When people speak of the Harbingers; loyal pawns of the Tsaritsa, they mostly speak out of pure fear. The first is the scariest, and the second's name is enough to bring tears to adults. So on and on the list goes until they reach the last; the youngest, the eleventh harbinger whose presence is to be feared in the battlefield. The eleventh who spills blood like rainwater for the Tsaritsa, whose form brightly shines amidst the chaotic battlefield. Until he stood alone between the decaying bodies.
Who also is rumoured to be married to the calm and enigmatic consultant from Wangsheng funeral parlor. Gossiping mothers have reported that they saw the Fatui diplomat taking the consultant's hand as they stroll across town, browsing through local products. Young women coos when they see how affectionate the rather distant consultant is and how adorable the Fatui diplomat can be when he's excited about something.
Patrons from Wanmin are proud to say they've been watching their relationship grow since their first lunch. While the manager of Liuli Pavilion boasts about having seen them in a private setting, sharing intimate moments. Some grudging civilians express their annoyance that the Harbinger hadn't been punished enough for his crime. These voices are small, but stubborn, unknowing that their repair cost had been half funded by said Harbinger as a gesture of good will. The rest was covered by the bank as a part of the secret contract between the gods.
Both the Millelith and Qixing turn a blind eye to this rumored union, having no comment that a respected member of Liyue is now tied with one of the fearsome Fatui Harbingers. Lady Ningguang did give an amused smile at the rumor, shrugging before mentioning about a leash. If it's metaphorical, the meaning flies over most people's head.
The objects of said rumor have no idea about how these people whisper about him; one of them at least. The other half, the one native to Liyue seems to catch on the clues the Liyuean people drop. Mister Zhongli is amused, she can tell by the way he voluntarily leans in to mister Childe as they discuss trinkets. Or how he gently pats over the other’s lips, wiping the food bits left there from mister Childe’s clumsy attempt to ‘professionally’ eat with a pair of chopsticks.
And today, she has just returned from her own chores of collecting ingredients for the new recipe she would be experimenting with when she spots them by a ceramic artisan’s stall. They are expensive but beautiful, her mother always said. Her family has one, currently on the top shelf of their dishes cabinet, proudly displayed.
“Have you decided on which ceramic flower you’re going to get, sensei?” a smile is etched onto the ginger-haired man’s face, small and polite. She watches the Wangsheng consultant’s sharp gaze sweep over the various designs of floras before settling on the intricately carved crystal blue glaze lily. Probably made out of a noticulous jade, she gasps, pure gem is always expensive.
His gloved fingers gesture toward the pretty blue flower, “This one,” he says firmly as the merchant enthusiastically picks his chosen item and starts the process of packaging it, “...give it more padding, I do not wish for it to crack during rough transport” came his request, which the merchant affirms. More soft fabric is added into the box, wrapping the delicate flower in a blanket of silk and wool.
The merchant finishes with a string and a small pouch made out of velvet, colored in blue. She could see the gleam over the fabric as the setting sun alight upon its expanse of blue. Mister Childe puts a sack of mora by the counter, the jingling of coins catches the merchant’s attention with ease. “Thank you for your purchase, sirs, have a nice day!” a customary smile is given and they both walk off from the stall, arms locked to one another until their figures are swallowed between the crowds of Liyue.
She’s a bit disappointed that she couldn’t see them, but hey, maybe they will drop by her family’s restaurant for dinner.
"I'm going to go back to Snezhnaya soon, sensei"
He abruptly pauses, the quill in his hand quivers slightly as he tilts his head at his spouse, inquiring without words. A sigh answers him; heavy with reluctance, "Despite what had happened, the Tsaritsa would ask for a complete report soon," Childe speaks, fiddling with the corner of the page he's currently perusing, "...I suppose, this also means I should tell her majesty and my family about you, huh?"
Slipping the quill back to its bottle to clean, he stands up, shuffling to reach Childe's side. "Is that...a problem?" He asks, seating himself beside the seemingly troubled man. A chuckle; light and airy lingers in the air as Childe leans to his shoulder, "Nah...but I can already hear the twenty questions my siblings are going to pester me with," his voice is light; happy, so sincere with affection, "...Tonia would definitely scorn me for not having her as the flower girl. Mom would scold me for not bringing you home first, my older siblings are probably going to tease me all day for tying the knot first before them. It's going to be a mess"
Zhongli laughs at the tale, chest shaking with joy, "They sound delightful"
And the way light returns to those dim blues, the crinkles between them as a wide smile is tugged on the pair of peach lips He would forever carve that in his memory, "Aren't they?" Childe asks fondly, closing the book on his lap as he shifts closer, pressing half his body to the other, "...one of these days you probably should come with me for a visit…"
It's warm...Childe is always warm, "Perhaps," he murmurs, leaving a kiss between the tufts of ginger locks. "...are you sleepy, Tartaglia?" He cards through soft strands of hair, smiling even wider when the body against his nuzzles back.
