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It is rare that work takes him to the sleepy little village of Qiaoying, but Childe is all too eager to travel when asked. It’s not that he enjoys being away from Zhongli and Liyue Harbor, of course, but he’s used to rough, brutal travel and the hostile stares of locals who can’t see past his Fatui badge.
Liyue Harbor has felt too warm and welcoming, lately. He feels like he’s been sinking into Zhongli’s disgustingly soft mattress, boneless, too drowsy to struggle out of the chokehold the city has on him.
Traveling to Qiaoying Village feels like coming home, feels like the easy, familiar roughness of placing on a mask he’s been shoved into and is now too used to bearing its burdens. He travels free of escorts, his pace too hurried, too unforgiving for those without Visions to keep up with, and as such enjoys the exhilarating autonomy of being alone.
The townspeople whisper and stare as he passes, his ginger hair a beacon among the dark-haired locals. His mask and badge are marks of dishonor, of trickery, and his uniform is a herald to unrest.
Come sunset, he is cast out of the small hostel that serves as the town’s singular respite for travelers.
It’s not like he hasn’t spent the night in worse places. In more dangerous nations. All of Liyue thrums with Geo, with the residual power of his beloved, as such, wherever he goes, he knows he will be safe from harm.
He picks his way southward, down the lush green path, until he comes across a small wooden pagoda. Even without solid walls, the roof is sturdy, and it hosts a worn, smooth set of benches and a table. The Geo energy in this area is stronger than normal, and nearby, the source of that energy reverberates through the earth and into his bones.
The roof of the pagoda is more than enough to shelter him for the scant few days he’ll be staying in the northern town, and being separated from the meaningless, busy rush of others is a peaceful reprieve from Liyue’s chaotic hub of commerce.
He does, however, miss the steady presence of Zhongli by his side.
As dusk bleeds into nightfall, crickets emerge from their shadowy burrows, singing their chorus to the world as it settles into limpid rest. Fireflies blink as they make their way through verdant grass, and the moon lights up the rolling hills, reflecting on the gentle river. The Statue of the Seven nearby is an ever-present whisper of power beneath his skin, and he is restless, a little hot, a little bothered as the night crawls onward.
Ah, well. He’s alone, and this far out, at this time, there is nobody to stumble upon his camp.
Chenyu Vale is tranquil, a sprawling vista of vibrant greenery, and from the grass-covered hill the Statue rests on, Childe can see sweeping jade arches framing a glass-smooth river.
He settles at the base of the stone statue, tipping his head up to gaze into the carved likeness of his beloved. His breath catches; his heartbeat quickens, and the ground is a solid, humming whisper of power beneath him, easing his stinging pride from his earlier encounters in Qiaoying Village as his cock hardens.
His breath comes quicker as he palms himself through his pants, and he bucks into the friction, the delightful warmth of his hand. Already it’s good, it’s thrilling, the whisper of the grass and the gentle breeze in his hair kindling the spark in his belly, setting him alight.
He shoves his pants down, gasping as the cool air hits his cock, and he feels depraved enough, hungry enough to forgo the slick of Hydro his Vision provides as he licks his palm before sliding his hand over his already-dripping cock.
The warmth and heat of his hand is good, is soft and easy as he strokes himself. His eyes drift closed, and he is floating in a sea of grass, cradled in the resonant power of Geo, swathed in languid pleasure.
Ever so slowly, he works himself to the edge of an orgasm, revels in the burning heat of his hand as his body jerks and twitches. It’s good, this easy pleasure, and coupled with the thrum of Geo that crawls into his skin and the alluring slouch of Zhongli, carved in stone above him, sends him tumbling over the edge into a trembling, whimpering orgasm.
When the aftershocks have settled, he simply lays, head cushioned by leafy flora, his cock limp between his legs. The wind blows, and another aftershock ripples through him, this one stronger, leaving him shaking.
Only, he realizes, as the shaking does not stop, that it comes from the very earth beneath his body.
Liyue is not exempt from the laws of nature, but earthquakes are uncommon, rare enough that he’s never experienced one in two years of being stationed in the Nation of Contracts. How very strange, then, for one to occur now.
The tremor stops, but the Statue glows, casting a dim, warm light on the river’s shore.
