Etched In Stone

Divine Speciment of a Wrist (Deragatory)

For Childe, it's the slip of the wrist that does him in.

CW: Smut

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His hands are beautiful.

The soft, supple line of the edge of his palm. Those long and slender fingers that reach deep where no one else can. The sharp jut of his wrist bone, jagged like the stone he carves so well, perfectly weathered over thousands of years.

A sight that does things to Childe. Pleasure swells in his gut as he watches, eyes ghosting over the knobbly rise that twists about so expertly.

"You're staring," says Zhongli, his voice a low murmur against his ear.

Childe whines pathetically, his hips bucking into the tight grasp of Zhongli's hand. Those dangerous digits tug at his cock, palming around the head, and then—

That wrist bone, so perfectly formed, just the barest hint of skin as it flashes from underneath the silk of Zhongli's robe. Delectable. Delicious. Childe wants to lick across the length of it, tongue curling against the soft skin there.

Childe can't think of much else aside from the way that Zhongli tugs at his cock, and his warm voice that puffs against his ear.

"So eager to look," he muses, pressing a quick kiss to the length of his neck. Childe leans against him, his back flush with Zhongli's chest and bare from the waist down. He heaves heavy breaths as he looks down and watches Zhongli handle his dick deftly.

Spindly fingers that are arched just perfectly. The soft pads of his fingertips trace the vein.

That damnable wrist, the soft curve of it as it stands out from the rest of his hand. The kiss of silk as it slides along—

Childe moans, his eyes fluttering as he bites his lip. What he'd give to pull Zhongli's arm close and press a kiss to it. He'd pull back the robe and whisper sweet nothings against the jut of his wrist bone until Zhongli writhed under his touch.

Except it's Childe writhing at the mere thought of it. And it's Zhongli's fault, looking like a meal as he lazes about in nothing but a thin robe. Childe took one look and his mouth went dry. Zhongli greeted him with a smile, pulled back that damned sleeve in a daring show of skin to pour him some tea, and just like that, Childe's trousers were insufferably tight.

Zhongli humors him. "It's endearing," he says quietly, punctuating the words with the slick glide of his hand. Childe's cock is oiled up generously to ease the motion and he can't help but fuck right into the grip. "It's the littlest things with you. My antlers, my voice, the way that I talk—"

"Impossible to ignore—oh—"

Zhongli's hand moves to cup his balls instead, leaving his cock to slap against his groin. He rolls them around with gentle pressure, his wrist brushing the sensitive insides of Childe's thigh. Childe keens, his hips bucking, and Zhongli has to hold him down with his other hand.

"So responsive." Zhongli chuckles, tongue snaking out to lick the shell of his ear. "Tell me Childe, what is it about my hands?"

"It's not—"

"I think that it is."

"No, no, you don't—Oh my Gods, please don't stop."

Zhongli holds his cock again, spreading the precome around the tip with a thumb. Childe pants, head lolling back as he watches through a half-lidded gaze. Pale skin like moonlight that bleeds black and gold in those oh-so-rare moments; the fine baby hairs that stand on end when Childe drags his nails across the length of Zhongli's arm; the rounded curve of his wrist that brushes against him.

"Ajax," murmurs Zhongli, teasing.

"It's your wrists." It's embarrassing. Childe can feel the way that his face pinks up at the confession. "The way that I never see them, only the barest slips of skin when you're in your suit. How you always wear gloves. But then, here, like this, when you're half-dressed and swaddled in silk, and you drag it up to show it off..."

"Oh." Zhongli's hand pauses and he turns it slightly as he looks over Childe's shoulder. "I did not realize... Well, I can see the appeal. It is the same with you, and your chest hair—"

"What?" Childe doesn't have much but Zhongli is bare until the base of his dick.

"Later," says Zhongli, biting into his neck to suck a soft mark there. "For now—" Zhongli lets go of his cock, only to brush his wrist across the length of it instead.

"I—I—" Child'es cock twitches, dripping everywhere. He lets out the most pathetic moan he's ever managed.

"Goodness." Zhongli chuckles, his teeth grazing the column of his neck. "Had I known, I'd have teased you this way forever ago."

"Please," cries Childe, bucking his hips again, trying to find friction, trying to feel anything more than just the teasing drag of Zhongli's wrist bone.

"Can you come like this? With me touching you so sweetly?" Zhongli's other hand spreads flat across Childe's taut stomach, wrist rubbing against the soft trail of hair there. "Divine," he says, kissing his shoulder, mouthing at the skin there with barely-there fangs. "How well you respond—"

"Quiet."

"You don't want that." Zhongli's voice has dipped dangerously low.

And no, no, Childe doesn't. He wants to bathe in the low timbre and soak in the feel of it. He wants to watch Zhongli drag his hand across every inch of him, soft, butterfly touches that raise gooseflesh in their wake.

"Hm, yes, that's it, I think." Childe keens as Zhongli grasps his cock again, his fingers loose around it. "You always love it when I speak."

"Gods, please." He can't deny it. Childe is always gone at just the sound of Zhongli's voice.

"Ajax." Zhongli says his name so quietly, so reverently. "I love watching you come undone so easily, beneath my fingers with just barely a touch."

Childe's gaze hones in on his hand again, watching as Zhongli jerks his cock, messy, slicked with oil, dribbling precome like a fountain.

The gentle curve of his hand; the fine line of the small little bone; the way that Zhongli tucks his hair behind his ear before turning his wrist—

"Ajax, I love you." A whisper pressed deep into his skin, permanently etched as though Childe were a block of stone. He whines as he comes all over Zhongli's hand, his gut tightening more and more with every overstimulated slide of Zhongli's fingers.

Zhongli hums against his ear, appreciative of the show. His back is solid behind him as Childe just falls into the aftershocks, blissed out on the praise and the feel of it all.

And those damn wrists of course; one hand splayed wide across his abs, the other still milking his cock dry. "Zhongli," he cries. "Zhongli, Zhongli—"

"Shh," soothes Zhongli, letting go of his cock and wiping his hand across his trousers. Then, he touches Childe again, the flat of his wrist smoothing across the sharp jut of his hip bone. "Such a darling, for me."

Childe floats down slowly, sighing at the sound of Zhongli's grounding voice.

And then—

"My wrists?"

The embarrassment crashes over him again, and Childe wriggles against him, covering his face with his hands. "Please, don't."

"I meant it when I said it's endearing." Zhongli presses a kiss to the side of his temple, lips lingering there.

Then, Childe remembers something else. He cracks open an eye. "My chest hair?" He used to wax it, for the ease of things but he's gotten lazy.

Zhongli's hand slides underneath his shirt, sweeping through the soft, downy hair there. "Mhm, there isn't a reason as to the why."

"So then you get my wrist thing."

Zhongli chuckles. "No, but it's alright." He pauses for a kiss and brushes back Childe's bangs. "I'll be sure to serve tea more often, half-robed and swathed in silk."

Childe hopes for his sanity (and his dick) that he does not.