Etched In Stone

A Languid Distraction

In his haste, Childe accidentally grabs Zhongli's gloves instead.

--

Childe is distracted by the heat that still overwhelms his body.

A quiet afternoon break in the monotony of his work, utterly ruined by Zhongli paying a visit to him. It took only a moment for the office door to be locked, and for things to take a turn. Childe, pressed against his desk and Zhongli between his legs. Heated kisses and lingering hands.

The gloves came off and revealed that damnable wrist, the sharp jut of bone that makes Childe's mouth go dry and his trousers tight.

And then, Zhongli smirked softly as he sank to the ground and proceeded to suffocate Childe until he couldn't think of anything else.

The pleasure still burns through him, even as he struggles to right his trousers. Zhongli's hair is a mess, rucked and tousled from the way that Childe's fingers had pulled and tugged at it. Oh, how he wants to touch it again, to sink his fingers in and pet through those soft strands forever.

Zhongli looks pleased, preened and happy as he straightens his jacket, dusts off his trousers, and stands on what looks like wobbling legs.

"Better?" he says to Childe, leaning against his mess of a desk, arms crossed over his chest.

"I—" Childe hadn't realized just how stressed he'd been. His body wound tight, that pressure ready to crack at any moment.

Zhongli knew, though, he always seems to know. Hyper aware with a sixth sense in regards to anything related to Childe. A blessing (and a curse).

"Yes," finishes Childe with a soft chuckle. "Thank you."

Zhongli hums, amused. "Are you thanking me for my moment of weakness?"

"Weakness?" Childe grabs at his gloves— one hand into his mouth as he pulls the other on. "Zhongli, if anyone was in a weakened state," he continues to say around the thick leather, "It was— what's with that face?"

Zhongli fails to hide a grin behind his hand. And then he laughs. "Ajax, those gloves."

Childe feels his face twist in confusion. Then he looks down at his hand. He spits out the other glove, and moans with embarrassment. "Oh—Archons, that's—"

In his haste to make himself proper, and his utter distraction in regards to anything related to Zhongli, Childe has made the mistake of pulling on Zhongli's gloves. Childe's pair lays in a pile on the floor still.

He moves to pull them off when Zhongli cuts in. "No, wear them. They..." He stops himself, looking thoughtful. "I rather like the idea of it."

Childe gives him a wide grin, a curling and Chesire thing. "Oh?" He pulls the glove back on and then repeats the motion with the other, slowly showing off how the leather slides across his skin. Zhongli reacts exactly as expected— he swallows thickly and his pupils dilate. Childe swears that he feels a hint of Geo rolling about the room.

Dragons, and their strangely possessive natures.

Zhongli reaches forward and grabs him by the arm. He tugs him closer, pulling Childe between his legs. It's automatic, the way that Zhongli's arms settle around the high rise of his waist, resting there. How Childe's arms snake around Zhongli's shoulders as though there's a notch there, just by him, worn away by the moments spent like this.

"Your moment of weakness?" repeats Childe, teasing.

"Mhm. I do miss you quite often."

Childe chuckles, tugging at a lock of Zhongli's soft hair. "You saw me this morning."

"It's never enough," says Zhongli quietly. Earnestly. The admission heats Childe's belly and nestles deep into his heart.

"I— yeah, I know." Childe knows that he sounds sweet; too sweet for anyone else to hear. Zhongli is the only one to have ever worn down his barriers like this.

Zhongli kisses him, slow and languid. Searching. His tongue slips between his lips and Childe accepts it eagerly. And they just kiss like that for what feels like ever, Zhongli pressed against his desk, his fingers rubbing soft circles into the small of Childe's back.

"You'll wear mine then," says Childe, as though it's the obvious choice.

"Ajax, your gloves are useless." Yes, most would think that half-formed things would be, but Childe likes to feel his palm against his bow. Makes gripping it easier.

When Childe pulls back, he takes Zhongli's hand. He brings it to his face and nuzzles the knuckles there, pressing kisses to each one. Then the wrist, which never fails to elicit a snort from Zhongli.

"Maybe for you," says Childe finally, "But they'll look amazing."

Zhongli's gaze is warm when he kisses him again.

And then he makes a show of putting Childe's gloves on.