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This is foolish.
Zhongli parted ways with the anemo archon after dinner. It could have stayed that way. Perhaps they might bump into one another during daylight hours, grab coffee, catch up. Have a respectable reunion.
He could have kept walking when he saw Venti walking through the streets again. He could have just gone home.
Instead, Venti sits at his kitchen table in his barely used mortal apartment, watching him brew tea.
Tea.
That was what he said, wasn't it? “Barbatos, there's a lovely new tea blend I've been waiting to try. Come join me.”
Venti saw through it immediately, he knows. Knows by the way the other god watches him with an amused smile.
“You are really making tea,” Venti appraises. “Talk about committing to the bit.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Oh, but he does, he does. The last time he fell into bed with the anemo archon was over five centuries ago, though “bed” is a bit of an overstatement. It was the hard ground, but they were gods in their full power. No need for mortal comforts.
Venti hums, that little smile never wavering.
“The solid earth trembles, because it pours a cup of tea for the wind?”
Zhongli brings the teacups to the table. “I do not tremble.”
Venti brings the teacup to his lips, sipping, making a show of licking his lips. “Of course.”
Zhongli can't even think of trying to drink his own tea right now.
This is foolish.
It's not fair to Venti, not really. Not when Zhongli is yearning for comfort and distraction, right as his old friend arrives. He should apologize and send Venti off to wherever he's staying this weekend.
“Morax,” Venti coos. “Would you look at me, old friend?”
Zhongli does. It's the worst move that he could make, because Venti sees through him in an instant.
“You want me.” It's so simple when Venti says it. “Tell me, Morax. Do you want me to take control? To fuck you until there's not a thought left in that racing mind of yours?”
He sees through Zhongli in every conceivable way. It's unreal. (It's what he needs.)
“I wanted to try this tea,” he says, finally taking a sip for himself. It's probably good. He can't process it at all.
Venti laughs. “Tell me what you really want, Morax, or I'll drink your tea and leave.”
It's an empty threat. It always is.
“I don't want anything.”
Venti reaches across the table, covering Zhongli's hand with his own.
“Then tell me what you need.”
The tea is forgotten in an instant.
This is foolish.
It's all Zhongli thinks as Venti straddles his thighs on the couch, pushing off Zhongli's shirt. As their mouths come together, and it's so easy. So familiar.
Venti pulls Zhongli's hair, sharp and painful. His cock throbs.
“I wonder if any of your other lovers have ever noticed that you’re as much a masochist as you are a sadist,” Venti teases, and bites Zhongli's lip.
Zhongli would argue, but Venti grinds their hips together, and his mind goes blissfully empty.
“Tell me what you need, Morax.”
There goes that demand again. Zhongli groans, trying to grind their hips together again. Venti lifts up, denying him.
“Say it, Morax.”
Another sharp tug of his hair.
“I need you.” It comes out so easily. “I need you to ruin me, to take me in every way imaginable. Barbatos, please. You know what I need. You've always known.”
Venti's hips meet his again, and he moans, shameless. It's never so easy to wear him down, to pull him apart. But he aches, he needs.
He needs to feel a pain that he can stop if he only asks.
Venti rakes his nails down Zhongli's chest, just the wrong side of gentle. He pinches and pulls at Zhongli's nipples, and Zhongli keens.
“More,” he begs.
“Take me to your bed,” Venti replies before sucking a mark onto Zhongli's neck.
Zhongli stands on surprisingly steady legs. The apartment is small, and it doesn't take long to reach Zhongli's bed. He lays Venti down on it, and lays beside him.
“Do you keep lube in this place?” Venti asks, already going through Zhongli's bedside table. “When's the last time you hooked up, anyways?”
“About five hundred and some odd years ago.”
Venti stops, and looks at Zhongli. “So, since me. Um, Morax, forgive my asking, but–?”
“I'm not in love with you,” Zhongli promises, rolling his eyes. “Nor was I waiting for you. I was busy.”
“Just checking,” Venti says, returning to the task at hand. “Aha! Oho, and it's used. Too busy for companionship, but not too busy for your own hand, hmm?”
“What is it to you?”
“Nothing, I suppose, but this is a rather empty bottle, and there's two more full ones~! You've certainly been busy, Morax. Thinking of anyone I know?”
