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There are many things that come to mind when people think of Zhongli. Handsome, pretty much universally. Gentlemanly or elegant. When he first stepped foot in Inazuma, those words prefixed the word ‘foreigner’, dressed as he’d been—amongst the gossips of Inazuma City he’d gotten the epithet ‘the handsome foreigner’—though they soon came to find out he’s as fluent in Inazuman as one who grew up speaking it, and then the word foreigner seemed... off.
Eccentric, they settled on, strange, curious. The list as long as your arm if you wrote it out.
Shameless isn’t on that list.
Itto isn’t sure what he’s expecting when Zhongli gets a kid to tell him there’ll be a surprise waiting for him at the hotel.
Despite their mutual love for material things, their tastes in said things are so vastly different that it’s difficult to buy gifts for the other. Itto knows about as much about antiques as Zhongli knows about TCG... No, Zhongli probably knows more, but still not enough to avoid being scammed by that toy seller from Fontaine.
“If I had a Mora for every heinous toy seller I’ve met, I’d have two Mora,” Zhongli had murmured, “which isn’t a lot, but it’s certainly strange it happened twice.”
So Itto’s mind doesn’t immediately jump to the surprise being a, well. A physical thing. His mind immediately jumps down the gutter.
Yoimiya, squinting at him, punches him in the shoulder.
“You’re right,” he weeps. “Zhongli isn’t that shameless...”
He decides to stop dwelling on it—the point of a surprise should be the surprise, he tells himself, and goes on with his day. The Crux is in Ritou and should be looking for people to unload the boat...
...And after an afternoon of hauling boxes, he heads down to the hotel Zhongli’s been staying at. The receptionist is doing sudoku, cross-legged on her stool. She just waves when she sees Itto, familiar as they are, with Itto always around for Zhongli.
He sees it right away when he lets himself in. On the neatly-made bed, a wrapped box that hadn’t been there in the morning. Hands trembling, he tears open the wrapping, and opens the box.
...
...
.........
Itto’s not sure what he’d expected. He hadn’t been expecting anything in particular.
B-but, this—!
This is too shameless, is it not?!
“Well?”
Itto jumps a metre into the air. Reflexively, he hides the box behind his back, flushing what must be a deep red judging from the heat in his face. His brain catches up a second later—that the only other person who has a key to the room is the owner of the room, who is also the person who had left this... surprise, who is also the person who is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a tiny smile playing across his lips. When did he get in—Itto hadn’t even heard the door open. Had he really been so distracted...
“What do you think?” Zhongli asks, motioning at the leash in Itto’s fist.
What does he think?
He thinks... it feels expensive. Real leather, soft and supple. Of course. Zhongli is an expensive man, spending Mora like he has an endless supply of it. Only the best for himself—and, Itto supposes, for his partners, because somehow he doesn’t think he’ll be holding the leash at any other point during the night. It has a few metal loops and clasps that Itto doesn’t know the purpose of—is equal parts scared and excited to find out.
“I...” he manages. He swallows, audibly. Zhongli, now a mere step away from Itto, looks up at him through his lashes.
Don’t get him wrong—Zhongli is far from short. Itto’s just “freakishly big”, to quote that pint-sized ninja from the Shuumatsuman. Zhongli is a nice, respectable height, about half a head shorter than Itto, and typically doesn’t seem to have any qualms with rising up on his toes to kiss him.
Zhongli, now, has not miraculously grown any taller. He still comes up to Itto’s nose, and Itto still looks down to meet his eyes.
But for some reason, Itto feels small. Frozen and shivering and pinned under Zhongli’s steady gaze. He’s trembling and his head feels hot and full and he already feels like he’s about to burst, before Zhongli has even touched him. The state of his dick after tonight: outlook, bad!
Zhongli removes the leash from his clenched fingers. He wraps the leash around his own wrist, Itto’s eyes tracking his every move. The shift of his shoulders under his clothes. His throat when he swallows. His mouth, lips parted ever so slightly, his hand, reaching out—
He hooks a finger into the o-ring of Itto’s collar.
And yanks.
With a stutter of a gasp, Itto is brought to Zhongli’s eye level. Zhongli wastes no time shoving aside his Vision and clipping the leash to the ring. He twists his hand high up on the leash—and there’s no way Itto can move, can only stay, pulse thudding against Zhongli’s knuckles, half-bent and wide-eyed and gasping through his teeth.
