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Various containers of sterile raw cloth, salve, and ointments lay messily strewn on the low-table. The pungent smell of medicine and blood concocts a strange scent wafting around the closed office. It’s quiet, save for the shuffling sounds of clothes when you inspect the damage on Childe’s torso, confusion replaces your train of thought reserved for treatment. There’s a bit of mottling from forming bruises, some chafed skin, and a few fresh cuts adorn his pale complexion; all quite minor, judging by the painfully large scars that have formed over years of training. A far cry from what Zhongli had implied when he entailed your aid.
“Is this all?” You inquired, perchance missing some unseen dreadful gash underneath his red silken wear. Waiting for an answer, your ointments and cloth are put to use, patching up the injuries. It doesn’t take too long to finish up. Your eyebrow raises as you glance at the consultant when Childe eventually answers with a hum of affirmation that you swear sounded insincere.
Still, you do a brisk check, gently lifting away the draped shirt from obscured skin. Hands skimming over the base of his neck, your forearm keeps the obstruction at bay as you inspect lower, fingers pressing lightly in a few points of the tense muscles. When you find nothing, you let go; greeted with the unreadable guise on the face of your strange patient as he captures your wrist.
“Woah, maybe you should take me out to dinner first before getting all handsy,” He breaks into jest, delivery not matching the lingering look in his eyes. You retract from him, meaning to distance yourself only to collide softly into Zhongli’s built frame.
“What d—” Your question is cut off by a pair of dark brown sleeves slithering to greet your side; one to lounge delicately around your front, fingertips assessing the soft skin of your arm. The other is nothing like the gentle hold, the clasp he keeps on your hip taunting, possessive, a reminder of your previous heated endeavours together. He’s cocooned you, the sense of security it gives does nothing to keep the crawling uncertainty that's starting to conspire.
“Keeping her all to yourself, xiansheng?” You find the floor awfully intriguing after that. Dismayed after not having your full attention, Childe forces you by the chin where there is nowhere to look but into the deluge encased in his irises. A chuckle rolls out of Zhongli, the low rumble vibrating pleasantly against your back. He merely concedes at the flippant accusation,
“Of course,” but appends further. “But you would have enjoyed it thoroughly,” A natural rouge paints your face in mild humiliation at what he insinuates, bracing yourself, aware that Zhongli isn’t one to spare words.
“A lovely sight, especially when she cannot hide the debauched haze from her expression. She is a rare jade to be polished to obedience,” He praises openly, akin to describing a new tea blend over breakfast. You glow with indignance; being spoken about as though you weren’t in front of them, to the face of this unnervingly friendly co-worker you had barely been acquainted with no less.
“Perhaps another show would suffice?” Lidded amber regards Tartaglia’s interest as he offers his proposal. To elucidate his point further, he lifts your skirt like he has all the luxury of time the world could give, right before dipping his hands into the thin fabric of your underwear. He delves his fingertips into the warm folds and nestles the gloved fingers into you, staining the fabric with a graphic coating of your slick. His digits curl in, your walls comply with every circle drawn into your core.
Childe gains a thrill from your mortification and squirming; the corner of his lips lifting with a hint of mockery, befitting of a harbinger. Leaning in to sell his attentiveness,
“Go on then,”
And with the agreement solidified, the desk is cleared of paperwork and replaced with you. Your underwear discarded some place on the carpet, skirt gathered up to your waist. Zhongli splays the glimmering pink flesh for a mere glimpse, all for Childe to delight in, returning to work you open with his deft fingers. You want to protest but are loath to admit how your arousal is too piqued to end it.
Childe sidles over, adjacent side of the table, within reach of your head. He judges that your reception is far too modest, and traces warmth into your front. The meticulous pathing on your skin is alarmingly familiar, too similar to the once over you had done on him. You would have been impressed, if not for the slow stir in your cunt becoming increasingly bothersome. Though, it heightens your senses to his touch.
He tracks the line he had trailed all the way back to your clavicle, abandoning the breadth, fleeting. In its place, his thumb pins rigidly, impeding your airway. This goes on until you are quivering, unable to discern if it was your desperation for release or air. And it stops. The piling intensity dissipates,
“Nghhh, why,” Your voice is drawn out at the edge of each syllable, the awareness of your desire pulled from its completion is unpleasant.