Baobei, comes a rumbling voice into the deepest recesses of Childe’s mind, what manner of depraved things are you doing to yourself in the presence of my statue?
With a small gasp, Childe twists in the soft grass, arching his back as Zhongli’s voice caresses his skin, drags pleasure through his veins.
Zhongli, he pleads, pushing his thoughts through the channel in their minds, and how delightful is it that he can sense Zhongli’s desire through their bond, that Zhongli can feel his hunger, his thirst?
Childe moans, spreading his legs wider, dipping his fingers lower. He circles his hole, stroking over soft skin, his cock still too sensitive as the night air trails its spidery fingers over his body.
Ajax, Zhongli says, sharper now.
Ignoring him, Childe pushes a finger in, breathing in the intoxicating stretch of intrusion, the allure of Zhongli’s heavy gaze turned on him from so many leagues away.
A low moan escapes him as he presses deeper, as he finds his prostate with unerring accuracy. It’s good, dancing on the edge of too much, sending Electro-sharp jolts of pleasured pain through his body as his spent cock twitches.
He senses Zhongli’s presence moments before a gloved hand alights on his arm, and he moans, fixing his beloved with what he’s sure is a pleasure-drunk expression.
“Baobei,” Zhongli murmurs, tugging Childe’s fingers away, “can you not control yourself?”
Childe whines as Zhongli kneels over him, his amber eyes soft, and he skates his legs wider, a feast for Zhongli to devour. “Please,” he gasps, arching his back, and Zhongli’s eyes are a dark, smoldering thing.
“You disturb my rest with your lack of control,” he says, but it lacks bite, and as he says it, he tugs his glove off with his teeth.
Childe burns, he aches as Zhongli regards him with heated eyes, and he knows—he feels, through their bond—that Zhongli is just as affected by this as he is. Perhaps even more so; his draconic instincts are always more sensitive to the push and pull of passion than Childe’s dull human ones.
Two fingers slide into Childe, warm and thick, and he moans with unrestrained delight as Zhongli pets over his prostrate, pulling burning-hot pleasure from his body. He writhes, he whines as Zhongli’s fingers pull over his soft cock, and fuck, it’s too much, it’s too good. Zhongli’s hands stroke his cock, caress his prostrate, and he chokes and gasps as he’s stretched, as Zhongli breaks him open on his wickedly deft fingers.
“Close,” he gasps, as Zhongli slips a third finger in, a fourth, as he wraps his sinful fingers around the base of his cock in heavenly denial.
“Don’t,” Zhongli croons, gentle and soothing, so at odds with the way his fingers twist in his ass, stretching him, tugging at his rim, dancing over his prostrate in savage, sure strokes.
And oh, how sweet the denial is, cutting through flesh and mind both, as he twists under Zhongli’s murmured benedictions, under his unrelenting touch.
Tears slip from his eyes, trace down his cheeks, as he thrashes in Zhongli’s grip, as Zhongli continues his assault, welding pleasure and pain together into a tsunami of sensation that’s too much, but he can’t cum, not with Zhongli’s cruel hand circling his cock. He rides the wave of pleasure higher and higher, until he’s sobbing, pleading, and Zhongli is a purring, satisfied creature of fangs and teeth above him.
“Poor Ajax,” he murmurs, bending over his face, and Childe whines, stretching for a kiss, wanting Zhongli’s soft lips on his. Instead, Zhongli nips at his mouth, drawing blood, and licks at his tears. “You can’t handle being away from me for one singular week?”
He opens his mouth to reply, but Zhongli slides a hand down his body, slicing through clothes—one of his only changes of clothes, he notes hazily—before he descends on Childe’s cock, sucking it to the back of his throat in one lithe movement.
Childe arches, a moan bursting from his lips, as he burns with pleasure, comes alive with it. Zhongli’s mouth is hot, is wet and his overly sensitive cock twitches with searing heat, with pleasure so great that his vision whites out.
Zhongli growls onto his cock, sending throbbing vibrations up his body and Childe claws down Zhongli’s back, his fingers scrabbling on the fine fabric. He pushes his hips up—and Zhongli lets him—chasing his pleasure even as he flinches away from the blinding knife-sharp edge of too much.
