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Whenever Childe found himself in the vicinity of Il Dottore, he found it hard to focus on the task at hand, gaze constantly flickering across the table to peer at the older Harbinger. The Harbingers did not meet in person often—it had been quite some time since all were in one room—but occasionally the assembly of a few members was necessary for planning purposes. Being in a smaller group with the doctor was maddening. Childe wasn’t sure what he found so alluring about Il Dottore, although it was certainly an amalgamation of things: a hidden face, a deep voice, a sharp mind, a secretive nature, a dangerous air… a divine body.
Childe snapped to reality at his name.
“The matter is settled, then. We will avert the Chasm altogether and scout between Mawtiyima Forest and Nantianen, hopefully utilizing the tunnel system you’ve found, Dottore. Childe, seek out the scouts in Lokapala—you will spearhead the exploration.” Pulcinella’s voice had finality to it. Childe was often deployed within Snezhnaya or Liyue, but Dottore was almost exclusively involved in Sumeru and made it clear that involvement of other Harbingers was not needed. Rerouting supply lines between Sumeru and Liyue, however, required inside knowledge from both men, and so they’d come at Pulcinella’s summons to discuss their options.
Childe blinked rapidly, startled to now find Dottore turned directly toward him, expression obscured by his mask, waiting to hear confirmation from the young Harbinger.
“Sounds good,” Childe said quickly.
“Tremendous. Now—I must go report to her Excellency. See to your business, both of you.” Pulcinella hopped down from his rostrum and exited with a flourish of his coat, leaving the room starkly quiet. Childe finally broke his gaze away and looked at the battle pieces on the map, trying to quickly memorize what he’d failed to hear.
“Was there something you wanted to discuss?” Dottore offered.
“I was just thinking that it may be safer to thread above Lumberpick Valley toward Mount Hulao rather than cut straight for Cujie Slope—the mists of the stone forest would help hide our operatives,” Childe lied, thinking quickly. He tapped a finger on the map as to prove his point.
“Ah.” Dottore went around the table to stand next to Childe, leaning in to peer over the younger Harbinger’s shoulder.
Childe’s breath caught in his throat. Dottore was standing close, certainly closer than he needed to. Childe could feel their clothes brush together, could feel the heat radiating off the doctor’s skin.
“Seems to me like an acceptable course of action,” Dottore said. His voice ghosted over Childe’s neck. The young man’s skin broke into shivery goosebumps. There was a long pause. Dottore’s breath continued to drift across Childe’s damp skin.
“Are you unwell?” The doctor's deep voice was hushed.
“I’m doing great,” Childe replied, forcing a grin to his face. He nearly jumped out of his skin when big, gloved hands came to rest on his waist. Fingertips pressed into his hipbones. He let out a shaky breath, heart hammering against his rib cage.
“I can fix what ails you, Tartaglia. You only need to ask,” Dottore murmured, the cold metal of his mask brushing against Childe’s face.
The young Harbinger felt cold when Dottore pulled away and left, footsteps clicking into the distance on the hard marble floor. He gingerly touched his fingers to the place the doctor’s hands had rested.
You only need to ask became a mantra in Childe’s head the rest of the day. He sweat out his anxiety on the training ground, sending all his sparring partners straight to the infirmary. As he fought, his brain split into two: one half focused on the thrill of battle and the other speculating about what awaited him. He had no idea what lay on the other side of this opportunity, no way to gather intel and make an educated guess. Il Dottore was a notorious wildcard. Would it be rough? Gentle? Fast? Slow? Would the good doctor make him kneel, or let Childe take what he wanted? The Eleventh Harbinger was known for his boldness but only when he was certain of the outcome, and he wasn’t sure of anything when it came to Il Dottore.
Childe sparred until time slipped through his fingers like water. When he’d exhausted (and nearly maimed) every possible partner, Pulcinella turned up and tiredly shooed him away from the arena. As he wiped sweat from his damp brow, he peered at the clock.
Half past eleven.
Quite late.
Too late?
Only one way to find out.