If the bloodthirsty Childe raining tortures in the battlefield is beautiful, then this soft, mushy Childe is nothing short of adorable. Pliant for him to take, arms always wide open to welcome him within his embrace and eyes twinkling in curious honesty. As if to contrast his merciless and impulsive persona.
Their kiss comes naturally, a movement so instinctual, both never realizing who had initiated and who had reciprocated. They take their time, slow, as if imprinting their shape into one another with each kiss and touch.
Gentle hands soon turn ravenous, fingers reaching further, down, around, everywhere that would bring pleasure to each other. Lips find their way to a pale neck, leaving little red prints of teeth. Claws start to trace down a trail down the stomach, lingering on the lower abdomen, teasing the inner thighs. Buttons are undone soon enough as tongue slips between another's lips.
It takes no time to relocate, leaving trails of clothes on the floor before they fall into their shared bed, attached, never separating.
He's quite surprised that Childe has allowed him to this point after their intercourse yesterday - "Two consecutive days is a no, Zhongli and no buts, no- are you making a puppy face?" -. Usually, he would call it off, affectionately calling him 'insatiable god' as he remarks how he couldn't even walk in a straight line without help. They would continue with the kiss, but eventually stopping with the younger snug against him, asleep as he fights a raging erection.
Yet here he is, buried to the hilt within Childe's searing inside.
His spouse makes a noise between a whimper and a drawn out moan, hips canting forward to meet his thrust. Their hands are twined, fingers interlocking with one another in an attempt to keep each other grounded. "Zhongli…" his name is whispered, screamed, stuttered between moans and spoken in reverie. "Ajax…" he returns in groans and snarls as his claws leave marks on fair skin.
Their joined bodies shudder when he finds the spot that rips an unadulterated expression from the ginger haired man. He captures those reddened parted lips with his own, swallowing the whines the other emits as he rubs the tip of his shaft over the swollen nerves. The pair of strong thighs tighten their grip on each side of his waists, asking silently for him to stay.
Parting their kiss, his lips wander down the jaws, mouths at the column of throat before settling for a bite where the neck meets a shoulder. "C-c-close, I'm ahh- close" his spouse babbles, the marred body arches beautifully, "...please...please, Zhongli, please…"
Without so much as a second thought, he slams their hips together, watches in utter fascination at the open mouthed silent scream his Ajax makes. White bursts between them as ropes of thick seeds spurts out. The wall surrounding him is squeezing tighter, spasming furiously around him. He groans, murmuring praises at how tight and how good as he repeats the snap of hips, the slap of skin against skin faster to find his own peak. Ajax pants, clutching his fingers tighter when a harsh thrust pushes the pliant body up the bed; the legs creaking in protest.
It is to the delicious whimper that he finally comes, filling the scorching heat with his seeds, marking, claiming this willing body as his.
He slips a hand out of the other's grasp to place it over the lower abdomen, caressing the slightly bloated surface in calming strokes. "You're doing so good…" he whispers, kissing the corner of his spouse's lips, "...can I continue?" He asks. Because he still wants, needs, the addictive feeling meets his buried instincts to claim, to breed.
A hand cups his face, cradling his cheeks within calloused fingers, "You know we won’t meet like this for a while..." there's the familiar challenging grin on Ajax's face, as beautiful as the first time he has coaxed it out. The unspoken permission sounds sweet from the other’s lips; the trust he is being given sends inexplicable feelings down his chest. He feels his own lips tugged into a smile, steals a small kiss before squeezing their interlaced fingers.
Then he moves, sheathing deeper into the all-consuming heat, drawing out noises he’s too selfish to share. The passage is moist, smooth with his cum and slick. It hugs his shape, familiar and pliable to each of his thrust.
They fall into one another with ease, consumed in each other's presence like any other night.
If there is one thing that Tartaglia would know about himself, that would be his own hunger for a stronger challenge. It doesn’t matter if it’s a god, an adepti, or a strange entity from the abyss. As long as they present a challenge to him, he would face them head on, provoking until they would confront him.
Bloodlust, they keep on labelling it with and he agrees wholeheartedly.
