Bloom

Childe brings Guizhong's garden back to life and Zhongli tells him that he loves him.

CW: Smut

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Childe's cheeks are pink, burned by the midday sun despite Zhongli's insistence that he has the teapot set to overcast.

"Childe, you should—"

"Don't tell me to stop. I'm already elbows deep—literally." He smiles back at Zhongli, nothing but teeth and curved lips. He digs his hands into the soil, squeezing at the earth, scooping out a palmful before tossing it aside. His fingers are stained brown with dirt. It crusts his knuckles and cuticles; fills out the spaces underneath his nails until they're black and filthy.

Because Zhongli can feel the earth in his bones, he feels the way that it adorns Childe's hands, as if his being is pressed right into the creases of his skin. Zhongli sighs, watching from where he sits on the porch and sips his tea. Stares as Childe does his work diligently, pulling at weeds and tilling the soil with his hands.

"The soil needs to be churned," he'd said. Then, Childe rolled his sleeves up, knelt into the dying grass, and started to preen Guizhong's mostly dead garden where those old Glaze Lilies stubbornly cling to whatever remaining memories fill this pot.

"Let's fix it."

Those words seem like eons ago, not months, but time is always skewed for Zhongli. Yesterday Guizhong was alive and today Childe is tending the flowers in her place, fingers dragging across the ground as he churns the earth.

Zhongli should help but he finds himself anchored to the porch. Childe doesn't ask, he just sets to work, sinking to his knees, soiling his trousers.

It is awkward; two lives and two loves—one which he loved like a nice cup of tea, the other like the earth loves the sun, unfolding under its warm rays. It's been a while since that moment on the mountain where the breeze flowed past him and Zhongli realized that it isn't just love, it's a matter of completion.

And yet, he cannot find the strength to leave the porch. He clings to his cup as though it grounds him. Sips at tea that only tastes like ash in his mouth.

Childe—oh, he's a sight. He smiles gently as he tills, humming a soft tune.

Zhongli is almost certain he doesn't know what he's doing.

But Childe tries. And Zhongli watches, leaning against the sliding door as everything else around them just melts away.

#

Today, Childe weeds, pulling at pesky roots that threaten the flowers. The Garden is neatly shaped, looking more like itself. The Glaze Lilies are still wilted but have slightly perked up, turning towards the sky to seek out sunny warmth.

Improvement, which frankly, Zhongli didn't expect.

"What do you think?" asks Childe, dragging his forearm across his sweaty brow. He's shirtless and squints in the bright midday, and Zhongli does everything he can to keep his eyes firmly planted on Childe's face. Anything above the neck.

"Adequate," he says. And it is. But— "That is to say... ah—" He pauses and clears his throat. "It's getting there."

"Wow, Xiansheng. High praise."

"I only meant—"

Childe laughs. "I'm kidding! Zhongli, you really need to learn how to take a joke. I know this still looks like a nightmare. But, as you said, it's getting there. Just needs a little more love."

Zhongli pauses. Childe isn't talking about him, he says it as he looks over the garden. Fondly, eyes crinkled around the corners, dirt smudged across his cheekbones like brushstrokes of paint. Childe is a canvas; pulled taught over a frame, a painting that's barely started.

He doesn't think of himself as an artist, but Zhongli thinks that the picture they paint together is beautiful nonetheless, especially with love as the medium.

#

"Zhongli, look."

This time it is dusk, nighttime just barely rising as stars begin to crest the mountains that line the edges of Zhongli's abode.

Zhongli looks from where he sits on the porch, eyes pouring over the sharp line of Childe's shoulders. He feels warm. Childe lifts his hand from the ground to show a palmful of soil and it feels like he holds Zhongli's heart right between those long, lithe fingers.

The Glazy Lilies glitter. They aren't fully bloomed but their petals are no longer wilted and they gleam as they just barely unfurl. They tilt towards the remnants of the sun as it dips below the horizon. Childe drops the earth to the ground, piling it around the stalks.

"Haven't seen any weeds in weeks," he murmurs, working at it until it suits his liking. "And the flowers—" Childe leans back and drags a soiled hand across his forehead, smearing a streak of it across his brow. "Well, you can see."