The icy palace was quiet as Childe made his way to Dottore’s chambers. A snowstorm whirled outside the arching windows, making the moonlit hallways flicker with uneven light. Nervousness wasn’t a feeling Childe was well acquainted with, and the crystal moths fluttering in his gut made him queasy. He greeted the guards outside the door with a lazy salute and trademark cocky grin. The salute was returned but the two guards exchanged a curious look—Il Dottore did not receive many visitors in general, much less at this late hour. The guards’ knock and announcement of the arrival of his Eminence, the Eleventh Harbinger of the Fatui, Tartaglia (the formality of Zapolyarny always made Childe roll his eyes) went unanswered. Childe’s stomach twisted. Damnable damn, he’d let his opportunity pass.
The silence was unbearably loud and Childe wanted to start punching the guards for looking at him with—what? Pity? Contempt? Perhaps nothing at all, but the Harbinger was embarrassed regardless, feeling naked under their passive gaze. He hated the creeping flush of red that began to work its way up his face.
He turned to go, fists clenched at his sides, when he heard it: Let him in.
The barely audible words made him smile. Fucker. Making him sweat just for the sake of it.
The door was promptly opened by an obedient guard and Childe stepped through, the back of his neck prickling. Dottore had already begun with the games, it seemed. What to expect next?
The apartment was fairly similar to Childe’s, and most likely every other Harbinger short of the Tsaritsa herself. Richly decorated, lavish, but impersonal—the Harbingers were not expected to be at Zapolyarny often enough to give the rooms a human touch. Where Childe’s quarters smelled like dried sweat and, unfortunately, fish, Dottore’s had an air of peppermint and coffee with something sharp and chemical underneath. He couldn’t help but take a deep inhale of it, committing the complex scent to memory somewhere deep in his mind as to never forget.
The fading flush on Childe’s skin bloomed anew when he saw the doctor standing by the fire, a book in hand and wearing a robe. The robe was nothing unusual—another luxurious standard issue for Harbinger suites, Liyuese silk and Szenhnayan velvet. What made Childe hot under the collar was Dottore wearing the robe, broad chest partially in view, pale skin and blue hair stark against the blood-colored fabric. The sight begged the question of what, if anything, he wore underneath. Childe couldn’t fail to ignore the doctor’s face no longer obscured by a mask, angular and aquiline, piercing red irises under heavy hooded eyelids. A deep gouge ran down through his left eye and across the bridge of his nose, long since healed but still notably puckered and shiny. Seeing Il Dottore’s bare face was a precious rarity. Childe could only recount two previous occasions, both Fatui dinners, where he’d been privy to the lovely secret.
“Thanks for waiting,” Childe said, stepping out of his boots. He didn’t care much if he tracked dirt through his own room but always tried to be polite outside of home.
“Strip.”
“Geez, right to the point, huh?”
“I was under the impression you had a problem that needed to be fixed, but if it’s so unimportant as to be late, then you can go,” Dottore replied coolly, dropping the book onto the side table with a thump.
“No! No. Sorry. Yessir.”
Childe took off his clothes slowly, agonizingly aware of the appraising gaze that trailed over his body. The doctor went around him in a slow, lazy circle. The younger Harbinger’s freckled skin flushed hot and prickly. Objectively, Childe knew he had a good physique, but it was hard to maintain his bravado when being scrutinized so closely. Layers of clothing pooled on the floor at his feet. Candlelight made shadows dance across his skin. Did Dottore like what he was seeing? His face gave no indication of his thoughts, expression clinically cool and passive.
Childe reached for the final article, his smallclothes, but hands on his shoulders made him freeze.
“That’s enough for now,” Dottore murmured, lips brushing the shell of Childe’s ear. “Let me look at you.”
The words made Childe’s breath hitch in his chest. Dottore’s hands slid from his shoulders down his back. He remained still as Dottore examined him. The doctor’s touch alternated between featherlight and firm, dancing across his skin. The young Harbinger’s skin broke into goosebumps whenever the warm hands ghosted across his skin, thumbs rubbing across freckles and pale, pinkish scars. Childe hadn’t been expecting such a gentle touch from the creator of monsters. He couldn’t help but lean into every caress. He wanted Dottore to touch him, to grab him, to pin him down and bruise him. As lovely as these hands felt, how wonderful would his mouth be? Hot tongue and sharp teeth worrying across exposed skin, lapping at old wounds and sucking dark marks into the few unblemished areas that remained.