“You were trying to run away, and now you’re looking for more?” Childe laughs boyish, light. “Don’t say it was all an act, or was it a change of heart?” There isn’t a retort that you can use to refute him, yet you still instigate a remark, slurred and lacking any conviction to be taken seriously,
“You talk too much,” He clicks his tongue at the weak jab, “But you like it anyway,”
Zhongli having heard enough to establish your affirmation, tuts both your curt bickering. His slacks are soon unbuttoned, and frees himself from his tenting undergarments. He is not too worried about you taking him, having prepared you assiduously on his fingers.
The stretch gradually makes its way through; filling in crevices, leaving nothing to spare in your rather taut insides. Zhongli’s knowing and unnervingly serene visage lingers in the lovely way your entire body has tensed up, breathing uneven, and eyes unfocused. Your mouth has opened up in a cry that doesn’t escape. A quaint flutter of your walls against his unmoving intrusion delights him so. He thinks to himself just how intoxicating you are— how the most miniscule of your reactions is enough to have him nearly rutting into you, restraint be damned, yet he has lived for several millennia enough to keep a sliver of control; to be a gentleman even now.
“Breathe, darling,” Humour lacing his deep voice to soothe your near uncomfortably strained frame. You visibly relax, albeit shakily, only deterred by his cock still hilted in between your legs. It's disorienting, the unbearably intense feeling of his entire presence as he stares you down, near unaffected. Your grip, unnoticed by you until now, held onto the hardwood edge or the desk and the other onto something tensile, giving just a bit under your hand.
“He’s got a point, girlie. You’re holding on to my leg quite hard,” He adds, the smile evident in his tone as it is on his face.
Zhongli appends nothing more to the ginger’s quip, opting to thumb over the knee he had been keeping you spread open on. Without a word, his hips cant outwardly with just enough friction to have your cunt pulsing, weeping for more. And he presses himself back in, as languidly as he had angled backwards.
“Tell him how it feels, love,” He orders with a purr, when he hears your broken gasp underneath him— sight fixed on the sole audience of the spectacle, ascertaining his elation.
“S’Full! Full, please, hah,” The words bubble from your lips, dulcet into their ears. A needy whine lends accompaniment to the way your body writhes and there’s frustration on your face, that could enthrall any that looked at you, so clearly deprived of some well needed assistance. To you, it’s too much and too little, enough to be at the forefront and only thought on your mind. Numb to anything else but how you’re squeezing around his length for any sort of relief.
“Good girl.” A warmth accumulates over the skin below your navel, his palm smoothing over the expanse with sublime fascination. Barely compressing his hand on the exterior of your belly, you sob, tears forming from the agonisingly delicate action. He repeats it, this time, the pressure unrelenting at your unspoken request. It thunders through intensely, heightening the feeling of his twitching cock inside you. Though you are a teasing graze away from begging unabashed, the former god has had enough— reaching his own breaking point before you do.
His thrust had been the reprieve of your drooling heat, the gesture is imposing, as if exuding a confidence and pride unparalleled, one that demands of your entirety:
Obey.
And you heed it so, the thrum in your heart just as encumbering as the throb of your walls. The pace he sets is merciless, the onslaught of his thrusts are far from the leisure that had come to be characteristic of him. Yet it remains, he acts like a seasoned sculptor, rhythmic, purposeful. Artfully causing a stir, as if trying to shape your cervix to accommodate him alone. He exchanges the torment of your abdomen to affectionately cup your flushed cheek. The caress of his thumb is soft, starkly contrasting the unfettered scrape of his dick against the ridges of your insides.
Tartaglia, the spectator in the midst of it all, can’t help but feel left out of the beautifully unraveling performance. One where he is promptly disproven when your hand slips to take his length in your jittering grasp. He finds your effort cute, trying to please him in your wrecked state between the two; enticingly tear stained and mussed. Your lips close around the tip lightly, timid kitten licks trailing soon after. His own hips buck farther into you when you suck in from a particularly delicious ram of Zhongli’s hips against your ass. You would have babbled aimlessly if your mouth wasn’t currently occupied, you settle instead to sigh, noise reverberating against Childe stuffed in your throat.
Zhongli leaves little respite for you, pounding adamantly against the barrier of your empty womb, almost believing he could breach the soft barren core. You think just as he had, delirious from the strain you feel in each slam against the entrance, of such a possibility. Though, even if he didn’t succeed in the feat of breaking your poor cervix he’d perhaps already momentarily done so to your mind.
“You’re taking this quite well, darling. So pliant and tight around me, perfect for bearing young,” The praise is titillating, you hadn’t completely grasped it, yet made out the desire he spoke with. He resumes,
“Is that what you want? To be bred?” He whispers as he leans close to you, voice carried in a hushed baritone but loud enough for Childe to hear. His tongue flits across the said man’s sensitive length that remains out of your care, departing faster than Tartaglia’s ability to relish it. You nod your head in an eager gesture to answer his obscene question, chest blooming with a connection you couldn’t quite place.