“Barbatos.” A hard, warning look.
Venti takes the hint, and for once, stops pushing. Instead, he works on getting Zhongli's slacks off.
“Hmm, I've missed these,” Venti murmurs, palming the bulge in Zhongli's underwear. “Splitting me in half like the mountain we wrecked.”
The brief amount of time apart gave Zhongli time to recover some of his attitude.
“I hope you plan to actually do something about it.”
Venti slaps his thigh. Zhongli gets harder.
“That smart mouth of yours, Morax. Always getting you in trouble. What happened to the good boy, keening for me on the couch?”
Zhongli opens his mouth to reply, but Venti smacks his thigh again. He barely contains his moan.
“None of your other lovers have ever known how to put you in your place. Too awed to be dominated by the prime of the adepti… but this is what you really need, isn't it?”
Another slap.
“To let go of control, once in a while. Let someone take care of you for once.”
Another.
“You're always caring for everyone else. It's not hard to guess that this is what you really need.”
Another.
“Barbatos,” Zhongli breathes. “Come on, please.”
Venti leans down, soothes the bruised skin with his lips.
“I want to spend days pulling you apart,” Venti murmurs, biting his thighs next. “Do you remember that summer we spent in the mountains? I edged you for a week. You were shaking and crying by the end of it. Some of my best work, I daresay.”
Zhongli remembers. He remembers the blissful high, strong enough to forget that he'd sealed Azhdaha beneath the earth.
He wants to forget the look on Childe's face, when he told him they were never engaged at all.
Another slap to his thigh. It grounds him in the present, in the depths of Venti's blue eyes.
“Only me,” Venti demands. He bites Zhongli's thigh again.
“Only you,” Zhongli agrees.
Venti tugs off Zhongli's underwear, finally freeing his cocks from their confines. He licks his lips as if he's been faced with a great meal.
“You've seen them before, you don't have to stare,” Zhongli scoffs.
“I'll stare all I want,” Venti fires back. “You are still the only one I've been with to have two dicks, Morax. It's a treat, every time.”
Zhongli tries to argue, but it's interrupted by a tongue on the slit of his top, smaller cock. He groans, head falling back on the pillows.
Venti is a menace with his mouth, when he speaks and when he's sucking Zhongli off.
He wraps his lips around the head, working his tongue in just the right way to drive Zhongli mad. It's nowhere close to enough, but before he can complain, Venti sinks down, taking him into his mouth all at once.
“Barbatos–”
Venti swallows around him, looking up through his lashes. It's been too long, truly.
He works up and down Zhongli's shaft, going until Zhongli is gripping at the sheets. He remembers the rules– no touching Venti until he's given permission.
Permission. Laughable, in most cases, but he's always had a weakness to the way the anemo archon never held an ounce of fear or respect for him. It was the sort of thing Zhongli never thought he needed, except for when it was placed before him so nicely.
He wonders if Childe would have ever taken control from time to time. If he'd have seen through Zhongli, seen his need for it…
Venti pulls off of him.
“Only me,” he growls, though there's kindness in his eyes. A silent offer to back out, if it’s needed.
“Only you.”
Venti nods, and takes Zhongli's second cock into his mouth.
Zhongli won't think about Childe. He focuses on the way Venti's smart mouth moves over him. It’s easy to lose himself in.
“Barbatos,” he whispers like a prayer.
Is it sacrilege to worship another archon? Zhongli isn't sure.
Venti reaches for the bottle of lube, struggling to open it with one hand and without looking. Zhongli takes it, opening it for him.
Venti pops off of him.
“It's so easy when you're desperate like this,” he teases, covering his fingers with lube. “Do you want me to take you slowly, Morax? Or do you want hard and fast, over and over?”
“Hard,” Zhongli says, and that's all it takes for Venti to press his finger inside of Zhongli.
Zhongli moans, hands becoming claws as he twists in the sheets.
“Now, there's my Morax,” Venti purrs, crooking his finger. “It's just us. No need for disguises, right?”
That’s rich, coming from the most clothed person in the room. But Zhongli can't find it in himself to complain, when letting go is so much easier. His antlers, shimmering into existence. The geo markings on his skin glowing. More illuminated beast than man.
“Good boy, just like that. Let go.”