It doesn’t even need to have blood, as long as he could experience the fight, the clash between two strong combatants, he would be satiated. This is the only hunger he has ever known in his life; the desire to become even stronger by facing those who are stronger than him.
So this…new kind of wants confuses him. It doesn’t even involve a sword or any sorts of weapons, just pure, sincere desire. The desire to get closer, to allow another in his personal space, to let his body be touched; his weak spots exposed and explored. Vulnerability is a viable tactic, true, one that he scoffs at when it is used against him. It smells like a lie, no, it is a lie. Appearing weak and feeble, while carrying a knife between their sleeves, ready to stab at their foe’s weakest point.
If he has to win against an enemy, it would be the sweetest when they are at their strongest point.
Yet every time those claws rake against his skin, lips falling into his own as he’s slowly stripped out of his attire until his bare body is pressed with another, the name from his childhood days is beckoned to the heat between his thighs. He would willingly expose every inch of him. Head bent backward to show the expanse of his throat - where his foe could easily cut and choke him - or the way his back arches as if to offer his chest - where his heart lies, beating until someone stabs through the skin and ribs beneath.
Every battle instinct of his would scream at him for being careless, too trusting. But the other part, the one who had slowly fallen for the former Archon would give in easily.
This is the desire he learnt after they’ve tied their life together; to stay within the other’s side, to let him do whatever he wants to him, to have that sizable cock up his a--
He flinches in his seat, spilling the tea in the cup to the table as Zhongli’s attention quickly turns toward him. “Too hot?” the god says and he laughs nervously, dismissing the question with a shake of his head and a nonchalant wave of his hand. There’s a frown on his husband’s face now, concerned, “Did I, perhaps lose control, yesterday? Did I hurt you?” Zhongli asks, seemingly troubled.
“No, no, you didn't, it’s fine, it’s good, it’s really good!” he quickly replies, cheeks flushed as his mind helpfully supplies him with images in great detail. The former Archon relaxes visibly, “Good. I wouldn’t wish for our last night together until our unforeseen reunion be remembered as an unpleasant memory” and the smile on his face, small as it may be, sends tingles of warmth beneath his chest.
I want more...
He breathes in, the scent of the Qing Xin tea - Oolong, he will definitely remember this - and Glaze Lilies wafted in the air, calming his beating heart. The tea is lukewarm, it tastes warm and bitter on his tongue. Zhongli is looking out the window, a rather soft look sets on his face as he watches the town begin its day.
...more...more...he needs, he wants...
Throwing his gaze out of the window, he hums at the morning sun, rising steadily from the horizon, hidden within sight by the sea. Early risers and harbor’s workers have begun travelling the streets, ready for their job of the day. Some merchants sleepily begin sorting their goods, making sure their items are displayed in correct order.
If he stays...would this desire consume him?
“I will miss this...” he suddenly says, absorbing the sight, the scent, the feels of morning breeze from the open window, “...and you, definitely” he adds in a whisper as he turns back to Zhongli, winking.
“We’re married, bound to a contract of a lifetime. If you couldn’t return, I will find you”
Sharp gaze of amber meets his own blue pair. The possessiveness behind that declaration sends shudder down his spine as a smirk involuntarily tugged at his lips. “Is that a challenge? Can you even find me?” he asks, taunts.
Zhongli returns his smirk with a tiny smile of his own, fangs peeking behind parted lips, “...Would you dare test a god?” his tone deepens, shifting into that usually reserved in their private time. When he’s lost between the lust, filled so full with the god that he couldn’t hear anything but their joined voices. That voice would smoothly caress his cheek, muffled into his lips as his own seems to get higher with each ministration to his sensitive nerves.
His smirk widens, tongue swiping over his lips, “Depends on whether the god will show me a good time or not?”
He hears the hitched breath, sees the god places his tea delicately back on the table as he leans toward him. A kiss is given to his forehead, warm and gentle like a brush of soft satin against his skin. “You will return to me, of that I am most certain,” Zhongli says, lingering briefly before returning to his tea.
Childe stares, dumbfounded.
The eleventh Harbinger of Tsaritsa understands his bloodlust and knows that he would jump into a challenge whether it would result in him being badly injured or not.
But this one new desire had left him more than confused to put a label on.
He had wanted more than a kiss, hadn’t he?
"You...want a gift?"
Tartaglia had nodded that morning before they separated, an eager, expectant look on his face, "Anything, really, to...remind me of our time together" his spouse pushed the latter words with difficulty, a blush slowly suffused across his cheeks. He studied the face Tartaglia was making and deliberated the request; amused yet befuddled. How uncharacteristic of him.