Zhongli can. It's been eons since he's seen a proper Glaze Lily. The ones that dot Liyue Harbor are nothing but cheap imitations, cultivated to be reminiscent but not true to design. Underneath Childe's hands, these last remaining few have come back to thrive.

Hands of a fiend, some would say, unsuited for such a task. But here, in this teapot, stowed away from prying eyes, Childe's hands are not weapons of destruction, they're beautiful things, articulated in the way that they smooth out the wrinkles in others. They tend to soft petals with a cradling touch driven by devotion. He tells them secrets in a hushed tone, too soft for even Zhongli's ears to pick up.

It shows. Childe has fostered this garden into something that more than resembles life, it breeds it, curling about every leaf and petal.

"That's enough for today." Childe stands and brushes off his hands. "I'll go wash up—"

"No, come here."

Childe pauses, tilting his head. "Zhongli, I'm covered in dirt."

"I know." Zhongli can feel the bits of himself that cling to Childe like a second skin. Parts of him, underneath Childe's fingernails, staining his trouser knees, stuck in the spaces in the soles of his boots. "Please."

Childe sits next to him, fumbling awkwardly. "Zhongli, you're—I mean, you aren't dressed up or anything, but I don't want to get that robe of yours dirty."

"I don't care." Zhongli's voice is soft like an errant breeze.

"That silk is older than Liyue—" Childe falls quiet when Zhongli takes his hand.

"This dirt," he says, brushing his knuckles over Childe's hand, chasing the lines of his palm, dragging across his lithe fingers. "You would never know this but it's a part of me. Every day that I've watched you with this garden, I can feel it."

"What do you mean—"

"When you hold this dirt," cuts in Zhongli. He turns Childe's hand over and cups it as if he's holding that soil once more. It takes nothing to make more of it. Zhongli swirls his fingers around and the earth pours from his palm, filling Childe's hand. "It's as if you hold my heart. I feel it. Do you understand Ajax?"

He must. He isn't a fool. The dirt in his hand pulses with Geo, thudding like the steady beat of Zhongli's heart.

They do kiss. Frequently. Tucked into the dark corners of this abode even though there isn't anyone to catch sight of them. Here, they laze about and fall into that touch, wandering hands that drag across shoulders, and fingers pressed into the smalls of backs.

Nothing more than heated touches and the rare hand down the trousers since that night in the alley where Childe kissed him breathless. When he fell to his knees and choked on Zhongli's cock, tears leaking from his eyes. Zhongli craves him again, neediness burrowing into his being. Cultivated, just like those Glaze Lilies underneath Childe's careful touch, ready to bloom if Zhongli would just take the damn step.

He is old and stupid. Childe still holds the dirt as though it is precious, so utterly careful with the fine grains of Zhongli's fervent affection.

"I love you," he says. It comes easier than he thought, rolling off his tongue like a wonder. Natural. Exquisite. Just right.

"I—I mean—" Childe swallows. "Yeah?"

Zhongli laughs then, pulling him close. "I love you," he says again, this time teasing, coaxing Childe closer. When he pushes Childe goes, falling against the porch, spilling the soil. Zhongli leans over him, eyes golden as they sparkle, devilishly keen as he watches Childe like a hawk.

He presses a hand to Childe's chest, fingers just barely slipping into the open collar of his shirt. "Is this okay?" asks Zhongli, the question resting on the tip of his tongue precariously.

"I want—"

"You want?"

"Yes, please." Childe blurts it and then chuckles, laying prone underneath Zhongli.

Zhongli, perhaps expected him to push back, to roll them over, to be the one to guide things. But Childe lays there, fingers crusted with dirt, open and willing to let Zhongli do as he wishes.

And oh, how he wants. It's been centuries since Zhongli last felt such a need burning through his veins. Childe is pink-faced, flushed to his sternum, and wide open underneath him. It's clear what he wants. He said please so sweetly.

Zhongli's fingers dip into the collar and trace across his collarbone with a fleeting touch, the same way that Childe holds the delicate petals of Glaze Lilies.

"You would lay under me?" An honest question.

"Zhongli, I'd take you in any way you're willing to give."

A dangerous answer. There are a million ways in which he wants Childe, each one more debauched than the next. Zhongli wishes to crawl into him and never leave, to soak in his presence and be held by his hands, tended to and cared for in his ripe old age.

