Etched In Stone

Leisurely

Childe is desperate to get off, but Zhongli coaxes him into taking it slow.

CW: Smut

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It starts as it often does—with wandering hands and lingering touches throughout the evening.

Innocent at first, usually. Zhongli no longer sits across from him at Wanmin Restaurant, but rather, side-by-side. The more that the sun dips below the horizon, the closer he leans, talking to Childe quietly with a soft smile. They eat their fill and laugh at dumb jokes, Zhongli's hand settled gently against his thigh, squeezing.

These are the sort of touches that Childe is not used to, soft and fleeting shows of affection. Zhongli is physical in most that he does, the tenderness in his fingers weighted like solid stone, but he is private about it. These are the sorts of things shared for them alone, rarely in public.

As the sky darkens and the stars begin to twinkle, those touches turn more articulated and precise. Zhongli squeezes just a little too high on Childe's thigh, fingertips ghosting the inner edge of his trousers. Childe is thankful for the table that hides his half-hard cock as he squirms in his seat.

Zhongli watches him with golden, glinting eyes. "Childe, is everything alright?"

Childe tugs at his collar. "Yeah," he breathes. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Zhongli's mouth curves into a grin, hidden by the curl of his palm. Childe licks his lips as he sits there, fidgeting at the table, trying his best to listen to Xiangling list off the dessert menu for the night.

Impossible, with Zhongli's half-lidded gaze trained on his face with fondness.

They never last long, of course. They always find themselves back in Zhongli's apartment because it's warmer and lived-in, and Childe finds comfort in the mild disarray. The sheets smell like him. It takes no effort at all to close his eyes and lose himself, drowning himself in the feel of Zhongli as he leans close.

Zhongli's back is against the headboard with Childe in his lap. He pulls Childe against him, an arm wrapped around his waist, palm flat against his chest. He's already tugged his shirt from Childe's waistband, dragging the soft leather of his gloves across those well-known scars. Zhongli slides a finger underneath the strap of his chest harness, tugging at it gently. "This is new," he says, his breath warm against Childe's ear.

It isn't, but Zhongli is stupid at times, his attention in the clouds, or books, or whatever else he muses about. "It's just hidden by my jacket. I'd think with as much as you undress me, you'd have noticed it by now."

Zhongli snorts, amused by the tease. "You are, admittedly, distracting." Those devilish fingers smooth over the curve of Childe's pecs. "And my attention is usually down here" His hand slides down and presses against the bulge in Childe's trousers.

Childe whines, hips lifting, seeking out friction against his hand. Zhongli laughs, kissing the soft skin just below his ear. Childe leans back, pressing his weight against Zhongli's front. His hand slides down too, slipping into his trousers to curl around his cock.

"Impatient," says Zhongli, hands moving back to grip his chest, thumbs circling around Childe's nipples. He pulls at one, rolling it between his fingers until it's rosy and stiff-peaked. Childe squirms at the stimulation.

"I—so are you." Childe's gaze tips down to wear Zhongli's forearm rests against his side. His sleeves are rolled up past the elbow, leaving charcoal and gold on display. He glitters with Geo, that unearthly part of him twinkling in the dark of the room.