“What do you think?” Zhongli repeats, a little sterner. Itto swallows, swallows, swallows again, but can’t quite wet his mouth enough to form words. Can’t quite clear his mind enough to form words. Zhongli’s eyes, up close, aren’t the light copper Itto had thought—they’re burnished gold, and Itto’s own face is reflected back at him. Flustered, mouth open, far too wanton than he ought to be. “Hm?”
He’s not sure what he ends up saying, what ends up dripping from his mouth. Probably something along the lines of “I love you,” high and breathy, because apparently that’s what he tends to default to. Zhongli’s face softens. “You...” he sighs, shaking his head with a smile. He tightens his grip on the leash.
“Nod if you want to keep going.”
And Itto nods.
“Undress,” he orders. He lets the leash go a little slack so Itto can move, slipping out of his heavy jacket and unbuttoning his pants. He can’t get out of his shirt, obstructed by the leash as it is, and stumbles to a stop, reddening under the weight of Zhongli’s stare. Teeth digging into his lip, he glances at Zhongli for help.
Zhongli raises an eyebrow. He looks so unruffled, unaffected, shirt buttoned to his neck, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a hand tucked halfway into his pocket. It makes Itto feel even more debauched than he thought he could, almost-naked and leashed. Leashed—Archons, thinking of it like that sends a jolt straight down his spine. Head dipping in shame, he—
Catches sight of Zhongli’s unbuttoned fly, the white of his underwear, and his cock, straining against the fabric. Instantly his mouth fills with water. He almost breaks, almost drops to his knees, heat flooding his body in a way Zhongli would describe as “most unbecomingly”. Something like that.
The tug of the leash snaps him back. He whines.
“I believe I told you to undress,” Zhongli says lightly, cocking his head to the side.
“I—” Itto stutters. He clutches at the fabric. “The shirt, it...”
Zhongli’s eyes narrow. He lets out a breath through his nose, even, restrained.
Then his hand shoots out, knuckles brushing over Itto’s chest, gripping and twisting the fabric of Itto’s shirt until it rips down the middle. Itto stumbles, breath catches in his throat, cock throbbing. He arches his back, desperate to be touched in some way.
It earns him a pinch, and being pushed face first onto the bed. He struggles blindly, craning his neck back just to see Zhongli fix the leash to the bedpost. He catches Itto’s eye. He removes his gloves, oh so slowly, tugging them off by the fingers.
He loosens his tie. Undoes two buttons on his shirt. Ties his hair up—all the while, never looking away from Itto, gaze is so intense it burns and prickles across his skin.
Itto turns back to face the headboard, bringing a hand up to rub the ache from his neck.
There’s the click—the lid of the lube. The slick sounds of Zhongli coating his fingers. A warm hand slides up his thigh, settles on his hip, holding him in place gently. “Tell me if you ever want to stop,” Zhongli says, before pressing a finger into Itto’s hole.
He stretches Itto carefully, meticulously, the thumb of his other hand rubbing circles into Itto’s hip. He adds more lube with every finger, until each instroke squelches, and each outstroke sends lube dripping down his thigh. Two, three, four. Speeding up. Fucking his fingers in and out, not quite rhythmic enough for Itto to get used to.
The tips of Zhongli’s fingers are a little rough; Itto jumps when they slide over his prostate. Zhongli lets out a pleased little hum, rubbing over the sensitive spot over and over until Itto is tugging at the sheets, feet scrabbling on the floor, cock leaking where it’s stuck between the bed and his stomach, little high-pitched noises forcing their way out of his throat. He rises onto his tiptoes to alleviate the pain-pleasure pressure, but Zhongli just follows wherever he tries to go, knuckles pushing against his rim, threatening to slip in with just how... wet he is.
“Aah, aahh, Zhongli—” he pants. “I—I’m going to come!”
Zhongli finger-fucks him through his orgasm, only pulling out when Itto twitches and whines in overstimulation.
He wipes his fingers on his sheets. Itto rolls over, humming in satisfaction Zhongli cleans him up with a wipe. He scoots further up the bed to watch Zhongli take off his clothes. You would think that the clothes make the put-together man, but Zhongli retains all his poise and grace in all stages of dress. And watching him undress is...