Zhongli sinks into the hazy feeling, growling at the burn when Venti adds a second finger, just a moment too soon. Perfect. It grounds him, keeps him present.
When Venti finds his prostate, he focuses his efforts there, rubbing and teasing. Zhongli forgets how much better it is when someone else does this. His own fingers are skilled, but there's something about the way Venti plays him with ease. Like one of his instruments, making Zhongli sing.
Despite his stamina, Zhongli considers letting himself come like this.
As if sensing the thoughts, Venti removes his fingers.
“You can last longer than this, old man. We've barely started~!”
Zhongli hates the way his hole clenches around nothing, empty.
“You’ll be good for me, won't you, Morax?”
Zhongli groans. He hates this. (He loves it.)
“Say it, Morax. I want to hear you say it.”
His pride crumbles when Venti's fingers enter him once more, spreading him as wide as they can.
“I'll be good,” he promises before he can even process the words leaving his lips.
“Such a good boy,” and Venti looks so damn smug. “You open up so easily for me.”
“Barbatos–”
Venti pulls his fingers out again, laughing cruelly when Zhongli whines.
“I thought you might want the real thing, Morax.”
Zhongli watches through lidded eyes as Venti stands and finally, finally begins to undress. Compared to their glory days, they both wear so much clothing now. Venti sheds the last of his, those shorts and tights, and settles between Zhongli's thighs once more.
“I am going to ruin you.”
“Then do it already.”
Venti lubes himself up, and pushes Zhongli's knees to his chest.
“Hold yourself still for me, will you? You'll get what you need soon.”
Zhongli obeys, and he's rewarded nearly immediately. Venti pushes in, not fast, but certainly not with slow care, either. It burns deliciously.
Would Childe like for it to burn, if I did this to him? He seems like he'd enjoy a bit of pain–
Venti's hips snap against Zhongli's. “Only me.”
“Only you.”
Venti pulls out, and pushes back in with brutal force. Zhongli's eyes roll back, each drag against his prostate pulling him further into that beautiful haze. The pace Venti sets is punishing, and Zhongli can't get enough. He considers touching himself, but he can't bear the thought of Venti leaving him on the edge. He'll have to be good.
It's always been a surprise to Zhongli, the way Venti maintains his composure in these situations. Were it not for the pink on his cheeks or the glow in his braids, Zhongli might be fooled into thinking he wasn't affected at all.
When Zhongli nears the edge, Venti slows down, hips grinding in teasing circles. It's not enough, and Zhongli nearly cries as his climax slips away from him.
“Good boy,” Venti murmurs. “So good for me.”
And then he pulls out, and Zhongli does cry.
“Alright, you big baby, relax. I’m just flipping you over, can you do that? Can you roll onto your stomach for me?”
Zhongli grumbles, but he obliges, flipping to his stomach, hips raised.
“Look at you, so desperate to be fucked. What Liyue think, seeing their archon reduced to such a whore?”
Venti slams back into him. Zhongli can't even make a sound, just tries to catch his breath as he drools into the pillows. His head has become so blissfully empty, content to be used.
Venti's hand wraps around Zhongli's hair, pulling, and he chokes out a sob as he spills onto the sheets below them. He has half a mind to apologize for coming without permission, but Venti follows him over the edge.
They lay there for a while, panting and catching their breath. And then, Venti starts to pull out. Zhongli grunts, wincing at the feeling of cum dripping out of him.
“Where do you keep your washcloths, Morax?” Venti asks, voice gentle and soothing.
Zhongli still feels hazy, can't quite think of the response.
“I'll find them,” Venti promises, pressing a kiss to Zhongli's hair. “One moment.”
It's cold without Venti here. Cold, and quiet. Zhongli isn't sure if he's still crying from his orgasm, or from the weight of his heart crashing back down on him.
He thought the next time he did something like this, it would be with Childe. Childe, whom he loved. Childe, to whom Zhongli would have given himself over, again and again.
The bed sinks beside him, and a warm cloth drags over his skin. He's maneuvered onto his back, and the same care is given to his front.
It takes a bit of effort, but Venti manages to get rid of the soiled duvet, replacing it with soft, fluffy blankets. He wraps himself around Zhongli's side, playing with his hair.
“There's water on your nightstand,” he says softly.