Childe fought the urge to speak into the silence, to fill the empty space with babble. He wanted to know so badly what Dottore was thinking. He heard the occasional hum but couldn’t tell if it was approving or merely a blank, observant sound. What a wicked game to play on someone as earnest as Childe. The back of his neck prickled. Small shivers raced down his spine and across his skin as Dottore maneuvered him, lifting his arms and kicking his legs into a wider stance. The feeling of thumbs pressing into his palm and fingers drifting along the planes of his back were making his cock stir. Surely, if Dottore didn’t like what he saw, he’d have sent him away by now—or so Childe could hope. The strange sensuality of the situation was making him hungrier for more. He wanted to do the same to Dottore, to run his hands across the doctor’s body and drink his fill, feel those red eyes on him as he kissed and licked across every square inch of skin.
Childe stiffened as Dottore pressed against him from behind, hands once again coming to rest on his hips as they had that morning. He let his head fall back to rest against the doctor's shoulder, pliable and willing after his examination. Dottore slid his hand under Childe’s waistband and wrapped a hand around his pulsing erection with a throaty chuckle. Childe could feel the vibrations of the laugh and shifted his weight with a huff. Unfair of the older man to make him hard and then mock him for it, although he supposed it was also embarrassing to get hard just from simple touches. Perhaps he deserved a little mockery—he could say with no confidence that he wouldn’t also laugh were the situation reversed.
“I think I’ve found your problem,” Dottore purred. He teased his thumb over the leaking head, smearing a drop of precum into the fabric of Childe’s smallclothes.
“Is it terminal, doc? Can you fix me?” Childe’s voice was raspy. Fix, that clever little f-word they’d been dancing around with. Yes, he very much needed to be fixed by Dottore.
“I’ll see what I can do. Why don’t you go lay down for me?”
Dottore pulled away. The loss of his body made Childe ache. Without sparing so much as a backward glance, he quickly padded up the hall and around the corner to the bedroom, silently thanking the Tsaritsa that all the apartment layouts were identical. The bed was still perfectly made and as he climbed on top, he could smell the distinct scent of Dottore on the linens. He lay against the headboard, half propped up. He turned his head as Dottore entered, the doctor clearly not sharing the same sense of urgency that was beginning to overtake Childe. The young Harbinger could still feel where warm fingers had wrapped around his cock and it made him restless as he waited, listening to slow, even footsteps.
He took a steadying breath as Dottore joined him on the bed, climbing over him to straddle his waist. Childe grunted. The weight of the man on top of him was delicious, but not enough. He could feel his body heating up from deep inside, fueled by increasing lust with each passing second.
“You see, the problem is that you’re a bit of a whore.” Dottore settled his weight down on top of Childe, pinning the young Harbinger’s cock underneath his cunt. Childe had been correct earlier—the older Harbinger wore nothing underneath the robe. He groaned as his cock drooled more precum against his stomach. Their eyes locked as Dottore began to rock his hips up and down Childe’s trapped length. A smile danced on the edge of the older Harbinger’s lips at the way Childe squirmed.
Childe whined, pressing his fingers into Dottore’s broad thighs. The doctor looked down at him, unmoved, and kept his gyrations smooth and tortuous. Childe could feel raw heat through his smallclothes as the older Harbinger ground his pussy against Childe’s covered cock. The friction wasn’t enough—Childe wanted to feel Dottore’s hot cunt against his skin, to slam inside him, to feel those strong thighs squeeze him as the doctor used him to completion.
“Your staring at meetings doesn’t go unnoticed. It’s adorable, really.” Dottore pinched and pulled on Childe’s nipples as he spoke, causing the younger man to arch up and whine. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted to fuck me.”
“I do,” Childe panted. Dottore scoffed.
“You think you can please me?” Dottore leaned down, putting a hand on either side of Childe’s head. His hips moved even slower, twisting slightly in tight circles. Childe swallowed a flood of drool as their bodies pressed together, chests brushing just barely, silky fabric grazing his skin. Childe moved his hands to cup Dottore’s ass, expecting a reprimand, but none came.
Perhaps Dottore liked it too, he thought deliriously.
There was a mean glint in the doctor's eye as he spoke again.
“You want to fuck my pussy, Tartaglia?” He cooed, rolling his hips along Childe’s leaking cock. Archons, he was fucking wet, Childe could feel it, and it made him shiver.
“Yeah,” he replied in a whisper.
“You want to cum inside me, don’t you? Watch it leak out of me. Maybe I’d make you clean up your mess.” A snap of his hips. “Could you fill me up? Make me feel full?”