Zhongli is tired. Some days are better than others but he is exhausted by life. Childe helps. Brightens those days when Zhongli feels dour. Guizhong's garden is a sore spot but Childe treats it with respect, carefully working the land. Now it glitters and gleams, and all Zhongli can think about is how much he loves this man.

"Give," he repeats in a small murmur, face dipping low to press into Childe's neck. "Ajax, it is you who gives to me. I take from you greedily and I will continue to do so." A kiss to the skin there. Childe freezes, but not to hide; he tilts his neck for better access, freeing up the line of his throat.

So perfect for him. Zhongli purrs, the sound lodging in his throat. "I love you, and yet, I wonder if you understand what that means? Creatures like myself, who are as old as time, do not say these things easily. I do not just love you, Ajax, I love you like the stars love the sky, like the earth loves the tide that crashes into it."

Zhongli whispers these things into his ear. He says them into his jaw, his neck, lips trailing his skin with every word that spills. Childe's breath quickens. His heart rages in his throat. Zhongli can feel it, hear it, almost taste it.

Fangs ghost, teasing a bite. Childe's breath catches, followed by the softest groan. Arousal boils in Zhongli's gut, spurred on by those sounds and the way that Childe moves, opening up and blooming below him.

"Zhongli, I—"

Zhongli shushes him. Leans back and grabs Childe by the chin, forcing them to meet gazes. "I am not done," he says, sweeping his thumb across the Childe's full lips, teasing the seam there. "You cannot fathom the depths of my feelings. Ajax, when you are gone, I will cease to be."

"There's nothing else." Childe says it so quietly that Zhongli nearly misses it. "Zhongli, I— shit. Everything that I've done, everything I've accomplished—they don't... other than you, there's nothing else. Why do you think I've been out there trying to bring a dead garden back to life? I'd do the impossible for you."

Zhongli kisses him. He dips forward, angles Childe's face back, and they meet in a clash of lips and teeth. Childe slips in his tongue to deepen it. Tilts his face until they fit together like two perfect puzzle pieces, moaning into Zhongli's mouth.

A hand moves to the back of Zhongli's neck, soiled nails digging into the soft skin there. Childe presses the other against Zhongli's face, cupping his cheek.

They kiss for what feels like centuries, languid but heated. Pleasure simmers. Zhongli's cock is hard in his trousers, aching as it presses against the fabric. He groans against Childe's mouth, his tongue swiping over the sharp line of his teeth.

"Fuck," breathes Childe when they part for air. "Gods, Archons." Childe's hand drags down Zhongli's neck and across his shoulders. His fingers slip into the silk robe that hangs loose on Zhongli's frame, sliding the fabric to the side. Then his gaze turns curious. "Zhongli, your skin..."

"Don't be alarmed," he says, kissing Childe's brow. "It's hard to hold this form when you are spread out below me. It is still me."

The robe slips to Zhongli's waist, revealing charcoal flesh. Childe digs his thumb into his skin, testing the give, marveling at how it's the same. Lines of Geo glitter gold, trailing down his arms in swirls.

"Gorgeous," he says, tracing one of them, dragging his thumb down the entire length of Zhongli's arm.

Only this—this is what he'll allow Childe to see, this minute crumbling of this form before the rest scares him away. Everything is sharper. Scents, sounds, the way that soil still cakes Childe's skin—Zhongli presses close and inhales, drowning in his cool smell, like the crisp ocean, like salt, like the evergreen pines native to Snezhnaya.

It is easy from there. Zhongli presses Childe into the old wooden porch and they kiss and kiss. Clothing is pulled off and tossed to the side in a crumple. Fingers drag over skin, settling in creases and tracing scars.

Zhongli shifts, kissing down Childe's sternum. Thumbs over a nipple and watches Childe hiss, arching from the floor. "This," he murmurs, thumb sliding the length of an old, nasty scar that cuts from Childe's hip and around the front before dipping into his trousers.

"Ugly," murmurs Childe.

"No, beautiful. A show of your strength and prowess." Zhongli swirls his tongue around a nipple and the sound that tumbles from Childe's mouth is divine. And then the other, giving it equal attention. Down and down until he's kissing that scar, tracing it with his tongue right to the hem of Childe's trousers.