The first thing that goes is his tie, slid off and draped over the back of a chair. The same neat treatment is given to his shirt, belt, trousers. His underwear, folded into a square—Itto catches sight of a wet patch where the tip of his cock must’ve been before. Said cock is hard, curving toward his stomach, flushed a pretty red.
Itto wants to put his mouth on it.
“What are you looking at?” Zhongli asks as he climbs onto the bed. Itto reaches out feebly, and earns himself a kiss.
“You,” Itto replies with a grin. More honest, “...Your dick.”
Zhongli lets out a surprised laugh. His eyes crinkle when he laughs, Itto notices for what feels like the hundredth time. Propped up on one arm, the sunlight from the window catches his lashes, and he steals Itto’s breath away.
So woefully distracted by this is why he doesn’t quite get Zhongli’s next words. “Well, I do hope you enjoyed that.
“Since it’s your one freebie for tonight.”
Face pressed into a pillow, back arched, toes digging into the bed, Itto gets it.
His cock dangles beneath him, tip dragging across the sheets—not enough, not nearly enough—and whenever he tries to rub against the sheets, Zhongli hauls him up by the hips and fucks in hard enough to make him shout.
Above him—in this position, Itto can’t quite twist his neck to see lest he want to break his own neck, but he knows—Zhongli looms, pretty hands gripping Itto’s waist, snapping his hips in a punishing rhythm, has been, for the last, what—thirty minutes? Forty? He isn’t even panting.
Once upon a time, Itto prided himself on his stamina. He thinks he’ll stop doing that from now on. He was ready to come, like, an hour ago.
And he’s decently damn sure he would’ve, if Zhongli didn’t seem to be stopping whenever he started to get close!!!
“Zhongli,” he cries out, hips bucking, “please, please—please—”
Zhongli, horrible and unsympathetic and mean, stops. He pulls out. Itto, desperate for that last tiny bit of stimulation, begins thrusting into the bed—he’s so close, and if Zhongli won’t give him an orgasm then he’ll get it himself. The sheets are wet and sticky with his precum, rubbing against his neglected cock, sending sparks of pleasure straight to his brain—Archons, he’s so fucking close, vision going fuzzy at the edges and cock pulsing and toes curling—
Zhongli flips him over, squeezing his balls so hard he sees white, pain bringing him fast and sharp back to his body. He sobs out loud when his cock remains furiously hard. Trembling, he looks up at Zhongli through teary eyes.
“Come on.”
“You aren’t going to come until I say so,” a command. His voice has a touch of hardness to it. He picks up the leash, tugging it once to punctuate, “Understand?”
“I wanna come,” Itto pouts.
“And you’ll get to. If you be good for me.” He lets go of the leash, cupping Itto’s face with his hands. The stern mask slides away, brow furrowed as he wipes away the tear tracks on Itto’s cheeks with his thumbs. “Do you want to rest before we continue?”
Itto shakes his head. He’s not even sure he could rest satisfactorily, his cock aching as it is. The rough treatment isn’t new, and he likes it, loves it. He just needs a bit to get warmed up—needs to whine a little. It’s part of the fun. He takes Zhongli by the shoulders, steals a kiss, and lays back down, all smug, all ‘do whatever you want’.
And do whatever Zhongli does. He sits up to consider Itto for a moment, sliding the leash between his fingers, eyes hovering and landing, unabashed, at Itto’s cock. He grips it, stroking it firm and fast and rough, pressing Itto into the bed with his other hand when he tries to curl both away and toward the intense pleasure. His cock weeps pearly fluid endlessly, slicking the way, and very quickly he’s letting out little bitten-off cries and arching into Zhongli’s touch, reaching up to cover his face with his arms. He is under no illusion that Zhongli would just let him come this easily, but in the moment, he will enjoy it.
As expected, just as his thighs begin to shake, Zhongli lets go. He wipes his hand on the sheet. Itto, reeling, just sighs.
Zhongli smiles.
Hands clean, he nudges Itto onto his side and settles in behind, kissing up the back of his neck. He lubes himself up, quick and efficient, bottoming out in one clean stroke, and fucks him, hand on the back of Itto’s knee holding him open.