Zhongli nods.
“You worry me when you’re so quiet, old friend. Are you alright? Was that too much?”
After some deep breaths, Zhongli speaks.
“It was perfect. Thank you.”
“Good.” Venti absentmindedly traces shapes against Zhongli's chest, the touch helping to bring him down. “Do you want to tell me what all of this was about?”
“…In the morning,” Zhongli promises.
“If you insist.”
Zhongli wakes with Venti still sleeping on his chest. He can't decide if his heart is any heavier or lighter.
Venti stirs, blinking up at him.
“G'morning, Morax,” he says through a yawn. “I hope you slept well.”
Zhongli hums, resting a hand on Venti’s head. “Better than I’ve slept in recent days, thank you.”
“Are you finally going to tell me what that was all about, now?” Venti rolls over to get a better look at Zhongli, chin on his chest.
Zhongli winces. He doesn’t want to, but Venti allowed him last night without explanation.
“We’ll go again, once you do,” Venti promises. “Do you want me to ride you, this time?”
“The offer is… attractive.”
Venti grins. “Then talk to me, old friend.”
So, so many things have happened in the last couple of years. Zhongli knows what shattered him, in most recent events, but he’s been wearing down for some time now. He starts with what Venti needs the least context for.
“I saw Azhdaha,” he begins.
Venti’s eyes widen. “You went to his prison to see him?”
“…No. He tried to escape.”
Venti hums.
“He manifested a version of himself to help him escape. But then, another version of him manifested. One to stop himself from escaping. He protected me, fought alongside me. All to protect our contract.”
“That’s… a lot.”
“At least we got to say farewell properly this time,” Zhongli supposes. “But somehow, it stung worse.”
Venti nods.
“But that’s… just one part of it.”
“What else happened?”
Zhongli can’t put this part off anymore.
“Around a year before I surrendered my Gnosis, I made a contract with the cryo archon for how I would allow her to take it. She could only have it after Liyue passed a test, one that demonstrated beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were ready to move into a new era. One without their archon overseeing them.”
Venti sours a little at the mention of the Gnosis-taking business, but Zhongli pays it no mind. He knows he was a bit luckier in his own removal.
“So, she sent a Harbinger– to be precise, she sent her youngest Harbinger, the Eleventh. You may have heard of him: Tartaglia. Brash, headstrong, charismatic–”
“Homicidal?” Venti interrupts with a small grin. “Just the way you like them, though, right, Morax?”
Zhongli rolls his eyes. “Hush, you. She sent Tartaglia with one mission. He was to find Morax and remove his Gnosis, by any means necessary.”
“I see.”
“For a little less than a year, we shared meals. He asked to hear stories about Rex Lapis, and I told him everything he wanted to know. All except for where to find him, of course.”
“Of course.”
Zhongli laughs, empty. “I knew why he was here and what I was doing. And yet, I still found myself falling into easy friendship with him. Slowly but surely, we talked less and less about what he was here for. We talked about how our day at work was, things we were hoping to do.”
“And he was a homicidal maniac.”
“I fell in love with him.”
“That’s what I just said, is it not?”
“Like a selfish old fool, I courted him. For a few months. I thought that if I could show him how I felt, then when I told him who I was, why his mission didn’t really fail, how he played his part, that maybe. Maybe he would forgive me, someday. And eventually, I would ask him to marry me.”
“Because asking the servant of another god to dedicate himself to you could not go wrong in any foreseeable ways.”
“Barbatos.” Zhongli levels him with an unimpressed look.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, carry on!”
Zhongli sighs. “I ‘jumped the gun’, so to speak. A few weeks before everything happened, I proposed to him. It… was not planned. But he was there, and he was so radiant in the evening light, and there were these beautiful ornamental chopsticks, of a dragon and a phoenix. Traditional symbols of marriage, of yin and yang. But what truly sold me was that I am the dragon in the most literal sense, and Ch– Tartaglia, a phoenix. Rising out of the ashes time and time again. Resilient, strong…”
“So, you asked him to marry you and gave him the chopsticks,” Venti guesses, cutting off his poetic waxing. “And he accepted?”
Zhongli shifts. “As far as I was aware at the time, yes.”
Venti raises an eyebrow. “As far as you were aware at the time? That was a yes or no question, Morax.”