And then he stops. Fumbles with that hemline, fingers slipping just past it. Zhongli looks up to meet Childe's gaze, who watches him back, half-lidded and cheeks ruddy. "Please," he says. "I'm—I don't care what, just—"

It takes no time. Zhongli tugs his trousers open and frees Childe's cock. Wraps his fingers around it and stares for a moment, taking in its shape, its thickness, the slight curve. Already leaking at the tip. He swipes his thumb through it, spreading the precome around, and Childe jerks.

"Fuck," he hisses. "Oh, oh—"

Handsome. Zhongli wastes no time wrapping his mouth around Childe's cock, repaying that favor from the alley two-fold. Childe bucks into his throat, unable to hold himself back. "I'm sorry, I'm— shit."

Zhongli chuckles around him, throat vibrating. He swallows, his mouth tightening, tongue flat against the underside. It's sloppy, drool pooling from the edges of his lips and around Childe's dick. He's unpracticed and some things are not so easy to fall back into.

Even in the past, whilst experimenting, sexual encounters were something of instinct, not want or need. As an Archon, Morax took and took, people falling at his feet, eager to please, so he indulged.

But here, he is Zhongli, intent on sucking Childe's soul right through the tip of his cock if that's what it'll take to see him so wholly undone. He laps at his cock, slicking it with spit. Strokes it with long, blackened fingers until Childe is writhing on the floor, fucking into his grip.

Those sounds—Zhongli's nostrils flare as he licks a stripe down the length of him. He tugs Childe's trousers down to lap at his balls, kissing each one before rolling them across his tongue.

"Wait, Zhongli—"

Zhongli immediately stops. Hands off, pulls back, and slides up Childe's body with concern building in his chest. "Ajax," he mutters, "I apologize."

"No, no—fuck, I'm— Just slower, yeah? I'm about to..." Childe makes a crude gesture that leaves nothing to the imagination.

Zhongli smiles, laughing fondly. He leans in, kissing him sweetly. "Slower, then," he says, licking at his mouth, and Childe responds so eagerly.

They do not move slower. Clothing is shed and there is a frantic nature to their touch, but it's gentle. They cling to each other as though the moment might be lost—but it won't, it never will be.

"I've— oh, mhmh—" Childe's breath is caught. "It's been a while. It's been—look, I'm not—"

"Ajax."

"I'm just saying I'm not new to this. This isn't my first..." He hides his face behind a hand. "Fuck, this is embarrassing."

Zhongli is endeared. Kisses Childe's forehead, then the tip of his nose. "I figured," he says. No one sinks to their knees and gives a mind-altering blow-job without an idea of what they're doing. Still. There's something else. "Tell me," he continues, nuzzling Childe's nape.

Childe is quiet long enough that Zhongli pulls back. "Ajax?"

"I've never loved a person." A pause Childe bites his lip. "Wait, no—I mean, yeah, I have. My family, friends—I've just never... been in love with a person. I've never done this with a person that matters. I've never..."

Zhongli reaches out to brush Childe's bangs back from his forehead. He's patient like the earth. He lets Childe take his time to figure out his words because what are several moments when he's already waited six thousand years?

"I love you," says Childe, and for a moment he looks fearful—not because he's afraid of their love, but because he's afraid of the consequences. And Zhongli knows, he understands. Celestia is not kind to those who break the rules and both of them fall into line behind rigid expectations.

But, Childe's gaze relaxes and he pulls Zhongli forward, hand curling round the back of his neck. "Archons, I love you," he says again.

And then they're kissing once more, a searching thing as Childe's tongue slips into Zhongli's mouth and tries to map every corner. They slot together, cocks hard as they brush against each other. Childe moans into his mouth as he clings to Zhongli, and Zhongli just feels himself slip more and more with every wanton touch and heavy breath.

Childe squirms against him, desperate for friction. He pulls at Zhongli, forcing him to sink against him. Zhongli's hand finds his chest. Thumbs across rosy nipples and tweaks them, causing Childe's hips to lift. That hand roams Childe's sides, following the sharp muscle of his waist and the curve of the bone there.

"Please," says Childe then, whispering against Zhongli's mouth, the word fluttering.