Itto reaches for his cock, but his hand is quickly slapped away. At the raise of Zhongli’s eyebrow, he doesn’t try again, clenching around Zhongli’s cock and craning his neck back for a kiss.
Maybe when Zhongli comes, he’ll be more amenable to letting Itto...
He’s staring at where his cock disappears into Itto, where they’re joined if temporarily, pink high on his cheeks. He’s so quiet, tiny groans drowned out by the slap of skin on skin, by Itto’s gasps, hips stuttering when he comes. He lets out a little sigh, resting his forehead against Itto’s shoulder. Itto basks. Zhongli’s always so tender, clingy after he comes.
Which would be nice if Itto wasn’t trapped in place by his arms, teetering on the edge, having been denied orgasm for the past hour. Zhongli slips out and the gush of cum that dribbles from his hole makes him squirm.
“Zhong—”
He gets out about half of the name when Zhongli reaches around him and wraps his fingers around his stiff cock. At the same time, fingers find his hole from behind, stroking up Zhongli’s release and pressing it in. From the dipping of the bed, he must’ve risen up on his knees, and he goes at Itto with a vengeance.
Zhongli lets go just as his cock begins to throb, but to Itto’s surprise he begins to come anyway, cum spurting onto the sheets but with none of the boneless satisfaction, full-body warmth that usually comes from an orgasm. He’s left tingling, hairs on the back of his neck standing up, shivering.
Zhongli pulls away, and the places he’d been touching feel cold. He tugs Itto into his lap, taking one of Itto’s earrings between his teeth. “That was nice.”
Itto frowns. “You’re awful.”
“You like it, though,” comes the matter-of-fact response.
And really, who is Itto to deny that?
Itto would officially like to retract his statement about liking Zhongli’s awfulness. Here—if you’ll write up a document, he’ll sign his name at the X, just after he—
“How is it?” Zhongli asks, and there’s no way in hell he’s saying that without a bit of mockery, even if his voice is as kind as it usually is, as if he’s asking Itto how is the tea, something mundane like that. Not—not—
How is he, wrapped in the harness that was apparently sold with the leash—so that’s what all those rings and fixtures are for—inner walls spawning new erogenous zones for Zhongli to probe slender fingers against with every movement? How is he, feeling every shift and jostle all throughout his body, courtesy of the harness connecting his collar to the silver loops on his nipples to the leather band wrapped tight around his cock?? How is he?
“Oh, I—I don’t know,” he replies, breathless, voice jumping and breaking when Zhongli fists his cock, digging a blunt nail into the slit. He lurches forward, knees trying to close around Zhongli’s hips. “—Zh—Zhongli!”
“Yes, love?” Zhongli replies, all innocent. As if he needed to even further emphasise the dichotomy between his mellow voice and him being 1. knuckles-deep in Itto and 2. the sole cause between all his suffering. He brings his hand, slick with lube and Itto’s precum, and licks each long finger until Itto is trembling and wishing, Archons, it was his hand in Zhongli’s mouth. Better yet, his dick. His poor dick.
“I want to come,” Itto whimpers, tugging at the sheets.
“Well, you’ve come twice already,” Zhongli points out, digging his fingers into Itto’s hip. “I’ve only come once. I should get one more, so we’re even.”
Itto wants to scream. Itto wants to tear his hair out. Itto wants to beg Zhongli to just, please, let him come. Itto does not do any of that—Itto rises shakily onto his knees to face the foot of the bed, reaching behind himself to line Zhongli’s cock up with his hole, it slipping in the mess of lube and precum between his thighs. Zhongli doesn’t help—Zhongli just half-lays there, idly rubbing at Itto’s stomach, making appreciative noises as Itto stretches himself open again.
Itto clenches his jaw, and presses in. It’s easy going once the head slips past his rim, though he still goes slow—half because his heart is thudding so hard he feels it in his nipples, half to see if he can make Zhongli’s mildness slip.
He feels it before it happens—the tightening of Zhongli’s hands on his waist, a halting thrust up into him. A bitten-back noise. He slides down the rest of the way in one go, letting out a yelp as his butt hits Zhongli’s thighs—he always forgets how big Zhongli feels like this.
He casts a look over his shoulder, and—success, he thinks, pleased at the flush over Zhongli’s cheeks.