A moment later, he found something. Not even you had expected such an intense sensation, and you tighten oh so delectably hard around him. Before you are able to even muffle out a plea, he’s abusing the discovery and thrusting in strident, like it’s a prerogative he will very gladly exploit for all its worth. His hand drops to the curve of your hip bone gripping hard enough to see divots line the surface. An emerging pressure twists, causing the incessant tremor in your core. He notes this with terrifying accuracy, not a pause in his pace. The hand on your knee hooks behind it, guiding your leg to his side to pursue the spot with better bearing.
Lightheadedness takes over and clouds the little consciousness you have left. Your hand finds itself entwining tensely with Childe’s rougher ones. He had eyed you frantically scrambling to hold onto anything and offered you respite in his grip, his free hand entangling itself in the haggard state of your hair. Your other arm already grabbing onto the slightly disheveled consultant’s dress shirt. Then you feel it; you hastily slip his length out of your mouth as it gravitates toward your cheek unceremoniously, yet you don’t pay it any mind. Your thoughts are entirely absorbed in the impulse of stumbling on warnings of your very close undoing. In return, your words are shushed by Zhongli, fairly entertained by your fumbling.
“Go ahead, my sweet,” With the simple affirmation rolling out of his tongue, you crumble. All the regard for decorum left you’d been keeping, surrendered. Your legs tremble fraught with tension when it finally snaps. One last throb, drawn tight, brings Zhongli following suit as you both reach the edge. He stills, a low groan unveiling from his lips, cock pressing in as your body allows, and sees that you accept the generous spill of his thick, warm cum in your womb. You stay pressed up on eachother in a brief rest, some of his seed leaking from where you are connected.
Your toes reflexively curl in mild discomfort when Zhongli slips himself out. For a minute, clarity begins to settle in; a pleased lilt as you sing a breathless laugh. The peace you find doesn't last when Childe is quick to hoist up your barely recovered body. He’d moved to seat himself on the desk while you were oblivious, now positioning you with new intent.
Your eyes widen, realisation dawning that he plans for more, insatiable just as he always is. With little effort, your thighs now rest on top of his own, knees bent, legs kept apart by his midsection. You look at him with apprehension.
“I can’t,” You speak just above a whisper, a hint of panic creeping into your tone. You almost miserably fail at keeping your balance if Childe hadn’t held onto you firmly. His gaze aligns with your own, his expression softening slightly before the unusual demeanor is replaced by his brazen utterance;
“You will.” He dips in a finger, stringing along your mess. His digit sinking in casually, accompanied by another, coaxing your walls with each prod. Whatever he is seeking from inside you, you’re unaware; but the jolt of your legs and the strangled cry are telling of just how sensitive you've gotten. It becomes clear just what he had sought out when his fingers part, stretching your entrance to the cool air. You bury your face in the empty space of his bare shoulder, unable to keep up. Your slick and Zhongli’s mix further on its slow slither between the gaps of his fingers, dripping onto the floor as his hand moves away. He momentarily assesses the glistening liquid before bringing the wetness into his own mouth. His tongue swirls with a hunger to lap at the release.
A drawn out hum passes his lips in an attempt to tease the consultant— who despite the rather raucous act, looks barely deterred in any way. Golden eyes still bearing a hint of his commanding aura, yet quelled, committing to memory how Tartaglia’s scarred muscles and your own smooth flesh meld softly as said man treats the cum soiling your cunt like the finest cuisine the nations have to offer.
“You’ll take it for me, right, kitten?” He waits on your signal, the swell of his reddened tip nudging at your folds but keeping at bay. When you peer at him again in your haze, his eyebrows are scrunched, eyes big and pleading. Convincing, if not for the twitch of his mouth at the fun little ploy. The need to be filled registers in you, knowing his fat cock is just idly teeming at your entrance no matter how he riles you up. You nod languidly, nuzzling into his neck.
“How cute! But you have to say it. C’mon,” Your patience is fraying even faster than before, frustration building up when he palms over the bundle of nerves, awaiting.
“Childe! Fuck me already,” You groan heatedly
A beat passes, yet nothing. Impatiently you try grinding your hips closer only to be held down from pushing closer. Your confusion is answered by his reprimand,
“So eager,” His tone jokingly vexxed. You're too strung to even think of a way to return with wit. The dejection and your cunt clenching around nothing, reflects as you pitifully slump on his chest. You feel him jerk a bit, a snicker soundlessly escaping through his nose.
