Etched In Stone

Pants Down, Dicks Out, No Regrets

"I don't—Gods, Zhongli, I can't look her in the face."

Childe does, though, taking his walk of shame through Wanmin with a semblance of grace, far too hungry to let their lunch go to waste.

#

This time, they are, at least, in Childe's apartment.

Rarely do they come here. Childe prefers the lived-in mess of Zhongli's flat or the archaic quietness of his teapot. His own home is too neat, too pristine due to old military habits burned into his blood. Childe's home lacks character because he rarely uses it for anything other than the occasional nap.

The moment they step through the front door, Childe is on him like a cat on cream. Zhongli's back hits the door with a thud. He groans as Childe cups his face and kisses him stupid, swallowing his breaths, and shoving his tongue into Zhongli's mouth.

"I need you," whines Childe. He nips at Zhongli's mouth which only makes the old god purr in delight. "Gods, I need you."

They make it about three more feet before Childe sinks to his knees, unable to wait. He yanks Zhongli's trousers open and frees his cock, licking a stripe from the base to the tip. Zhongli's head slams against the wall. "Ajax," he cries out, moaning as Childe swallows around the head. His hands sink into his hair, pulling at it, and Childe delights in the way his scalp burns.

Neither of them hears the key in the lock, far too lost in each other. Zhongli's cock is snug in his throat, Childe's nose buried in the coarse hair at his groin when the door opens.

Katya. Childe chokes in surprise, sputtering around Zhongli's dick as he tries to pull off.

Everything is slow-motion. Zhongli tries to guide him off, wincing as Childe's teeth catch the delicate skin of his length. Katya blinks, her eyebrows arched in surprise. In her arms are a stack of folders. Right. She isn't used to him being there in the early evening and often drops reports off for him to look at later.

"That was... impressive. Sir."

Childe wishes that the ground would swallow him up entirely.

Katya brushes past them as if Zhongli's cock isn't hanging out of his trousers. She drops the pile of paperwork on the entry table and then shuffles by with one very pointed glance from Childe's mouth to Zhongli's dick—which Zhongli doesn't hide. Zhongli's hand still rests against his head, thumbing through his bangs. Then Katya smirks, gives them a mock salute, and takes her leave.

The moment the door clicks shut behind her, Childe rests his forehead against Zhongli's thigh. Embarrassment burns through him, white-hot and not in a pleasurable way. "I'm revoking her spare key."

Zhongli laughs, combing through his hair, but Childe refuses to see the humor in what has been an absolute boner killer.

#

Weeks. It's been weeks since they've properly fucked. Childe has all but hit his limit. And Zhongli has too—he can tell. Zhongli is just older, wiser, and better at pretending to be okay. But Childe feels the way his kisses linger and how he holds his elbow in a slightly too-tight grip.

Even Zhongli's patience is wearing thin.

Katya pities him. "A vacation," she says to him before stealing the stack of reports that are half a foot high on his desk. "Three days and two nights. I've already filed the paperwork and booked you a room at Wangshu Inn as well."

Childe stills, his pen hovering over the paper he was about to sign. Oh, bless her. Katya knows—she always knows. He never did revoke her spare key privileges for his home and clearly, that's worked in his favor. Or she pities him. (Both; it's definitely both).