Chapter Text
The rifle was cold against his cheek.
Childe was perched on the roof of a high-end hotel armed to the teeth. He’d been lying propped on his elbows with the rifle positioned against him, the scope pressed against his face. His breath was warm under his mask, slightly fogging the air around him as he exhaled. Not that he noticed. The street that the muzzle of his weapon was trained on was far more interesting.
He never intended to kill anyone.
That winter was one of the coldest the continent had experienced in a long time. Even the traditionally warm Liyue had succumbed to light dusts of snow and frigid winds. For years the weather had been getting colder and colder throughout Teyvat but no one could figure out why. The citizens were suffering as they resided in a country ill-equipped for such weather. Sickness was spreading and families were freezing to death, scraping for blankets and cheap gas heaters as any means to block out the cold.
Cold in Liyue meant it was even worse in Snezhnaya, not that Childe had been home for some months. The cold was part of everyday life. However, the rest of the continent was not so lucky. Mineral and agriculture exports were stopped, travel was halted and storms at sea prevented fishing boats from returning to harbours safely. All these were issues that Snezhnaya dealt with regularly with the simple solution of importing goods - until that was no longer viable. No imports meant no food for Childe’s people. His family. His little siblings all bundled up in warmth and shielded from the iciness of the outside world who would slowly starve to death. He wouldn’t let it happen.
A burst of static from his earpiece startled Childe out of his thoughts. A harsh and subdued voice followed with “Tartaglia, do you copy?”
“I copy, Scaramouche” Childe grumbled back, slightly adjusting his position. He had kept his eye trained on the scope the entire time, the street below never leaving his sight. “What’s the news on the target?”
“If all is going according to plan, about five minutes away from your position.” Before the communication cut off, a barely muffled sneeze made its way to the earpiece. Childe grinned despite himself.
“Feeling cold down there all by yourself? Want me to come warm you up?” he teased.
“Shut the fuck up, maybe aim instead of talking shit.”
“Hey no need to get so vulgar! I’m only concerned for your physical wellbeing.”
“You should be concerned about the man whose physical wellbeing you’re about to make a whole lot worse. Do you have any clue who we’re dealing with?”
Oh Childe knew this guy alright. He’d spent the past two months studying everything available on his target. He was one of the biggest business moguls on the continent as well as one of the wealthiest. The CEO of Adeptal Industries commanded money and power through his company and subordinates. Praised everywhere for his charms and acclaimed “good heart”, this man was the king of the proverbial chess board. He didn’t frequent gambling dens, bars or brothels like typical men in his position, nor did he have any outrageous tastes that he spent millions to uphold. He wore custom-tailored suits and had a peculiar penchant for osmanthus wine. His company branched out to many different fields - investments, mining, weaponry, legal services and even funeral direction. Renowned for his contracts, all deals made with this man were carried out. He was reliable, intelligent and charitable, often found donating great sums of mora to institutions in need. Unmarried, single and had no interest in such matters. Handsome, despite it all. Childe had spent a long while examining his files and features. He had every detail of his face committed to memory in the case a double was present at the time of assassination.
The Tsaritsa had approached him a year into his term with the Fatui, offering one of the most difficult jobs in the organisation. A politically and economically powerful figure too be toppled and removed for their success. Near impossible, a likely death, a fatal challenge. It was nothing Childe wasn’t capable of doing.
Ultimately, Rex Lapis was a very dangerous man.
The Fatui had planned for the eventuality for when the imports of goods would no longer support the Snezhnayan nation. Several measures were put in place to secure resources and to ensure that the Fatui were the only ones able to deliver and provide such resources to the population. However, Adeptal Industries slowly overtook these carefully laid plans. Skyrocketing in value and buying up stock, the company gained magnificent power and influence throughout the land. The Fatui’s plans were demolished in the recent cold front and Adeptal had taken over, sending goods far and wide at minimal prices all by the good nature of their CEO.
Childe thought it must be a scam.
“What’s the big deal with this Rex Lapis guy anyway,” Scaramouche’s voice crackled. “He seems like every other rich lout on the continent.”
“That rich lout is the key to saving our people,” Childe replied, holding in a sigh lest his breath fog up his scope.
“We’re the Fatui, since when do we care about the people? We kill them for fun.”
Killing Rex Lapis would allow one of the Fatui’s agents, La Signora, to infiltrate Adeptal Industries and take control over the business. This would redirect funds, resources and immense power to the criminal organisation in the span of days. It would make them unstoppable. As much as Childe reasoned against it for his own sanity, he knew Scaramouche was right. They were lowlifes and jail rats and scum off the streets. The Tsaritsa wanted power and influence and would get it by any means necessary. Lives were a currency to be bargained and cast away for the sake of greed. He could never say such words aloud, but nothing stopped him from thinking them.