“Aw, don’t be so sad. Here, I’ll help you out a little,” He assures with an obscure tone and swiftly forces your ass down to his pelvis, his dick now sitting snugly in your pretty pussy, twitching from the duress. A weak yelp escapes you when it slips in, the sensation much like a crashing wave right into your belly. Though he’d given you a taste, his own idea of fun has yet to come— it becomes more obvious that he intends to use you as he pleases for a while when he refuses to let you budge.
“If you do well, we can do exactly what you want,” You nod, anticipating his next words.
“Be good and count for me, Okay?” A breathy ‘okay’ trickles from you. He grins, victory stirring in the deep blue pools of his irises. His palm connects with the plush of your ass. The sharp sting brings your cum slicked insides clenching around him on impact.
“One,” His knuckles graze the flesh as it slowly blooms a rosy tint. You lax at the moment's pause, yet his hand is already reeling for the next. The resounding noise adjunct to the three breaths in the otherwise quiet room.
“Two,” and again.
“Three,” Your voice wavers. He relishes in this— your already strained little cunt bracing with each slap to your rear, nails leaving endearing crescents into his back.
Again.
“Four,” You wonder where he plans to take this, already antsy by each wallop. Tears have begun to rim around your lashes and spit glossing your lower lip involuntarily.
Again. Again.
You count each one, but they are fleeting from your memory.
“Ten!” You squeak, reeled back in from the blur of sharp blows. The strike had been even stronger than the previous ones, your body lurching a fair bit. It pushes his tip right into kissing a curve within you. Childe isn’t resistant to the effect it has on him, letting out a surprised groan.
“I think that is enough for now. Don’t you, Tartaglia?” The consultant, diligently silent through Childe’s toying, pulls him out of his reverie. Childe collects himself if only for a moment to agree with Zhongli, impatience beginning its onset.
“Alright, then.” He prefaces.
“Xiansheng deserves a peek for waiting on us. Why not show him, sweetheart,”
Raising yourself carefully, your hands over the dip of your thighs and bottom, you timidly spread the area apart. Your fingers pull right below the reddened welt of skin, hot to the touch. Trailing lower, Zhongli is treated to the sight of your achingly soaked cunt, and if scrutinised close enough, to the subsequent glisten it leaves over Tartaglia, right where you had lifted from.
He moves in closer, caressing the silhouette of your derriere, allowing your display to come to an end as he eases you back down. He cages you between himself and Tartaglia, ever gentle on brushing away the hair from your nape before he presses his lips to the exposed flesh. The kisses are soothing, silken touches coasting along with unsaid praises. All the while, his reach has moved underneath your arms, outstretched and sliding beneath the skewed hem of Childe’s dress shirt. It hikes wherever Zhongli’s deft exploration pursues until it meets Tartaglia’s toned chest; thumbs beguiling circles upon the vulnerable pert nubs.
Though Childe watched all of it happen quite curiously, the sensation floods in-between his legs regardless. It sends his body curling into yours. In accommodating his reaction to unbridled pleasure, your spine shapes itself to lay on the amused man behind you, separated in skin only by creased fabric.
Head cradling into Zhongli’s clavicle, Childe’s copper tufts caress the tip of your ear as he leans in. The former god falters near unnoticeably when Tartaglia sinks teeth into his shoulder, given away only by an exhale down your nape. Zhongli provides assistance to your current restlessness; assuring grip residing on either side of your waist, guiding you along Tartaglia’s cock just how he knows you both enjoy it. And, oh, it sends you and Childe spiraling in deep. Especially you, a moaning mess used like their personal cocksleeve. Zhongli continues bouncing your body down onto the ginger’s length, now coinciding with Tartaglia thrusting to meet the pace he set, hand gripping firmly at the meat of your outer thigh.
Something alights within the back of the harbinger’s head in sinister curiosity. His little scheme thrums in preparation into his heart with mild bodily rejection, pain only serving to heighten and entwine with the rest of his senses. He isn’t one to shy away from the heavy crackling in his nerves; he’s taken by it, savouring the way it scratches the itch under his skin, thrilled.