“Yes.” The answer was a hiss. Childe could feel his orgasm mounting. His eyes fluttered closed as he imagined what Dottore described, fucking the Harbinger full of frothy seed and then sucking it out of his wet cunt, hands full of his ass and tits, listening to delicious moans and whines. Dottore would look so fucking beautiful with cum dripping down his thighs, his chest and neck peppered with purple bruises and bleeding bites. There was no position Childe wouldn’t take him in. He needed to see the doctor from all angles, needed to commit to memory how splendidly debauched he would look when Childe was inside him.
Dottore reached a hand down between them and began to pet across his swollen clit. Childe gritted his teeth and barely suppressed a whine. He could feel his muscles tightening, the telltale electric bolt of pleasure darting up and down his spine.
“I’m not sure you have what it takes. You’re a competent fighter, but I’ll run you ragged, boy.” Dottore’s hips started to rock faster, bearing down on Childe with a painful pressure.
“I’ll do it—“
“I’ll do things you’ve never even thought of. I want it hard and fast. I want to scream. I want to hurt when we’re done, do you hear me? I want to be fucked until I can’t walk. Can you do that, Ajax?”
Childe pulled Dottore down even harder against him, digging his heels into the mattress and grinding up hard. Thoughts and visions raced through his mind at a lightning pace, each more unhinged than the last. He nodded wordlessly, panting. Yes. He could do it, he wanted it too much not to succeed. He wanted to bury his cock inside Dottore for hours, to use that hot cunt until it was fucked loose, sloppy and dripping with seed. He wanted those legs locked around his waist until he bore a belt of bruises. He wanted to see Dottore ride him, tits bouncing. He wanted to fuck him into the mattress. He wanted him against a wall, in the bath, on the floor—anywhere and everywhere he could get his fill. He wanted to sink his cock inside the Harbinger and bury his face between those tits and claim what was rightfully his.
“Cum for me,” Dottore growled. Childe bucked up against him and let out a guttural groan as he released inside his smallclothes, hot and sticky against his own skin. Dottore chuckled and swiped away a smear of drool from Childe’s mouth. The young Harbinger started to let his hands roam the doctor’s body, unabashed now in his neediness. Parting the robe, he could see Dottore’s arousal clearly and it makes his spent cock twitch with a desire to go again.
“Lemme get you off,” Childe said, tugging the robe loose until it pooled at the doctor’s hips. Dottore smiled, sharp teeth shining in the low light.
“Tartaglia, I think your case may be terminal.” The doctor’s tone had a self-satisfied ring to it, obviously pleased with himself.
“Fine by me. What a way to go, eh?”
Childe shimmied down the bed so he could rest his head between the doctor’s thighs. The sight of Dottore’s sex, slick and plump with arousal, made his cock twitch. He craned his neck up to bury his nose in the soft curls, breathing deep the heady scent of lust. Childe slid his hands to cup Dottore’s ass and experimentally licked at the clit, eliciting a throaty sound from the man above him. He tugged at Dottore’s thighs with his hands, trying to bring him closer.
“Just sit down already,” he complained.
“I’m too heavy, fool,” Dottore said, annoyed at Childe’s hands trying to pull him down. He braced his hands on the headboard, holding himself at a hover over Childe’s face.
“I can take it. C’mon, don’t be such a chicken. Lemme taste you.”
“I’m not a—Fine. Your mistake, then.”
Childe hummed happily as the Harbinger rested his full weight down onto his face. He was heavy and hot and wet. He dragged the flat of his tongue across the puffy lips, lapping up dripping wetness. He kneaded Dottore’s body with his hands, gently encouraging the other man to rock into him as he wrapped his lips around the clit and began to suck. His chest swelled with triumphant pride as he heard a whine break from Dottore’s throat. He alternated between long, broad strokes and quick laps, occasionally using a hint of teeth against the swollen nub. Dottore rolled his hips against his face, thighs squeezing Childe’s head in a vice grip. Using a thumb to spread the wet folds, the younger man flicked his tongue at the slick entrance. Dottore rocked down hard at that and Childe laughed in his throat. He slid his tongue inside with a shuddering sigh at the tightness, lathing against the silky walls. He could hear the doctor’s breath quicken, his muscles shivering as Childe probed.
