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The trouble with having a lover after so many centuries is that Zhongli wants. He’s sure Childe wouldn’t describe Zhongli’s wanting as a problem, but Zhongli would. Does. Want carves through him every time he sees Childe. Melts into burning lust when Childe’s eyes meet his, when Childe’s lips pull back in a wicked, knowing smile, when Childe reaches out to take his hand.
He has done far more obscene things with more people than just Childe for hand holding to affect him so, and yet there Zhongli stands, half hard on the streets of Liyue Harbor as Childe pulls his thumb over Zhongli’s palm.
“Ready for dinner?” Childe asks.
Only if dinner is Childe’s body.
“Yes,” Zhongli says instead, and Childe tugs him down the street, leading him toward Wanmin Restaurant.
Wanmin is both solace and torture. Childe releases Zhongli’s hand and sits across from him, but now Zhongli can do nothing more than look at Childe’s face and remember it from the previous night: flushed with pleasure, eyes dark and glazed, parted lips kiss-swollen.
Desire curls in Zhongli’s veins, a desire he tries to suppress. He is no callow youth, slave to his lusts. But as he sits across from Childe, he cannot help but think how much nicer it would be to slide into Childe’s lap, to slip his fingers into his lover’s hair, to sip kisses from his lips instead of the green tea Xiangling has given them.
Childe talks aimlessly, telling Zhongli about the minutia of his day, his frustrations with his coworkers at the Bank, his annoyance about a debt collection he’ll need to facilitate in the morning—and Zhongli immediately begins calculating how much time that will give them together this evening.
Not enough. Not nearly enough. But even when he has an entire night, it doesn’t seem like enough. Time, Zhongli has always had an excess of time, but now, with Childe, every precious moment slips by far too quickly. He cannot simply spend hours savoring the sight of his lover. They cannot afford to lose themselves in each other for days on end.
There are degrees of intimacy. Dining with Childe is, at times, even more intimate than having Childe inside him, making love to him. But tonight is not one of those nights. Not even when Zhongli slides his foot up the inside of one of Childe’s legs in blatant invitation does that make their dinner as intimate as Zhongli needs it to be.
Childe’s eyes heat. A rakish smile pulls at his lips. “You know,” he says casually after Xiangling has left their table heavy-laden with food. “I never thought I’d be less horny than my partner.”
A flush creeps across Zhongli’s face. Childe is insatiable, yes, but even his appetites pale in comparison to Zhongli’s now that they are together. Childe barely has the chance to initiate because Zhongli hungers for him with such overwhelming ferocity. “Forgive me,” he says, not for the first time.
“There’s nothing to forgive.” Childe tips his head to the side, exposing the long line of his throat, and it takes all of Zhongli’s self-control not to reach across the table and rake his fangs down Childe’s skin. Not to bite him (again), claim him (again), mark him as Zhongli’s own (again). “How hungry are you?”
Zhongli wonders, briefly, if Childe is asking after their dinner or something else. The answers are very different. As a being of pure Geo, he does not, technically, require food. He eats with Childe because he enjoys the ritual, the company, the sensory experience. So he is not, strictly speaking, hungry. But he is ravenous—and that must show on his face.
“We don’t have to stay,” Childe says.
“Eat,” Zhongli replies. He lifts a jade parcel to his own mouth, eyes fixed on Childe. “I will not be accused of starving you.”
The smile that pulls across Childe’s lips is wicked. He fumbles his own dumplings, and Zhongli utters a quiet laugh.
“How long have you been here? And still you struggle.”
Childe shrugs nonchalantly, but his eyes glitter with desire. “I’ve been polishing other skills.”
A purr rumbles in Zhongli’s chest as he extends his own chopsticks to Childe, offering him a dumpling. “So you have,” he murmurs, voice low and rough and dripping with desire.
Childe’s eyes darken more. “We really don’t have to stay.”
“Eat,” Zhongli says again.