Focusing the unstable element into his fingertips, the erratic voltage dances with a light violet glow, unbeknownst to you and Zhongli. As distracted as the two of you are, Childe takes the cue to press his live thumb to the vulnerable swell of your clit, other fingers delegated to your inner thigh. The strangled cry of pain that clings to your vocal chords complementing the sharp jolt away from his hand,
“Tartaglia.” An austere growl causes the air to hang heavy with warning; one Childe treads with no wariness, waiting instead in leisurely anticipation. All motions ceased, save for Childe’s knuckles tracing his heraldry left on your lower half, surmising how the mark’s appearance on your skin fit your image so well; a beat passes.
A pleased grin breaks over his features when he hears your whimper. It’s bare of discomfort— truthfully, it’s wanton, bordering on whoreish. Gods, was it the symphony that he had yearned to hear for weeks on end. It serves to spur him further, cock throbbing with the shameless need to fuck into you, hard.
“Looks like our pretty girl is an even bigger masochist than we thought!” He directs at the unimpressed man in front of him, ecstatically. Zhongli puts away his distaste, keeping the scolding on his tongue for now.
“We will discuss this later, understood?” He remarks guttural and imposing; eyes narrowed as he holds onto your waist protectively. He’s giving you an out, observing you intently. It’s one you decline by shaking your head and leaving a reassuring squeeze on his arm.
“Okay! Okay,” The harbinger acquiesces, one hand raising in mock surrender. Fed up with the two men stalling, you grind rapaciously on Childe’s dick, slipping him further into your heat. Childe, caught off guard, is steering back into the salacious haze. His face is unreadable moments after your boldness, melting into a saccharine upturn of his lips. If that’s what you’re asking for, he’d gladly hand it to you on a silver platter in generous excess.
“Up,” Tartaglia lifts you off with a wet squelch, to your confusion and gnawing discontentment.
“Face Zhongli, sweetheart,” He instructs, careful to keep you from toppling over in the transition. Your arms drape across broad shoulders belonging to said man at the request. Once you steady, he wastes no time splitting you down on himself. You fail to replicate his rhythm when his movements are offensively feral; assaulting your already bruising womb as he fucks Zhongli’s spend right back into you. Each haphazard slam into your overstimulated cunt carries you away in its torrents, threatening to drown you.
Childe acts out the crescendo to finally do just that, his palm hovering over his symbol as the licks of electro pulse in your cunt; sharing the experience between you. The pain warps into pleasured cries, muffled on their debut when Zhongli demands heated kisses from you as you’re submerged in their indulgence. A stunned gasp bubbles out of you with the crash of your climax. Childe doesn’t fall far behind, grazing your insides slowly; savouring as it milks his cock down to the last drop. Now entirely worn out, you go limp in their arms.
You hear a pair of lips leave a chaste kiss, then you're helped down by Zhongli; gratefully accepting his assistance. You’re shaky, certain had you tried to move on your own accord, would have gracelessly stumbled off. When he carries you; one arm underneath your knees and the other firm around your upper half, the fatigue begins to settle, and so you cosy up into his chest as he makes his way to the harbinger’s bathroom.
Your mind drifts in pointless musings, menial discoveries when your eyes focus on anything mildly interesting on the short stride to the personal washroom. It’s odd, the hotel-like accommodation, realising that it made perfect sense— Childe’s rank paired with the messes he’s made on his assignments. Zhongli rests you on the sink, carefully moving amenities to the side beforehand. He separates from you, rolls up his sleeves with practiced ease and runs the tub’s faucets to temperature.
“Any particular oils you are fond of?” He cuts through the comfortable silence inquisitively.
“Up to you,” You lean forward with a stretch, eyeing him with a curious gaze as he picks a few bottles. He sets off to pour the bath essentials, well-measured and meticulous, unsurprising of him. Childe saunters in, leisurely leaning on the doorway, arms crossed.
“Can you put some of the things from our last bath?” He asks, though it’s likelier a statement.
“Of course,” Zhongli doesn't look up, but the concealed delight radiates through.
“Thanks,”
Childe, closer to you, is the one to attend to helping you off the fixture when Zhongli beckons that the bath is ready. The luxurious bathroom has no lack of resources, surely, because the tub fits you and two grown men and it's absurdly comfortable. It’s not long until Childe is coddling you in the tub. He’s idly massaging slow circles into your back, an excuse to admire you. He rests his chin on the crown of your head contentedly.
“How are you feeling, dear?” Low voice reverberating in the acoustics of the room, knowing how both had been quite excessive.
“Way too good,” You sigh, tired but recuperating in bliss. “...I won’t help you with dressing his wounds when we get out of here.” Eyes shutting as you laugh.
The two men follow suit; smiling with you in the serene bath, hidden away from each of your diverse responsibilities for the time being.