Childe’s sharp nose nudged Dottore’s clit with each languid stroke of his tongue, face pressed so tightly against Dottore’s sex that he had to take long gasping breaths in between each thrust of his tongue. At the sound of a particularly pitchy moan, Childe added a finger, body shifting eagerly at the clenching sensation that enveloped him as he pressed inside. He was getting hard again. He moved the attention of his mouth solely to the clit, now completely unhooded and perfect for nipping and suckling in time with the thrust of his hand. Sliding a second digit inside, he curled his fingers and pet down against the rough bundle of nerves he’d been searching for. Dottore’s hips snapped faster, thighs trembling and lips pouring breathy words of encouragement. The pressure on Childe’s temples reached a high point and stars bloomed behind his eyelids, face burning hot as he plunged his fingers in and out and ground his teeth against the sensitive nub. It was everything he’d wanted—the sounds, the taste, the damp smear of wetness across his face and dripping down his chin, the struggle for breath between shapely thighs and the way Dottore rode his fingers so desperately, moaning and squeezing and shoving his body down against Childe in a desperate bid to find release—
Fuck!
There was a soft cracking sound and Childe shouted, kicking his legs and raking his nails across Dottore’s skin as searing pain shot through the center of his face. Dottore swung off and Childe sucked in a desperate breath, reaching up to tenderly touch his nose. Even the whisper of a touch stung. He could taste blood trickling down the back of his throat and feel hot rivulets beginning to creep from his nostrils.
“Ah, I told you.” Dottore’s voice was more annoyed than concerned. Childe reached for him, vision blurry with involuntary tears. He’d had worse injuries and still finished the fight, so letting a broken nose get in the way of this was small potatoes by comparison.
“Wait, it’s fine—let me finish—“
“Just fuck me.”
Any lingering remnants of self-control were thrown to the wind at the words. Childe lunged and pinned Dottore underneath to the bed, shoving his smallclothes down his thighs and slamming himself in to the hilt. Nails clawed down his back and fingers yanked on his hair and sharp teeth bit at his swollen lips. The taste of blood filled their mouths. Dottore was hot and tight and wet and made for him, sucking him in greedily with each punishing thrust. The young Harbinger broke the kiss to gasp for air, long strands of spit suspended in their air between their panting mouths. Strong legs wrapped around his waist and pulled him deeper until Childe was punching moans from both their throats in a fast, unsteady beat. His face throbbed with sharp pain as he buried his face in Dottore’s neck. His nose hurt terribly but he was so fucking close, the doctor so fucking tight. His breath came out in ragged, heaving gulps of air as his nose continued to swell shut.
“Archons, I’m gonna fucking cum,” he gasped. His body was electric with need, heat pooling in his groin like a tempest.
“Do it.” Dottore seized a fistful of Childe’s hair and jerked his head back so that they were looking at each other. Through his hazy gaze, Childe could see his own blood smeared across Dottore’s mouth. It was the same deep color as the doctor’s eyes. The intensity of it made Childe’s hips stutter and he came with a long groan, body shuddering and eyes squeezing shut.
He let his head fall once it was done, pressing his forehead to Dottore’s shoulder. The older man pulled his hand from his hair, giving it a quick ruffle. Were Childe in a better state of mind, he’d have found it uncharacteristically sweet.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. Not only had he let his own arrogance lead to a bloody mess, but he hadn’t even succeeded in getting Dottore off.
A sigh.
“It’s all right, Tartaglia. ‘If at first you don’t succeed’, or however the saying goes.”
Childe looked up, eyebrows raised.
“Really? You’ll let me?”
Dottore rolled his eyes and pushed Childe off of him, sliding off the bed to snag a cloth from the washbasin. He dipped it in the cool water and wrung it out in a smooth motion. Childe watched the muscles of his arms work with lusty eyes, unable to help himself despite his exhaustion.
“Most who fail me do not live to talk about it,” he said, tossing the cloth to Childe, who gently dabbed at the coagulating blood smeared across his skin. “And the Tsaritsa would not be pleased to hear why I ended you, so yes—a second chance is in order.”
“Lucky me,” Childe said, smiling despite the jagged discomfort in his head. Dottore gave him a sidelong glance and a shake of his head as he stepped into the bathroom. Childe tapped his fingers against his thigh as he listened to the sound of running water begin to fill a tub.
Very lucky.