Childe’s lips close over Zhongli’s chopsticks, and all Zhongli can think of is his cock inside that warm, wet mouth. Satisfaction softens Childe’s expression as he chews and swallows, as he leans across the table. “How many times am I going to make you come for me tonight?” he asks, his voice a warm rumble beneath the raucous noise filling Wanmin Restaurant.
Zhongli cannot help the shudder of desire that curls through him, the way his cock twitches and stiffens between his legs. He sways forward, caught in the gravity of Childe’s hungry eyes. “That depends solely on you, does it not?”
“Is that permission to do whatever I want with you tonight?”
Another shudder runs through him. Zhongli shifts restlessly in his seat, no longer interested in dinner even for the sensory experience. “It is.”
Heat burns in Childe’s eyes.
They make quick work of their dinner, Zhongli forcing himself to appreciate Xiangling’s brilliance as Childe eats enough to feed a small army. When he goes to rise, Childe leans over the table, brushing his lips against Zhongli’s ear. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk in the morning.”
Desire spears through Zhongli, sudden and sharp. For a moment, the aching need to pull Childe onto him, into him, overwhelms every sense.
“Let’s go,” Childe says, drawing back, a knowing glint in his eyes.
They cannot exit the restaurant quickly enough, and as they do, Zhongli runs another set of calculations: his willpower and burning need against the time it takes to go from Chihu Rock to Yujing Terrace, where he lives. The numbers aren’t good. Every step is agony, his slacks pulling over the hard line of his cock, and they’re barely past Wanmin Restaurant.
Without thinking, he catches Childe by the wrist and tugs him down an alley. “Come,” he says, ignoring the wide-eyed look of surprise on Childe’s face.
He pulls his lover down the alley and around the back of Wanmin. There is a door nearby, propped open with a rock, and a thrill goes through Zhongli, making his already hard cock impossibly harder.
Turning, he yanks Childe into him, onto him, and he presses a hungry kiss to the other man’s lips. Childe is surprised for only a moment before his hands find Zhongli’s waist, before he crowds Zhongli back against the side of the building.
Lips part, tongues tangle, and heat burns in Zhongli’s veins, wicked and sweet and heady. He wraps his arms around Childe’s shoulders, drawing him closer, urging him to fit their bodies together. And Childe’s cock brushes against his, just as hard.
Groaning into their kiss, Zhongli rocks against Childe, working their hips together. The friction makes him ache, makes him burn. He is molten in Childe’s arms, hungry and desperate for more.
Childe draws back, gasping. “Zhongli—”
Zhongli nips at Childe’s lower lip, urging him back for more kisses. “I need you,” he murmurs. “I ache for you. You have consumed me, my darling, and I cannot stand to be apart from you.”
With a low moan of his own, Childe ducks in for another hungry kiss. His hands slide from Zhongli’s hips to his ass, yanking him hard against Childe’s body.
“Here?” Childe asks into Zhongli’s mouth.
“Here,” Zhongli replies.
“Fuck.” Childe gives a breathless laugh before licking into Zhongli’s mouth, before sliding their tongues together, sealing their mouths, tasting, taking, devouring. Zhongli gives himself over to the slick caresses, to the aching burn that suffuses him, increasing with every stroke, every touch. He is mindless with his need, so hard he hurts, desperate for the man who rocks against him.
More, he needs more. He craves the man in his arms, craves his body, his affections, his pleasure.
Dragging his hands down Childe’s chest, he reaches between them, pulling at Childe’s belt, his pants. His fingers push beneath fabric, brushing against the slick tip of Childe’s cock, and Childe groans. His head drops to Zhongli’s shoulder, and he rocks his hips against Zhongli’s fingers.
Zhongli dips his fingers lower, smoothing his hand down the length of Childe’s cock. He’s soft and hard and so deliciously hot.
Need burns through Zhongli, and he curls his fingers around Childe, stroking up his length until a broken, aching sound spills from Childe’s lips.