Sparks dance across his vision as Zhongli wraps a too-long tongue entirely around the base of his cock, as he drowns Childe in biting, cutting heat as he sobs, he begs for release, for the burning heat to cease. He whimpers and pleads for mercy, he delights in the attention so willingly lavished upon him, until Zhongli releases the pressure around the base of his cock, strokes him once, twice, with that damnable tongue, and he tips over the edge.
He cums with a whining shudder as Zhongli swallows around his cock, and it’s blindingly good, it’s too much, and he writhes and pushes at Zhongli’s chest even as he wants more, craves more.
As reason returns to him and his vision fades from white to dusky moonlit hills, Zhongli pulls off his cock, running a finger through the tear tracks on Childe’s face.
“Are you satisfied, baobei?” he asks, and the scratchy rumble of his voice is a wicked, wicked temptation. Childe’s hole clenches around nothing, and he’s empty, so empty even though his cock is spent, is too sensitive to bear the cold touch of the mild nighttime air that surrounds them.
“You came all this way,” Childe begins, stretching for a kiss, and Zhongli obliges him—it’s warm and soft, tender with love, “and you won’t even fuck me?”
Zhongli’s eyes narrow, and he pulls away from the kiss, taking in Childe’s surely ruined body, the tears on his face.
“Am I not tempting enough?” Childe presses, knowing full well he’s working his way up to something he might regret. He arches his back, digging his heels into the soft earth as he stretches, and Zhongli’s golden eyes flick across his body.
There’s hunger smoldering there, yes, a thinly veiled desire, but alongside that there is exhaustion, and Childe feels guilt prick at his conscience. He’s been gone for not even a week, and his desire was too great for him to handle himself. Summoning Zhongli through the statue was something borne out of selfish desperation, and it’s not he who has to deal with the consequences, it’s Zhongli, and—
He cries out as Zhongli plunges his fingers back into Childe’s hole, as Zhongli spreads his fingers, stretching him, and oh, it’s so good, he’s so full with four fingers in him as Zhongli fucks him open.
He’s panting now, every twist and push of Zhongli’s fingers an electric jolt of energy as he whines, he keens. Zhongli doesn’t stop, he doesn’t slow as he licks at Childe’s tears, running fresh down his face as cutting, choking pleasure sears through his body.
“Your tears are divine, baobei,” he murmurs, and then as he strokes over Childe’s prostate, as Childe shudders and writhes on the grassy mat beneath him, Zhongli pushes more words into his mind.
You think, he says, brushing against Childe’s consciousness with his mind, and Childe moans, you can handle a God?
Childe twitches, canting his hips up, searching for more, more, and once again Zhongli wraps his calloused fingers around his cock.
Don’t cum, my dearest, Zhongli whispers into the depths of his mind. Don’t cum until both my cocks are in your tight hole.
“Fuck,” Childe gasps through tears, through his hazy world where he floats and spins. “Fuck me then, Zhongli, please.”
Zhongli gives his rim one last, delicious tug, and Childe moans, his head falling to the side. “Please,” he groans, and Zhongli takes pity on him.
He hears the snick, snick of Zhongli’s belt falling to the grass, sees the shadow of his lover push his pants down, and he whimpers with anticipation, with need.
“Hydro, baobei,” Zhongli says, and Childe has just enough cognizance left to draw upon his Vision and slick Zhongli’s outstretched hand with viscous Hydro. He trembles, now, as he feels Zhongli shuffle around him, as he imagines those twin black-gold cocks twitching with eager restraint.
And those cockheads press against his fluttering hole, and he moans, spreading his legs wider, as Zhongli enters him, stretches him, splits him in two.
He’s untethered from the ground, set adrift by the nudge of Zhongli’s warm cocks, by the decadent stretch as he pushes into Childe’s body. His vision sparks, and bursts; he is a vessel for pleasure, and he’s full, so very full, as Zhongli groans above him.
Exhaustion tugs at his body, threatens to pull him under, but he flies above it, soars in that untethered, glorious space between Celestia and the ground, rooted only by Zhongli’s two cocks stuffed into his tight hole.
Zhongli is tender, gentle, easing into the soft drag of his cock against Childe’s insides, and Childe moans, he whines, he lets broken pleas fall from his lips.
Are you sure, my darling? Zhongli murmurs, and Childe shudders, he whimpers, he sobs. He wants all of it and nothing at all, and he’s so content, he’s so full, he wants more, wants to be torn in twain by Zhongli’s cocks.