It must not be an ordinary gift if it made his confident husband hesitate to ask. So it's not a souvenir from the streets of Liyue then, he concludes, tapping his chin thoughtfully. But then, what would it be?
"You look constipated, mister Zhongli"
"Ah," he startles, blinking at the new presence by his desk, "...Hu Tao, good afternoon, may I help you?"
The director of Wangsheng funeral snorts, "You sound like ms. Yu, but waaay stiffer. Public customer service is really not your forte, huh?" She picks up one paper from the stack, frowns as she skims through the written words, "...hey, they mix in their personal trouble in here! Sheesh, we're dealing with the dead, not the living" she puts it back with a grunt. It's crooked slightly.
"So...what's the problem? You've been staring at that paper for minutes. I don't blame you for zoning out if those personal troubles are the one you're reading, but nay, the paper you're reading is upside down" she chirps in cheerfully, repeating her question.
He ponders for a moment if it would be a good idea to ask the young director for an opinion. Extra opinion, he rectifies since he has enlisted a few people whose opinion he'd consider more than what Hu Tao's ideas would provide him with. Harsh, yes, but he knows how she is when it comes to a matter of the living.
Sighing, he relents, "I am...considering a gift to part my spouse with before he has to return home," he starts, closing his eyes so as to not meet the mischievous glint from Hu Tao, "...he had specifically told me that it has to be 'something that reminds him of our time together', yet I find myself...quite confounded on which item to choose"
"I have a few ideas--"
"No, not a coffin, despite his job, he does not need one or a dozen," he cuts in, earning an audible pout from the director, "...and I am not about to be deceased, Hu Tao, please refrain from trying to bury me while I'm still breathing" he adds, prompting a click of tongue.
"Adeptus burial has always been a dream of mine, but it's unfair how every time one meets its end in history or recent days it would always be you handling them" she folds her arms together.
He sighs, "An Adeptus to bury an Adeptus, the ghost of the past needs not the involvement of those who strive for the future. Let the--"
"--past bury itself, I know, I know, grandpa always spoke of that" she finishes and to his surprise doesn't launch into her usual speech of how beneficial it would be if she's allowed to.
She clasps her hand together, "Okay, let’s put that aside and brainstorm for a gift to your sweet, sweet husband," a pause, a moment of reprieve that he uses to steel himself for any otherworldly idea she might suggest, "...he's rich though, he probably can buy the whole property of this parlor"
"Then maybe any items you buy with mora would be no good. So perhaps a hand crafted one? How good are you with your hands?" She asks.
Good enough to make him come in a few minutes his traitorous mind interrupts as he opens his mouth and immediately closes it, reasserting his thoughts. "Adequate at best" he replies eventually. Hu Tao's smile widens, "Then how about a woolen scarf? Or little ornaments he can take with him-- he did say it has to remind him of your time together, right? You both spent a long time browsing through local craft, surely you can make one?"
He nods. He's not much of a weaver than the Cloud Retainer. Perhaps he could ask her for a lesson or two.
"Ohhhh, how active are you two in bed?"
He frowns, finding it quite a leap of topic. From woolen scarves to nightly activities; the range he's being offered is too wide for him to choose one perfect gift.
"We regularly copulate, yes" he answers regardless, deciding to might as well hear everything she has to say.
Hu Tao snorts at his answer, snickering before she clears her throat and says, "Maybe you can give him something to warm his bed at night too, wouldn't hurt you, no? Especially if he's going to be away for quite a while"
Like what? It's not as if he could conjure a living, breathing Geo creature of his image for Childe to take. Inconveniently big, not portable and would be quite heavy. The young director seems amused at his bewilderment, teasing him with a nudge of her elbow and waggles of suggestive eyebrows. Yet she doesn't elaborate further on this particular matter before leaving when one of their staff peeks over and hollers her name.
But the thought has left him musing over the possibility.
A way for him to keep Childe occupied while they’re physically apart. He is still, in a way, a god, there must be something that he could probably create for this specific problem. After all, there are tales of gods who entertain humans in such a way. All he has to do is find a solid reference and he’d be good to go.
With a heave, he stands up to retrieve his coat and slips it on before walking out of the parlor. One clear goal is set in his mind as he makes his way through the bustling street of Liyue, to the bookstore.