“Keep that up, and we won’t be doing anything here,” Childe gasps, grabbing at Zhongli’s wrist, forestalling him.
“How can I not touch you?” Zhongli asks, his words broken around the panting of his breath. “How can I keep my hands off you?”
Childe pulls Zhongli’s hand from his pants. “If you wanted leisurely lovemaking with lingering caresses, you should’ve let me take you home. Turn around.”
Without hesitation, Zhongli turns. He braces his forearms against the side of Wanmin Restaurant, arching his back, making his body an offering, and Childe takes that offering. Raking his hands down Zhongli’s sides, Childe folds over his back, lips against Zhongli’s ear. “I’m going to make you scream so loud people come running,” Childe murmurs. His hands push between Zhongli’s legs, one cupping Zhongli through his pants, and heat burns through Zhongli’s body. His hips arch into that touch, grinding his hard length into Childe’s palm.
A dark, hungry laugh spills past Childe’s lips.
“Imagine what the people would think if they saw you like this.” As the heel of Childe’s hand drags down Zhongli’s cock, his other hand pulls at Zhongli’s belt and pants, opening them. “The aloof, collected consultant for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor so hungry for cock that he has to drag me into an alley.”
Heat pulls through Zhongli, settling low in his groin, a tight coil of need. He arches his back, pushing his hips into the cradle of Childe’s own. The hard line of Childe’s cock rubs against him, inflames him, and he sucks in a choking gasp.
“What would people think?” Childe asks, his voice tight and rough with his own desire. “Xiangling could come out the back at any minute and see us.”
Zhongli moans, his head dropping between his shoulder blades.
Childe sucks in a breath. “Oh. Oh, that fucking does it for you, doesn’t it?”
Zhongli cannot help the aching sound of affirmation, the groan of pleasure, of excitement. There is something wicked about where they are, about the force of his need, the knowledge that they might be discovered at any minute. He’s drunk on the possibility, on the what if, so hard that he drips precum into Childe’s palm.
And against his back, Childe laughs, husky and low. He pushes his hand deep into Zhongli’s pants, curving his fingers around Zhongli’s cock. “You’re so fucking hard, Zhongli. This really gets you off, doesn’t it?” His tongue pulls over Zhongli’s ear as he strokes Zhongli in a slow rhythm, the pace a wicked tease.
Turning his head toward the door to Wanmin Restaurant, Zhongli rolls his hips forward, fucking into Childe’s tight grasp. Every time he pulls back, he grinds himself against Childe’s cock, and Childe meets him, pushing into him.
It’s wicked, it’s divine, it’s everything Zhongli wants—the thrill, the fear, the decadent pleasure.
“I bet you’ll come just from this,” Childe says, his fingers squeezing beneath the head of Zhongli’s cock. “From my hand and the possibility. What if, Zhongli?” He nuzzles against Zhongli’s cheek, his hand moving just a bit faster. “What if Xiangling comes out here? What if Chef Mao does?”
Zhongli shudders, groans. Pleasure makes his cock jerk in Childe’s hand, winds his body tight, draws another soft moan to his parted lips. He ruts into Childe’s hand, desperate to come, so hard he hurts, and Childe gives him what he needs, stroking harder, faster. And when Zhongli does come, it’s with an aching cry—one Childe does nothing to stifle. His cum drips onto the wall of building, drips down it, and Zhongli sucks in a shuddering breath.
“I bet they’ll wonder about the stain on the wall,” he murmurs, wicked creature he is. “I bet they see it in the morning and wonder who put it there.” His teeth bite at Zhongli’s earlobe, and Zhongli shivers, he groans, he closes his eyes and pushes his body deeper into the embrace of Childe’s hips.
“Please,” he gasps.
“We’ll know, though, won’t we?” Childe asks, shoving at Zhongli’s pants, at his own. The next time their bodies come together, it’s skin on skin, Childe’s cock rubbing against the swell of Zhongli’s ass. “You want this, yeah?”
“Yes,” Zhongli moans, his eyes fluttering open and fixing on the door once again.