Zhongli watches him, takes in the sight of his being. Pupils blown wide until the iris is gone. Skin flush and pink, open, and on display. The way that Childe licks his lips. How his cock twitches.

"Divine," says Zhongli. "I could never tire of seeing you like this."

"No, I'm not—"

"Yes." Zhongli is firm. Childe's mouth snaps shut and lets the praise settle. Fingers dip into Childe's crack, ghosting his hole with an exploratory touch. They come away wet, slicked with Hydro, and Childe hides his burning red face in the silk of Zhongli's discarded robe.

"Just— Please, Zhongli."

This was not the plan.

Zhongli was going to treat him to dinner. He was going to crack open an old bottle of osmanthus wine, talk to him about the past, and then tell him that none of it matters anymore because he's in the here and now. That he loves him, and that Childe is what anchors him to this spot, rooted into the earth that Zhongli was built from.

But, plans aside, it is perfect. Zhongli feels like his long years have culminated for this moment.

They lay there, on the porch, the hardwood of the floor digging into their joints. Childe is still soiled with dirt, coated in Zhongli's being. Zhongli feels it, the way that his heart pulses in time with the earth Childe spilled across the floor. It is a quiet moment that feels loud, blood rushing in his ears.

"What are you thinking?" Childe's voice is quiet, probing. He drags a finger down Zhongli's arm, still marveling at the swirling colors of black and gold.

This isn't just love, it's everything. That is the thought he had at the top of Mt. Tianheng when Childe brewed him the worst tea imaginable. He does not want this feeling to end.

"This isn't how I planned for this."

Childe's gaze eases, curling into something more foxlike. "Oh? You made plans?"

"Of course, I did. I would treat you to dinner. We'd share sweet nothings, and I would tell you that I loved you, and then I'd make a mess of you in my bed."

When Zhongli leans over, he threatens the space, but Childe just welcomes him with a tilt of his head. Baring his neck. Oh. Zhongli's tongue traces his lip, older urges surfacing. For later, he thinks, kissing the soft column of Childe's neck instead, licking across it to taste. "I've dreamt about this, you, giving yourself to me. How I'd open you up and how you'd beg, falling apart on my fingers."

"I'm—oh, that's—" Childe is unused to hearing such language from him.

"Slick them again," requests Zhongli, holding out his fingers that have gone dry.

His fingers are drenched with viscous fluid. Zhongli remains close as his fingers prod, one slipping into Childe slowly. Childe tenses and groans—but he doesn't fight back. He wriggles, trying to force it deeper, trying to—

"Patience, Ajax." Not that Zhongli has any himself. He works his finger into Childe's tight heat, imagining it is his cock instead.

Childe whines with another finger. Zhongli leans back to look, pressing a thigh up and pulling an asscheek to the side. He spreads his fingers, pulling at Childe's rim, watching it struggle around the intrusion. All the while, Childe writhes. Bucks his hips, rocking against Zhongli's hand.

"Come on," he mutters. "Zhongli—"

"You could ask."

"I have. Please."

Zhongli adds a third finger and Childe curses. Childe's leg twitches as he holds it up, forearm hooked underneath his knee. "I like you like this," says Zhongli. His fingers press in deep, searching, and then Childe gasps. Zhongli smirks, stroking the smooth bundle of nerves until Childe's cock leaks like a fountain, and his balls draw up tight.

"I'm going to—" Childe's voice is tight. Zhongli presses his spare hand against his stomach, feeling the way that his muscles pull taut. "Gods, if you keep doing that, I'm—it's good, it's so, good."

"That's what I want. Didn't I tell you? This is a dream, watching you come apart like this. Go on, Ajax. Show me what you look like."

One swift drive of Zhongli's fingers and Childe is coming, painting his stomach white with his spend. He shudders. His ass clenches tight around Zhongli's fingers. Zhongli soothes him through it, stroking his skin as he watches Childe's face curl in pleasure.

Childe tries to hide. Lifts an arm to press his face into. "No," says Zhongli, coaxing his arm back down. "None of that. You're so handsome."

"Your dick— Gods, just fuck me already."

Zhongli stills, his eyes falling half-lidded. Geo swirls around him and shimmers gold, unable to be contained. Bits of him crumble away leaving glittering lines and charcoal hues.