“Barbatos, this story is hardly halfway done.”
“Jeez.”
“For a few weeks, I was at peace. I felt as though no matter what came next, we would always find our way back to each other. And then, the fated day came upon us. Before I had the chance to tell him, to give him my Gnosis and beg he understand why I did what I did… his colleague beat me to it. Made him feel like a fool.”
“And you?”
“Stood there, incapable of telling him what I wanted to. At the time, I thought it would be inappropriate. The god of a foreign land, kneeling before a diplomatic adversary, pleading forgiveness. I did not want to make him out to be a traitor, a blasphemer.”
Venti nods. “Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.”
“Precisely. He was hurt. He was angry. I thought perhaps he needed space, some time. He took so much time, Barbatos. And when he would finally look at me again, speak to me again, it was to request a fight.”
“So, being the gentleman you are, you pummeled him?”
“He put up an extraordinary effort. It could have been a much easier fight, were it with anyone else.”
“And?”
“He agreed to have a meal with me, to… try to rebuild our relationship.” Zhongli closes his eyes, frowning. “Naturally, when we met, I asked him if we were still engaged to be married.”
“Right, you wouldn’t be one to assume the worst. Given what we did last night…?”
Zhongli sighs deeply. “He had no idea what I was talking about, Barbatos. He never knew I had proposed, didn’t realize I thought we’d been courting, didn’t know I was in love with him. Am in love with him.”
“Oh. Shit.”
Zhongli nods in agreement. “Shit, indeed.”
“That explains why you were so… like that, last night.”
“I believe you said something about riding me, Barbatos.”
“Are you ever going to let me touch you?” Zhongli complains, watching Venti work himself open in his lap.
“Eventually,” Venti giggles, breaking off into a moan when he hits his prostate. “But it’s so fun to tease you. I want to wear you down until nothing but the greedy dragon within remains. I want you to need to touch me.”
Zhongli growls, watching Venti with glowing eyes. “You’re unfair, Barbatos.”
“And yet, you bring me into your mortal home under false pretenses, hoping I’d be here in your bed.”
Venti leans forward, mouthing at Zhongli’s neck. He bites, far too high up, sucking bruises that won’t disappear as quickly as they should. Zhongli is still the prime of the adepti. He could make the bruises disappear, if he really wanted to.
This is foolish.
Foolish, as Venti lines himself up, sinking down onto Zhongli’s larger cock, inch by inch. Zhongli’s head falls back against the headboard, and it just gives Venti more real estate for his mouth.
“Barbatos.”
Venti brings a dark mark to life at Zhongli’s pulse point. There’s not a chance in the Abyss that his shirt collar will cover that. Zhongli wonders, absently, if it would be suspicious if he wore a scarf for the next few days.
(He could just heal himself. But it’s been centuries. He just wants to have the evidence that someone cared for him, there to press on gently when he’s alone.)
Venti rolls his hips, grinding Zhongli deeper into himself, and Zhongli has to grab his waist just to feel grounded. He feels Venti’s grin against his neck, as he begins to ride Zhongli in earnest.
It’s slow, borderline torturous, but the day is still early. Zhongli couldn’t complain if he wanted to– slow has always been nice. Pulling each other apart, piece by piece. He wraps a hand around where his second cock rubs against Venti’s, loosely jerking them off. Venti shudders, teeth clamping down on Zhongli’s neck.
Slow, gentle, a stark contrast to last night. Zhongli loses track of how long they stay like that, rocking against each other in familiar comfort.
When they finish, it’s with soft moans between kisses. Venti holds Zhongli’s face like he’s something precious. He needs this, as much as he needed to be fucked senseless.
Venti stays seated on his cock, head on Zhongli’s chest.
“I’ll take care of you as long as you need,” he promises. “I don’t have to be home any time soon.”
“I know.”
Zhongli would lose track of how many rounds they go over the weekend, were it not for his perfect memory. His heart is far from healed, of course, but he feels a little less broken.
And Venti, for having just been used for comfort, seems content. He smiles as he leaves Zhongli’s apartment, stealing one last hug.
“If you need me, for kind words, or soft touches,” he says.
Zhongli nods. “I know where to find you. And if you ever find yourself in need of the same.”
“I know, Morax. I know.”