Childe made a minor adjustment to his rifle, angling it slightly more to the spot he was trained on. “I just have to turn a little left and I’ll be able to kill you for fun.”
“Oh Tartaglia, you wouldn’t want to disappoint the Tsaritsa would you? How unfortunate it would be if the job was ruined because you killed me instead?”
With a huff, Childe swiveled his torso and turned the muzzle of the rifle towards the office building across the street. A few floors down from him was Scaramouche sitting at a desk by the window, monitoring screens and typing furiously. Childe could see him clearly through the scope, from his ridiculous hat to the grin that quickly faded to a scowl when he saw the gun trained on him.
“How unfortunate indeed,” he replied, smugness lacing his words. “You’re not safe just because you’re holed up in a Fatui building short stack.”
“Focus damn it! The target’s two minutes away and counting.”
“You’re such a bore.”
“You wouldn’t be able to hit me with that shit aim of yours.”
“Why did they send the guy with ‘shit aim’ on the super important sniper mission huh?”
“One minute and forty-three seconds.”
Childe promptly shut up and trained his aim back on to the street. His crosshairs lined up with the curb alongside another high-end hotel across the street, next to the office block building. Rex Lapis was expected to be staying at this hotel for a night due to some conference with some Mondstadt winery. He would arrive with his retinue - a secretary, a personal consultant, a full-blown security team - both hidden and not. As soon as he entered that hotel they would lose sight of him, resulting in a missed opportunity. He would be surrounded by guards at all time, squirrelled away in some room or the other. The windows were bulletproof. By the time he was settled, his security detail would have been posted all over this street and preventing any chance to get him. It had to be now, between the exit of the car and the entrance of the hotel.
“One minute,” said Scaramouche, with no further comments.
Taking a last opportunity to shift, Childe braced himself for the shot. The gravel he was lying on dug into his abdomen and elbows, sure to leave angry welts later. He was focused now, eyes in the scope and a hand gripping the trigger, shoulder pressed against the butt in preparation for recoil. His breaths were slow and steady, those of a hunting predator ready to strike.
“Thirty seconds.”
What was Rex Lapis like in his spare time? There was only so much Childe could learn from files and records. Did he have any pets? Any affairs? What foods was he fond of? Did he have a family that he provides for?
Sometimes before he killed, Childe wished to get inside of his target’s head. For whatever reason, he wanted to know their hopes and dreams and fears and nightmares and everything that made them who they are. Just so they could be remembered, once he pulled them from this world. In some capacity at least.
“Fifteen seconds.”
A procession of black cars had just turned into the street, as timed. They sidled past well-kept trees and shrubs and chic building facades with the slickness of oil. Dangerous. A challenge.
“Ten seconds.”
Childe dared not move as he lay in wait. The middle car - black, unremarkable, but freshly washed - had stopped right where he predicted. He had his rifle trained on the spot where Rex Lapis would leave the vehicle, the angle precisely calculated to his head according to his supposed height. His muscles were tense and he was ready to shoot.
To kill.
“Contact. The target should be in your sight, Tartaglia.”
The driver, a woman dressed in red, exited the vehicle and opened the back door. Childe took a breath, waiting, anticipating the perfect moment. The perfect angle. The perfect death.
Rex Lapis was beautiful.
Childe had memorized every curve and contour of his face and posture and it was definitely him. He carried such an air of grace and power that it was hard to believe it was the same man in the photograph, which paled in comparison to the real thing. He was breathtaking, dressed in a clean-cut black suit with gold accents that sparkled in the afternoon light. His long hair was tied elegantly into a loose tumble that flowed down his back. His eyes were the gold of mora, of dragons, of gods, of the sun itself. He stepped out of the car and straightened to his full height, bringing that statue-esque head directly into Childe’s crosshairs.
The shot was perfect. A gentle press of the trigger and the gun rocks back into him, his body taut from adrenaline and the thrill of a fight. The bullet long parted, sent into the street and person below. He would be gone, running, disappearing into the shadows and they would never find him. His family would be fed and he would be free for just a few moments more.
That’s what would have happened. He wouldn’t have failed.
Except, Rex Lapis had looked right at him.
Childe’s finger had been poised on the trigger, just about to squeeze when those gold eyes looked into his own straight down the barrel of the gun. Direct contact through the scope. There was no escaping that gaze that burned into him like wildfire. He sucked in a tight breath, those eyes spearing through his heart and soul and sending a bolt of heat through his stomach. Everything about the target screamed predator, screamed danger, but all Childe could feel was some twisted allure tempting him closer. Closer to his death, those lips, those eyes...
Rex Lapis arched his eyebrows and slightly tilted his head. A silent challenge. Try me.
The rifle was kicked out of Childe’s hands.