Childe swallows. "Oh," he says. "Antlers, you have—" He looses a long breath, nostrils flaring. "Shit, I forget, you know. That you're..." He reaches up to touch, fingers ghosting the edge of Zhongli's furred antlers. The touch tingles, zinging down Zhongli's spine until it pools at the small of his back.

He's still mostly normal, with no tail, no strange anatomy, and his cock still human-like. Later, he thinks. He'll save those bits for another time. This is enough. Zhongli can rein it in, middling about like this. "I am still myself," he says. "It is like peeking through a curtain. Very few have seen this side of me."

"I want to know all of you. It's why I..."

It's why Childe revived Guizhong's garden. Zhongli's past is held closely to his breast but Childe wants to know even those parts, the ugly, soul-wrenching bits that Zhongli would rather lock away. Zhongli does not deserve this sort of devotion but he will cherish it nonetheless, and he will do his damnedest to protect it at all costs.

Zhongli moves, pressing between Childe's thighs. A wave of Childe's hand and a rush of Hydro slicks his cock. Zhongli strokes himself, spreading it, thinking that things will change after this. Presses the tip of his cock to Childe's fluttering, pink hole and watches how his rim spreads as he sinks in.

"Oh, fuck." Childe jerks slightly. "Oh, oh—"

Hot. Tight. Zhongli's cock is swathed in Childe's insides as he slides him. He leans forward, moaning into Childe's neck. Sweat pricks at Zhongli's temple and he pauses to breathe. Perfection. So, so perfect, that way Childe's ass just swallows his cock. He's settled deep, surrounded by undulating warmth.

"Full. So full. Fuck, I'm—you're—"

Childe babbles. He's lost his sense, words tumbling from his mouth. His cock twitches again, flaring back to life. Tears prick the corners of his eyes from overstimulation, still riding the ends of his earlier orgasm. Debauched. Desperate and divine.

Zhongli licks those tears away, nuzzling his face. "So good for me," he praises. "Ajax, you feel so good. You feel— Mhmn." He could lay there, nestled in Childe's heat for all day, his cock warmed.

Childe has other plans. His legs are wrapped around Zhongli's waist and he digs a heel into Zhongli's ass. "Move. Fuck me. I want to feel it for days. I want to be loose-legged and unable to walk. I want you to have to carry me to the bed, and then you can fuck me there too. I want—"

"Such a dirty mouth," muses Zhongli. He turns his face, cheek pressed to Childe's temple. He pulls out until only the tip of his cock remains.

When he thrusts in, Childe almost squeaks, a pinched, high-pitched moan that leaves him utterly mortified. Zhongli fucks him earnestly, his cock carving through Childe's insides.

The floorboards underneath them creak. Childe lays across Zhongli's silk robe, one hand curled into it. The other clings to Zhongli's neck, fingers tugging at his hair. The pleasure is already too great. Zhongli grunts, lifting Childe's legs, forcing the angle to change until his cock nails Childe's prostate on every thrust.

"There! Gods, Zhongli, there, there—" Childe won't shut up; he begs and keens, and Zhongli is happy they're sequestered away where no one else will hear him. Only Zhongli, the old walls of this ancient house, and the Glaze Lilies only paces away.

Zhongli finally understands what it is like to want another so completely. Sex is just sex, and he is intimately familiar with it, but this is different. He drowns in his pleasure, in his arousal, in the way that Childe welcomes him so utterly. Childe begs for more, raising his hips, forcing his cock deeper on every downstroke.

He could retire like this, his life ending in a matter of moments, cock in Childe's ass, and be happier for it. Zhongli shifts, leaning on trembling elbows, pressing their chests together. His forehead meets Childe's and they share breath. Claws dig into the wooden floor and the silk robe that Childe writhes about in.

"Forgive this old man," he murmurs, kissing Childe's brow. "I'm not—I won't—it's been a while." He's already teetering on the edge, his cock swelling, balls full of come. His instincts drive him to breed, to fill Childe full. His thrusts are jerky. His biceps shake as he holds himself up, rutting into Childe as if he'll die if he won't.