People in the harbor seemed content to watch the Harbinger finally leave their city. Despite how polite and playfully harmless he could be, the accusation of Rex Lapis killer is still heavy on their mind. To them, this young man, innocent as he might look, is one of the main culprits of the death of their god. They might grow to like his cheerfully bright presence as he flits about the town with the mysterious consultant from the funeral parlor, but as a citizen of Liyue, they are still and will always be wary of his existence between their people.
Hearing of his departure somewhat relieved them. Some who had grown used to his presence, however expressed their sorrow to see him leaving. One of them is the little chef from Wanmin who has packed two big boxes of steaming food for him to eat along the way home. The Harbinger smiles widely at the heartfelt dishes and ruffles her hair, voicing out his gratefulness.
Strangely enough, the consultant is not among the crowds bidding the young man farewell. In fact, he is not anywhere in the vicinity, not even in the road leading down to the pier where the ship bound to Snezhnaya is docked. The Harbinger has looked so disappointed by the absence, glancing around every now and then to search the crowds, as if wishing that one of them would turn out to be that familiar face.
A moment later, the harbor is treated to a view so rare in Liyue, they have to blink and rub their eyes in disbelief.
The consultant is running from the town proper, carrying a small pouch. If that view on itself isn’t strange enough, his figure isn’t concealed underneath the usual prim coat, drawing eyes along the path to the harbor from young to old, man or woman. The sleeves of his shirt are folded, showing well defined pale arms, a few strands of his dark brown hair are loosened from his ponytail, leaving them dangling wildly as he runs through the stone pathway.
People separate to make way, allowing him a clear path to the Harbinger. He stops a mere arm distance from the departing Fatui, smiling softly despite the commotion he has left behind. Everyone seems to have stopped their hands, time stalls as the two rumored pair meets for one last time.
“Tartaglia,” one of them hears the consultant speaks, deep, honeyed voice beckoning that foreign name, “...I apologize for taking too long to find the perfect gift for you” the pouch in his hand seems too small for a worthy gift, but knowing the impeccable taste of the consultant, everyone waits with bated breath as the gift changes hands.
The Harbinger looks at the new pouch in his hand, curiosity clear in his face as he loosens the tie and pulls apart to peer inside--
--and promptly seals it close, a tint of red appears on his ears as he laughs. Curious as they are, the people try to discreetly scoot closer when the Fatui diplomat tugs at the consultant to whisper in his ears. They regretfully fail to catch most of the words, but a few brave souls managed to get close enough to catch, “...doesn’t...like yours” but nothing else.
It becomes clear what might be inside the pouch when the consultant cheerily says, “I am flattered that you remember how my genital organ is shaped like, Tartaglia” - clearly a reply to the whispered reaction - before the Harbinger slaps a hand over the other’s lips and everyone is treated to the sight of a very flustered fearsome Harbinger of the Tsaritsa.
Nevertheless, the people of Liyue eventually watch the foreign young man leave, the pair separated with a shared rueful smile.
Liyue has always been a clashing of thoughts, the city with different people from any country, bringing with them their worldly subjective view. Yet at that moment, as the ship sets sail, they’ve converged into one thought. Of how they want to see the Fatui back if it means wringing more emotions out of their mysterious stoic consultant.
There is a card that comes with the 'gift' that Zhongli has given him:
How to use
He puts aside the card in favor of taking out the actual 'gift' from its confinement.
It's a Geo construct, he knows that much, shaped suspiciously like a blunt pillar with notches along its length. The rigid shape had been smoothen, leaving it slightly curved instead of sharp-angled. Its base is slightly wider than its top circumference, made to be gripped comfortably. Upon a squeeze, he’s quite surprised that it’s not as hard as, well, a rock - more like clay, but firmer.
In short it's definitely something to be put in somewhere in his body.
Who is he kidding, this is definitely something that his husband has made with that specific goal in mind.
He returns it back to its bag, thoughts too scrambled to continue. The food from Wanmin's little chef would serve as a good distraction. Besides, his stomach has started to growl and he believes the rest of the crews would be starting to feel hungry as well. Retrieving his favorite chopsticks from its usual box, he moves out of his room and into the ship's equivalent to a kitchen…
"Call everyone," he says upon entering, the crew lounging there immediately stiffens upon his entry, an aborted greeting chokes on each of their throats as he cuts their attempt of formality, "...lunch break time" he grins toothily.
It takes no time for everyone to gather - the smell from the food helps - and they all eat in merriment, sharing the two boxes of food he had been given. He notices the extra portion from each dish, flushes at the implication it brings despite knowing full well that the gifter has no idea of its meaning.