Your body is but mortal, Zhongli warns, and Childe chokes out a broken entreaty.
“Please,” he sobs, too fractured to attempt to push thoughts out of his mind. “Please, Zhongli, fuck me, ruin me, I’m yours.” He shudders, he is flame incarnate, a spirit of pleasure and divine, angelic bliss. “I’m yours.”
With a stuttering moan, Zhongli draws out, runs a finger over the puffy, stretched-out rim of Childe’s hole, and plunges back in, dragging a broken keen from the depths of Childe’s lungs.
If he was full before, content before, he is now set free, a spark in the night sky, burning bright even as he races towards his demise. The heavy heat of Zhongli’s cocks reaches every well-worn crevice of his body, and here, only here, only to this man, is he laid bare.
“Good,” Childe chokes out, as Zhongli drives into him, the frantic pace burning his veins, his nerves. “Hard—” he gasps and twitches as Zhongli nails his prostate, as his thick cocks drag across his tender insides, “—and fast, just like that—”
Zhongli leans down to kiss him, and he pries open Childe’s mouth with his tongue, sweeping in, fucking into his mouth with just as much vigor as he fucks into his aching hole.
And oh, Zhongli knows just what Childe likes, what Childe needs as Zhongli slams into him with wild abandon, as Childe cries tears of pain and glorious, glorious pleasure. Zhongli’s eyes are glowing, flickering embers of orange in the night, and the stretch of his cock, the relentless, wild pounding is too good, and he can’t speak, can barely think as he moans and gasps, and he’s dripping pleasure, a torrential river of it, and the world has never been so beautiful, so bright—
I love when you fuck me like this, he gasps into Zhongli’s mind, and Zhongli’s eyes flare like the dying breath of a campfire. He slows, and—No, Childe gasps, pleading, I need more, please, I’m so full, I need—
“Peace,” Zhongli murmurs, lifting his head to gaze at Childe’s ravaged body. Gently, tenderly, he caresses Childe’s face, and Childe whines, he sobs. More, more, he wants more, and if Zhongli slows down—like he has, just now—the cold starts to creep in, along with the feel of the grass on his back, the night sky sprawled before him—
“You look so good with tears on your face, Ajax,” Zhongli says, and he sinks into Childe’s body as Childe jolts, he breaks, he comes apart on Zhongli’s cocks. Cum splashes onto their chests, onto Zhongli’s fine sleep shirt, and Childe moans, he sobs into the night as pleasure takes what it wants from him with wracking shivers and bursting stars.
Above him, Zhongli groans, he thrusts deep into Childe’s body and shudders, spilling himself into Childe’s exhausted body.
When Zhongli pulls out, Childe gasps at the sudden emptiness, the hollow loss of Zhongli’s warmth. Blearily, he looks up, his eyes first focusing on the vicious clawmarks on Zhongli’s skin that are already fading.
He doesn’t apologize. Won’t, for that.
Not when Zhongli is looking at him, triumphant and smug and soft, and Childe’s heart is a tender, fluttering thing in his chest.
He doesn’t want to disturb the silence, not with the harsh crack of his voice, so he opts for their mental link, lovingly created and maintained, and says, I love you.
Zhongli blinks, but smiles fondly. “I love you too,” he says, and the air ripples with the truth of his words. But, he adds into Childe’s mind, I do have to go.
I’m not done with my mission, Childe says, and for the first time since so many hours ago, Zhongli blinks, taking in their surroundings.
“Baobei,” he says out loud, frowning. “Why are you not in the hostel?”
Childe wiggles, and Zhongli leans forward to pull him up, gently wiping the mess of their coupling from Childe’s chest.
“I just wanted to sleep under the stars,” he says easily, and he finds he doesn’t have the energy within himself to feel anxious when Zhongli narrows his golden eyes.
“Let me stay here with you tonight,” he says.
“Aren’t you busy? Meetings and funerals, and all that,” Childe teases, stretching out as he settles into the soft grass.
“Never too busy for you, my love.”
This, Childe thinks, is the sort of blissful happiness that is sung about in ballads of eld. The sort of love that most people will never find in their life—and here he is, that love nestled safely in his chest, as he rests his head on his beloved’s chest under the stars.