"I love you," says Childe. He brushes back Zhongli's bangs and kisses him sweetly. Just a meeting of their lips, the barest tease of tongue. "I love you, I love you—"

A quick shot because the centuries have caught up to him, and Childe's encouragement doesn't help. "Come for me," he whispers in their shared air, petting Zhongli's hair as he holds him close. Slow, lingering kisses that match the uneven grind of Zhongli's hips, Childe rising to meet every roll of his thrusts.

Zhongli comes with a grunt into that willing heat. Fills Childe's awaiting insides white-hot with his come. Satisfaction burns through Zhongli's breast, taking the claim for all it's worth.

Childe soothes him through it, praising him, legs locked tight around his waist and refusing to let go. "Zhongli," he mutters, fingers scratching over his scalp. "Zhongli, you're so good. Mhmh."

Zhongli wanted to give Childe another. He wanted to feel his ass clench as he came again, Zhongli's hand tight around Childe's cock. He's too tired, worn, ragged, and thin. Old lizard, Childe likes to call him, poking fun. He slumps against Childe, no doubt heavy. He whines softly, old bones and muscles protesting.

And Childe holds him there, uncaring, shuddering as his own pleasure ebbs and flows.

He is tired too, judging by the way his fingers lull against Zhongli's head. They ghost over his horns, testing the grooves, and how his fingers slot into them. Zhongli purrs, resting against his chest, sinking into the steady beat of Childe's heart.

Eventually, they move. Zhongli carries him to the bath. Bends Childe over and fucks him again until he's crying out and spilling into the water.

Childe whines when he slips out, annoyed by the loss. Zhongli kneels and spreads his asscheeks, watching his come drip from Childe's hole. Something feral rises in him, and he leans forward to lick Childe clean, tongue burying itself into Childe's wrecked, puffy rim.

The third time is a charm—Childe comes like this too, on his tongue and fingers as Zhongli fucks him lazily. "That's enough," he croaks, shaking against the edge of the bath. "I'm— gods, I'm not sure what I expected."

Zhongli takes pity. Kisses his asscheek sweetly before biting it, sinking his fangs into the soft skin to leave a mark. "There," he says, thumbing over the sore spot.

Childe stiffens and moans, pressing his face into his hands. "Ridiculous." He isn't angry. Embarrassed, maybe. Zhongli will embarrass him more by paying extra attention to it, staring at and kissing the claim for days to come.

They do wash, at least. Hands linger and explore. Zhongli sighs, regretful as the soil that stained Childe's hand washes away down the drain, leaving him feeling less grounded. Childe is thrown into a fluffy towel and dutifully carried to the bed, as promised. He sinks into the mattress and turns, inhaling deeply.

"Smells like you," he says, dreamily.

"And what do I smell like?" Zhongli is curious. Childe isn't a normal mortal. He's never explained it—and Zhongli hasn't asked—but Abyssal taint clings to his pores.

"The earth. Mhmh. Gold?" A pause as he settles against Zhongli, cheek pressed against his shoulder. "Like home. This is—Zhongli, I don't want to go back."

Zhongli pets his hair, thinking. "Later," he says. "Don't think about that now."

But Childe does, he always does. He traces the lines of Zhongli's chest until his fingers meet a thick web of scarring. "This," he murmurs, echoing Zhongli's earlier words.

The scar from where his Gnosis once sat. Childe might have a tendency to flaunt his body, but this is the first time he's seen Zhongli bare-chested, and this is why.

"Ugly," says Zhongli softly. The same thing Childe said. Ugly in many ways, but mostly because it's a reminder of the things that exhausted him.

Childe's hand lays flat there. Zhongli's heart thuds, a steady beat, like the earth itself. He does not disagree with Zhongli. Instead, he says, "Did you notice that the Glaze Lilies bloomed?"

He did not. Zhongli was far too preoccupied in losing himself to the sweet song of Childe's pleasure to notice what the flowers were doing.

Zhongli smiles though. A kiss to Childe's forehead. "I love you," he says.

The words are not heavy. He says them easily and Childe sighs, plastering himself closer as if he's trying to melt into his very being.

Those Glaze Lilies are not just flowers, they belonged to her. An end of an era, thinks Zhongli as he strokes Childe's hair idly.

With their bloom, a new one unfolds.

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