They take no time finishing the food, even the container is licked clean, literally, by an unruly starving member who is now appointed as the designated dish-washer. He dismisses the rest and climbs up to the deck.
The sea is calm, the breeze feels good against his face as he watches the rolling waves crashing against the ship. At least the voyage home is uneventful, he thinks, fingers itching to call forth his bow. A few seagulls pass by above them, flying free in the air.
His arrow is notched to the bow in the next second and so begin the small hunt to preoccupy himself.
They prove to be quite a challenge, unpredictable moving targets - something he rarely meets. It helps reassert his thought, leaving him in that numbing calmness which usually comes from adrenaline high. This is a far cry from life or death battle though or his favorite ice fishing, but as long as it soothes him, who is he to differ between them.
By the time he returns to his chamber after dropping the fowl meats to the staff in the kitchen, his mind immediately returns to the gift. It would be a lie to say it doesn’t interest him because he’s already sitting on the bed, staring at the gift he places on the mattress while contemplating on its usage.
He takes a glance to the door and inhales deeply as he takes the card.
1. Clean the item
Thankfully, his quarter is attached to a small washing basin and a toilet. The process is quick and precise, simply pouring running water over its entirety as he traces the notches and vein-like ridges. He swallows, running his hand down the length. It...actually is quite similar to what he would find beneath Zhongli's pants be it in shape or size. The latter less so, knowing how big the former Archon could get after enough teasing.
After he's quite sure that it's dried, he puts it back to the bed, letting it roll on the blanket.
He picks the card back and reads the next step.
2. Lubricate it well
There’s nothing remotely close to a lube in the ship except for the oil in the kitchen or the potion in his belongings. A hydro potion Il Dottore had given him upon his departure to Liyue. Which - as quoted fully by the infamous ‘doctor’ himself - is way more potent than those normal, ‘sorry-looking’ ones in the market.
He hadn’t used it, contemplated on applying it, yes, but ended up keeping it corked instead, confident in his own ability to persevere. So the vial is whole, barely touched.
Without a second thought, he uncorks it and lathers the content onto the gift. Il Dottore would have to find out how effective the potion is from somewhere else. The liquid is slippery under his touch; cold and slick as he wraps his fingers around the Geo shaft. It pulses in his hold somehow, a mark of Geo suddenly appears on its base.
Is that supposed to happen, he asks, puzzled, as he continues on, making sure that every exposed surface is covered in the makeshift lubricant. It looks shiny in his hold, glimmering under the light as he turns it over to check if he has missed a spot. Once he’s satisfied, he puts it at the bedside table, letting the wider base keep it upright and consults the card again.
3. Prepare yourself
"Why am I following a step by step guide?" He finally asks with a snort, befuddled yet eager enough to trudge through anyway. There's a rather curious interest pushing him through each step; a gentle hunger that he has started to develop after each night together. And the promise of being filled with something that resembles the god of Geo is enough for him to strip out of his pants and lean back to the sturdy wall of the ship.
A good amount of potion is poured to his palm as he rubs his fingers together and finally, parts his legs. His cock isn’t fully hard as to be expected, but it is halfway there, his eagerness has apparently translated well to arousal. He lets a wet finger trace a line up his length, shivering when the cold potion meets his erection.
Unconsciously, he thumbs the slit with his dry hand, finding a tiny bead of precum already at the top. He flicks it away as his other hand moves down toward his balls, fondles them as a tease before dipping down to his perineum and finally ends on the waiting hole. Inhaling deeply, he forces himself to relax with his next exhale, slathering around the puckered ring before nudging the tip of his finger into the small opening.
He’s done this before, he reminds, as his finger delves deeper, stroking the fleshy wall, applying as much moisture as he could near the opening. That familiar feeling of his body responding and a flash of blue has him wince slightly. He would never get used to his body drenching itself like this - it used to not be like this and Zhongli’s appetite might or might not be the culprit to this change of his reaction to stimuli -, but quite grateful of its help. His other hand is wrapped around his half hard erection, moving up and down as his mind goes through every spot that could elicit a moan out of him.
Zhongli...would always rub a nook just below the head...
His thumb moves almost automatically to the spot, giving it a rub as a moan stutters out of his lips. Tiny jolts of pleasure buzzes from the contact and he slips his finger further in, up to the second knuckle. He moves the digit around, feeling his inside slowly, but surely relaxes around the intruding appendage. The second finger joins in smoothly as he pumps his cock faster, pleasant tingles running along his nerves when he spreads his fingers. He’s already wet, it’s remarkable...