“Want to get fucked where anyone might see us. Who knows—” Childe’s fingers, slick with Hydro, slip between Zhongli’s cheeks and press against his hole.
And those words, those decadent words. Zhongli has just come, but already his cock is half hard again.
Burning, blazing, molten with the heat that cascades through him like lava flows from a volcano, Zhongli arches into that touch. The tip of Childe’s finger slips inside him. It swirls in a circle, pulling against Zhongli’s rim, and then pushes deep, all the way to the third knuckle.
Zhongli bites back a sharp cry.
“Oh? I thought you wanted to be found.” Childe fingers him slowly, sweetly, pressing against the soft walls of his body to find his prostate, and this time, Zhongli cannot stop the piercing cry that spills out of him.
Anxiety jolts through him, sweetening his pleasure, heightening it, making him harder still. He strains his ears, desperately listening for any indication that someone heard them. But the sounds from the nearby kitchen don’t change, and he hears no one in the alley with them, hears only his and Childe’s panting breaths.
Another Hydro-slick finger pushes inside him, and Zhongli keens. Those two fingers brush over his prostate, and he moans. They fuck into him, and he makes a delirious, obscene sound.
Even with those two fingers, he’s empty, so empty. Arching his back, he seeks more of Childe’s touch.
“Needy,” Childe accuses. “You’re so needy. Who’d’ve thought, the god of Geo would be so hungry for cock?”
He certainly hadn’t expected himself to desire anyone as ardently as Childe, had thought he was far too old for such things. But Childe has crawled beneath his skin and taken up residence in his heart, and now he aches, he craves, he needs. Every moment of the day, his heart beats for one man and one man only.
“Such sweet words,” Zhongli manages.
Childe stretches his fingers wide, and Zhongli groans. “Like I said earlier, if you wanted lovemaking, you should’ve taken me home.”
But Zhongli doesn’t want lovemaking. He wants to get fucked, wants Childe buried deep in his ass, wants skin slapping hard against skin.
“More,” he demands, reaching back with one hand to spread his ass.
Childe swears softly, pulling his fingers from Zhongli’s body. Zhongli shudders, he groans. He is empty, so empty, and only Childe can fill him, satisfy him. He hangs against the wall, the needy moment suspended in time, and then Childe’s cock presses against him, presses into him.
They are not graceful. They are not tender. Childe fucks him with ruthless abandon, his breath hot on Zhongli’s neck. He strokes Zhongli in time to his thrusts, the leather of his gloves warm and soft on Zhongli’s cock. And Zhongli’s hands drag down the wall of Wanmin Restaurant, his own gloves catching on the uneven surface.
He rocks back, rocks into each of Childe’s hard thrusts. Every time they come together, Childe’s cock pushes against his prostate, and Zhongli is once again a gasping, aching mess, a raw nerve, nothing more than a sieve for the pleasure that Childe pours into him. He gasps, he moans, he does nothing to stifle the obscene sounds that spill from him.
Through the crack in the door, he sees a shadow, a shift in the light.
The door pulls back ever so slightly—and Zhongli’s heart stutters and skips a beat. Adrenaline pounds through him as Childe pounds into him, and the thrill of it breaks him. He comes to a shuddering peak, groaning Childe’s name.
Childe fucks hard into him, fucks deep into him, his thrusts turning rough and ragged. And then he’s groaning, too, low and soft as heat washes into Zhongli’s body.
“Shit,” he breathes, pressing his lips to Zhongli’s shoulder.
The door drops against the rock propping it open.
“You think that was Xiangling?”
Zhongli sucks in a shaking breath, coming down from the high of orgasm to the knowledge that they have most certainly been discovered. “If it was, she won’t ever let us live it down,” he observes.
Childe eases back, eases out of him. They are a mess as they right themselves, but they are smiling, grinning like love-sick fools, and they tuck into each other as they leave the alley behind.
Xiangling does not, in fact, let them live it down.