Zhongli raises an eyebrow, as if saying, well? Get on with it.
He tilts his head back, faces the ceiling. Arches his back. He starts up a pace, squeezing around Zhongli’s cock. His own cock bobs with every movement, and soon, Zhongli’s thrusting up to meet him, the soft sounds of skin meeting skin and breathing falling in line with each movement of their hips.
“So beautiful,” Zhongli murmurs, fingers splayed out around Itto’s sides. “Look at you. My love.”
Itto opens his eyes, opens his mouth to reply, and catches sight of it.
The mirror. Positioned to show the bed—to show them, him, speared open on Zhongli’s cock. It hadn’t been there that morning—he remembers a wall scroll, a map of Liyue, something Zhongli brought over from his homeland. Had it been there when he came back? He’d been distracted with the leash. He—
He shudders, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s too much. If not for the leather choking his cock, he’s sure he would’ve come right then and there.
Zhongli sits up, jostling his cock inside Itto. “Look at yourself,” he says. He wraps his arms around Itto’s thighs, forcing them up and open, and thrusts. “Open your eyes, love.” He sounds reverent, breathless. Lips ghosting over Itto’s shoulder blade.
Itto whimpers, opens his eyes—and there he is in the mirror, hair having long fallen out of its tie, lips bitten red. Drool dripping down his chin. Rim stretched around Zhongli’s cock.
“I—I—” He reaches up to cover his face, cheeks radiating heat, to preserve just some face, but Zhongli grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together. His free foot slips over the sheets ineffectually. Held open, forced to watch himself be fucked—his body thrums, skin too small to hold him. With no purchase, holding onto nothing, his entire body shakes with every thrust. Unable to come, he just hangs on as tight as he can.
One good thing: like this, he can watch Zhongli come, even with his back pressed to Zhongli’s solid chest. His brow furrowing. Sharp gaze clouding over. He squeezes Itto’s hand, plants his feet on the bed, and buries himself impossibly deep inside Itto, letting out a guttural sound as he comes. He unsnaps the cock ring as he does. Itto inhales a sharp breath—feels himself seize up, everything in the world narrowing to a point. Zhongli doesn’t even need to touch him—he feels his balls seize up—though the clumsy hand closing around his cock makes him scream.
Itto blacks out.
He comes to in the tub, submerged up to his neck in warm. fresh-smelling water. The jets are on. Zhongli is kneeling at his back, dressed, hair damp, running a comb through Itto’s hair. There’s a candle burning on the counter, adding to the warm liquid feeling of the... everything. The world. His love.
“Hi,” he says. Tries not to get water in his mouth.
“You’re awake.” Zhongli sets the comb on the edge of the tub. He reaches to the side, retrieving a mug of something, pressing a straw into Itto’s mouth. Obligingly, he sips. Warm, sweet. Chocolate. “How do you feel?”
“Mmmmm.” Itto brings his hands out of the water. Some of it goes splashing over the side. He’s pruning. “Warm,” he decides. Under Zhongli’s fond gaze, he adds: adored.
“Well, I’m about done with your hair,” Zhongli says, getting to his feet. “Do you want to come out?”
In the end, he’s coaxed out of the tub in Zhongli’s arms, wrapped in a huge towel. He gets deposited gently on the bed—fresh sheets, he notices; they really had made a mess out of the old ones—told to dry his hair and relax as Zhongli puts cream on his bruises.
Zhongli makes a noise at the scratches on Itto’s thighs, pressing his lips together.
“Don’t do that,” Itto says, lolling his head to look at his boyfriend. “I liked it. And I like them. I like everything you give me.”
His frown only deepens.
“C’mon,” he mumbles. “Trust me, mmkay? Love you. I can take a little scratch...’m ‘rataki Itto, the strongest, yeah? Yea?”
Zhongli chuckles. “Yes, you are. The strongest. I love you too.”
“Kiss,” Itto demands, lifting his arms.
Zhongli sighs in fond exasperation, leaning down to kiss him on the brow. Itto seizes the opportunity, flinging his arms around Zhongli and tugging him onto the bed and under the covers. For good measure, he wraps his legs around Zhongli’s waist, locking his ankles together. “Gotchu,” he slurs happily. “Sleep now.”
He’s asleep before he hears Zhongli respond.