It takes no time for him to get the third finger in. His hole opens up with little trouble, the slippery lube and slick work wonders to ease the process - not that he would tell Dottore about this effect. He closes his eyes as he feels around; palming his cock has become a mere afterthought, a complimentary gesture to accompany his focus to find the swollen nerves inside his passage.
Zhongli has memorized that place so well, he would always scream whenever he allows the other access between his thighs.
Here or there, his fingers wander, feeling his inner wall throbs around him, as if in anticipation of what he might find.
Then, a crook of a finger, a tiny graze of his nail, brushing near the spot and his attention immediately narrows to the area. There, he thinks, fingers digging deeper as he tries to jab them onto the swell of nerves.
Little dots of black bursts into his vision as his mouth falls open to follow with breathy pants. His cock twitches furiously in his loosened hold, quivering with wants as precum starts to dribble down from the head.
He clumsily tries for the next thrust, cursing when he misses his mark with how shaky he is. The third sends a full body jolt across his vein, obscuring more of his sight, eyes rolling as his hips jerk forward. A spurt of cum squirts out of his cock, yet his load is still there, climbing toward the edge yet incapable of taking the leap.
Deeper, he faintly thinks as his fingers continuously rub against the spot, he needs it deeper and his gaze instantly snaps toward the gift on the table; slick and ready for use.
4. Position well, do not force yourself, Ajax
Seeing his name written with that gentle cursive feels surreal yet personal. It's a guide made for him, only him. Zhongli has written this with him in his mind. He takes the geo construct from its perch, pulls his fingers out and quickly presses the tip of the shaft to his quivering entrance. Closing his eyes, he tries to remember how the former Archon would go, his hand moving along as memory plays by itself inside his mind.
The tip teases around his rim, circles once, twice, until he couldn’t help the whine from his lips as he presses in, his fluttering hole accepting the breach. It slides in so easily, he thinks, the ridges rub along his wall like Zhongli would. The toy bottoms out too soon and he grunts in frustration, pulling it out before pushing it back in forcefully, hoping it might go slightly deeper.
When it does, its head bumps against his swollen nerves and a scream actually tears out of his mouth. He clasps his mouth shut instantly, practically smothering himself with one hand as the other quickens his pace, hungry for more. The shaft seems bigger with each thrust into him, it pulsates with what might be a Geo energy, he couldn’t bring himself to investigate. It’s not even cold anymore; the toy grows warmer inside him, throbbing as if it’s alive.
His husband’s name falls from his lips, cascading like a waterfall between his fingers. He couldn’t stop, no, not when the squelches of its length going in and out of his body deafens him from any other noises. Not when the delicious friction brings him closer and closer to the peak, cum dribbling thickly from his angry red cock. Not when his hand slips off of his lips, sneaking beneath his shirt to find his bud for more stimulation, for anything to get him over the edge.
It crashes with a ram into his inner walls, a sharp cry escaping him as his seeds spurts out of him in streams of white into his shirt. His inside clenches and unclenches furiously around the shaft, trying to milk it. The implication that it could be Zhongli serves to feed the hunger further as well as frustrates him. Zhongli would fill him until he’s bloated, stuffed so full he could taste the god’s essence at the back of his throat.
The high of pleasure goes down eventually, evening his breath to a soft pants. As he hazily pulls out, his passage clings to the toy, unsatisfied. He lets out a breathy sigh, forcing it out with a ringing ‘pop’. And find his hole so empty it feels wrong.
5. Clean after use, if uncomfortable do not use it as a plug
Childe slips out of his room when dinner is announced, dressed in his spare clothing and for once, away from the ominous mask perched on his head. His limbs are trembling as he walks through the wobbling hallway back to the dining quarter, greeting the crews there with as much enthusiasm he could gather. They greet him back, expressing concern for his well-being and ask if he has a bad case of seasickness.
“Yep, maybe I ate too fast during lunch” he sheepishly answers, carefully taking a seat and wincing when he does.
They’ve made roasted bird meat, drenched in thick sauce. Some glazed the meat and he immediately goes for the glazed one. It shines under the light as he eats, sometimes replying the crew’s question, sometimes seemingly contemplative in silence. Other times, a breathy moan stammers out of him, one that he masks with a cough and a dismissive hand when they concernedly asks questions.
He goes up to the deck, telling the rest that he wants to catch the night’s fresh air for a bit. And that they’re clear to return back to their shared bedroom.
