor down his spine, hands scrambling to grab Zhongli’s where it’s splayed across his sternum. “Impossibly. If I’d known you’d be like this, I’d have bedded you ages ago.”
His teeth graze Xiao’s shoulder, sharper than their looks, and he foolishly wishes for him to bite hard enough to bleed, so every time he looks at it in the mirror he’ll be forced to remember the overwhelming pleasure he feels in this moment. He wants so badly for Zhongli to leave marks, but he knows he can’t.
“Zhongli,” Xiao cries, tears welling up in his eyes again, threatening to leave red and black trails of whatever makeup remains down his cheeks. “Daddy, please, please, ah— I want to come.”
“So come,” Zhongli tells him. “Touch yourself. But know I don’t plan on stopping until I’m satisfied.”
Shakily, Xiao manages to wrap a hand around himself. The touch is liquid fire, too much and not enough and it makes him cry, stroking once, twice, before he spills into his hand. Zhongli fucks him through it, panting against the side of Xiao’s throat, mouth open wide and teeth grazing the tendon exposed.
The drag of him inside is now tinged with a sharp, over-sensitive feel, enough to make his eyes well up again, tears rolling over his ruddy cheeks. His hand squeezes tightly at Zhongli’s wrist, voice pitching up as he babbles, “Daddy, daddy, oh, please, s’too much .”
“You can take it,” Zhongli says, voice a low rumble from the centre of his chest. He will take it, is what he means. Xiao has no choice but to oblige. “Daddy’s almost there, baby.”
Baby, baby, baby, the name wraps around his ears and bleeds into his brain, so definitive, so claiming. Xiao can’t help but whine. He’s going to take it. He’s going to be good, because Zhongli asked him to.
When Zhongli cums, Xiao can feel it, feel the pulse of his cock inside, and too can hear the low groan, heavy and intoxicating as it’s shuddered against the shell of his ear. His hand slides over Xiao’s chest, thumb stroking gently over the sweat-tacky skin. His stomach quivers, body still trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm, and he heaves uneven breaths, relishing in the warmth on his back.
“Are you alright?” Zhongli asks. “Xiao?”
He can’t speak, not when his brain is glorified slop in his skull, so he nods, a squeaky hum the only noise that comes from him. He winces when Zhongli pulls out, but finds himself not flustered when he feels Zhongli’s seed trickle out of himself.
“Lay down,” Zhongli says, but he doesn’t give Xiao the chance to move himself, lifting his frail body up easily and laying him down on his side. “I’ll be back. I’m just going to—” Xiao’s hand shakily catches his wrist before he can step too far away from the bed. Don’t go , is what he’s trying to convey. Leaving is definitive. Zhongli smiles down at him, brushing sweaty hair off of his forehead. He leans down and presses a kiss to the skin exposed. “I’m only going to get a cloth to clean you with, precious. Don’t be alarmed.”
Xiao is reluctant in letting Zhongli’s wrist go, and watches like a hawk as he walks to the en suite, wetting and wringing out a washcloth under warm water in the sink. When he returns, he holds the cloth out for him to see.
“See, Xiao?” he murmurs, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m here.”
He takes his time in wiping down Xiao’s body, running the cloth over his chest, arms, and back before he cleans any of the truly messy areas. Xiao feels cared for, nurtured, even if this is just the result of something ridiculous.
When he’s done, Xiao pulls Zhongli down for a slow, soft kiss. His hand winds carefully through Zhongli’s soft hair, though he finds his mouth doesn’t work the way he wants it too, so he breaks their kiss and pats the space beside him on the bed.
“Yes, well, I suppose that can’t be helped,” Zhongli says, somewhat amused, and crawls in next to him. His skin is warm and Xiao squeaks when he pulls him onto his chest, drawing his fingers up and down his spine.
It’s a while before Xiao has regained enough of his senses to speak, and when he tries, his voice is hoarse. “Do you like women, too?” he asks out of the blue. Zhongli hums, half asleep. “Do you like women, too?” he repeats.
“I certainly have a… preference for men,” Zhongli tells him, carefully choosing his words. “But it isn’t of much importance to me.”
Xiao hums, nodding against Zhongli’s chest. “Ever since I was young… well. I’m sure you understand.” A pause. “Why didn’t you say anything if you knew the whole time?”
“What was I to say?” Zhongli asks. “‘Oh, Xiao, I see how you’ve been looking at me, shall we go to bed?’”
Xiao chews his cheek. “You could have. I would have said yes.”
“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Still, he doesn’t sound too upset. “It puts me in a difficult position, you know.”
“You didn’t have to say yes.”
“I wanted to.” Xiao leans up, looking at him. Zhongli is serious and completely genuine, mouth pulled taut. “I have wanted to, but I was afraid I might have been misreading. If I had tried something and your feelings weren’t so, how do you think that would have ended?”
“So, then, what should we do?”
“I meant what I said, earlier,” he starts, taking Xiao by the chin. “You mustn’t tell a soul. I won’t touch you unless I’m positive no one will see. If you can do that for me, I wouldn’t be opposed to doing this. Regularly, I mean.”
“Yes,” Xiao says without hesitation. “Yes, please. I swear, I won’t tell anyone. As long as I can have you sometimes… I don't mind.”
A dry, chaste kiss pressed to his lips. A seal to the deal.