Climbing the stairs is an ordeal he has never expected it to be. One step shifts the hard length inside him to one side and the next step does the opposite to the other side. His wall wraps around the toy tightly, feeling it jostles as he walks toward the railing, intending to stay and watch the sea, away from the crews as they retire to each of their beds, passing by his room.
His back is arched slightly as he leans forward, gripping at the railing. Panting, he closes his eyes, feeling the cool night breeze against his heated skin. He definitely needs to cool down, it feels like he’s been burning for quite some time. Unconsciously he tightens his hold onto the warm length, feeling it twitches in return as a mewl falls out of his lips. Slapping a hand over his mouth he stares at the rolling waves, sight blurred together to create colors, not images.
Snezhnaya isn’t that far away, is it? He has to keep calm and -- he gasps when it grows inside him, stretching his pliable wall. Slick runs down his trembling thighs, spilling between his smoothen rim and the base of the Geo construct. With a quick glance of his surroundings - and finding nothing - he runs one of his hands over the curve of his ass and surreptitiously pushes between his cheeks.
It slides forward with his push, snug against his prostate and drags over it when he rubs his thighs together. If he closes his eyes, he could see it more clearly, feels the firm chest against his back, dark brown locks falling to caress his shoulder. Low, deep voice nibbling at his ear and fangs grazing his neck down from his jaw. Or the thick jets of come filling his deepest spot, flooding his inside that he feels full - satisfied.
His eyes snap open, lips part as questions tumbles down his tongue. “What? How--” he whispers, pressing a hand over his lower abdomen, finding it slightly jutting out.
He takes off after, breath hitches once before he bites his lips and moves, why is his quarter so far--
The door flings open as he barges in, closing it behind him with a kick - that punches a quivering moan out of him from the abrupt movement. His eyes search the room and find the card resting on the bed, nearly forgotten.
He picks it up.
There on the card - a footnote is written inconspicuously at the bottom right, easily missable. His breath stutters as he reads through each word, an audible gulp passes through his throat. The cum inside him sloshes as he falls to the bed, gritting his teeth together at the sensation of being filled to the brim.
Unconsciously, a smirk tugs at his lips, the hunger gnaws at the back of his mind once more.
Warning: It might secrete fluid if used too often. Do refrain from doing so.
"Mister Zhongli, are you okay?"
Xiangling's voice is small, tiny among the cacophony of thoughts and imagination inside his head. Fortunately, it manages to pull him out of his trance, as he latches onto her childish worry to keep himself in this actual reality. "I am...quite fine, Xiangling, do not worry yourself over me" he shifts in his seat, tugging the coat over his crotch as discreetly as he could. The table helps.
The little chef grins at him, patting his shoulder in what might be perceived as sympathetic if not for how he craves for a touch, "Did you miss mister Childe already? I could understand that, I miss my father too if I'm away from him for too long" she says, ignorant to the heavy breaths he has started to exude, the sweat rolling down his brows as he concentrates not to release any inconspicuous sound, "...and besides, I bet my wok that mister Childe misses you too!"
Yes, Tartaglia does miss him, of that he is certain if the squeeze on his hidden erection for the past few days is anything to judge it with. Not to mention how it has been like this since this morning today, meaning that his husband has kept the ‘gift’ inside himself for half a day now, essentially keeping his cock warm for just as long. This has started since the day after his departure, when his gift had been used for hours on end.
Even if it means that his spouse likes the gift enough, this is agonizing. His thoughts are muddled to the point that he couldn’t think of anything but how much better it would be to have Tartaglia right here. It interrupts his work occasionally, having to excuse himself to the bathroom to find privacy in his release.
What kind of face is Ajax making? What sort of noise manages to escape his pretty lips? Who is he with?
An unconscious growl sputters out of his lips at the last question. How dare they have the privilege of seeing what he couldn’t? Had he less inhibition than what he has, he'd fly to Snezhnaya and rip anyone who dares a peek at what is his.
Xiangling once more glances at him in worry, small hands leaving pats of comfort to his shoulder, "It will pass mister Zhongli, don't worry, he will return"
Yes, yes he will.
Because if he doesn't the former Archon would barge into Snezhnaya and take him in whatever surface he is able to, uncaring whether there would be eyewitnesses or not. Perhaps it would be better if there are witnesses, to see him claiming Ajax as his own, issuing his threat to those who think they have a sliver of chance.
For now, however, - Ajax spasms around him, clenching tight as if he has-- ah, this familiar feeling, his spouse is reaching his peak - he has to endure this torture.
So for the third time since he arrived in the restaurant, Zhongli adjusts his seating and prays for strength.