With a colourful curse, Childe pivoted around to face his attacker but was met with a vicious blow to his side. His body was stiff from lying in the gravel for so long and he was winded from the hit. If he could just get to his feet, that bastard wouldn’t stand a chance.
He swung out his leg, hoping to sweep his assailant off of their feet, but he was too slow. The attacker leaped over his leg nimbly and delivered another devastating blow to Childe’s torso. He felt ribs crack, and pain was the last thing he knew before brutal nothingness enveloped him.
___
He woke to darkness.
Childe’s ribs screamed in agony whenever he took a breath, pain lancing through his sides like white hot flame. His tongue was coated in the metallic tang of blood. He coughed and spat, to the detriment of his ribs, and tried to get his bearings. He was blindfolded, blood from a cut on his forehead seeping down to wet his eyes through it. His arms were shackled and suspended above him, but his legs were free. He was propped in a sitting position, leaning against a hard stone wall. His usual clothes and weapons were missing, all he had on was a loose pair of cotton pants.
Fuck.
He tilted his head back to see if the gap under the blindfold could reveal anything. The floor was smooth cement and there was telling of a door on the far end of the room, but nothing else he could make out. His wrists strained against his cuffs so he adjusted as to not hang on them. Oddly enough, the clanking chains allowed such a movement. Most cells wouldn’t allow their occupants such comfort.
The first order of business was getting out; Childe could worry about his weapons later. He pulled on his shackles; they were strong and well crafted. However, they were mildly loose. Gritting his teeth, Childe made short work of dislocating his thumbs and slipping out of his binds. He was no stranger to pain. He cracked them back into place without so much a hiss. Just like he practiced and trained countless times.
He tugged the blindfold off and was met with a dull grey room. There was a single fluorescent light above him and a bucket to his left. The door was where he thought it would be, solid steel and almost certainly locked. There were no cameras or windows or any noticeable means of surveillance. The floor sloped gently towards the centre of the room towards a slightly rusted drain. Drops of his blood were smeared along the floor - he was probably dragged here. Childe looked down to find his torso mottled in black and blue and vicious red. Gingerly, he put a hand to his sides and pressed. Three broken, two cracked, nothing pierced. An almost ideal situation.
How had everything gone so wrong? The shot was there, the shot was perfect and he’d messed up. If he had taken it the second he should have, his attacker would have had to chase him down before ever managing to land a hit on him. All would have gone according to plan.
Stupid, Childe chastised himself. Utterly stupid. You got distracted because this guy looked at you? Pathetic.
He hoped Scaramouche saw the danger and called for back up, or had at least finished the job himself. He had a decent enough vantage point. He refused to consider the possibility of failure. He may have not taken the initial shot, but he wasn’t going to be subdued so easily. Rex Lapis would be dead and he would report back to the Tsaritsa with pride.
Bracing himself against the wall, Childe struggled to his feet. The floor was cold and somewhat slippery. His vision blurred and his head swam as sharp pain lanced through both his chest and head. Lifting a hand, he pressed it to the side of his skull to feel hair matted with blood and a wound of some sort. Whoever had kicked him had been wearing some serious boots. He shuffled his way to the door, his mouth set in a harsh line. He pulled against it, expecting the obvious outcome of it being locked and having to find another way out. To his surprise, the door swung open with barely a sound.
While a desirable situation, it put Childe on his guard. What kind of sophisticated captors would forget something so simple as to lock the door? Brushing it off, he stepped into a corridor similar to the room he had just been in. To his left was a dead end and to his right there was a long line of doors, probably enclosing rooms similar to his own cell. A staircase sat at the end of the hallway, blocked off by a metal gate. There was no sign of surveillance here either, making him increasingly suspicious. With a huff, he steadily made his way towards the staircase. The metal gate swung open as easily as the cell door.
The stairs had no railings for support, so Childe used the wall as a crude means of ascending the steps. They weren’t too steep, but every breath and heave of his body up to the next step caused his ribs to flare up. Despite his usual tolerance to the cold, he was freezing. The cool stone of the stairwell and a lack of clothing were no help. He was braced for action at any given moment - alarms, gunfire, a surprise attack, maybe even some trap door or the other to swing open and send him plunging into some subterranean hell. Nothing happened, even as he clambered his way to the top.
He kept replaying his failed assassination over in his mind. What caused him to falter like that? He would blame Scaramouche, but his interference stopped long before the target had arrived. Was it shifting positions? Couldn’t be, those were done well in advance as well. Did he get lost in thoughts of home? No, the only thing he could remember was the rush of adrenaline and the anticipation of a kill.
The memory of eyes gold like fired metal flashed through his head.
Childe was on a roof about 26 storeys off the ground and Rex Lapis somehow managed to stare straight at him. He couldn’t possibly have known he was there, even if whatever goon of his had reported it to him. He would have had to scan the full length of the precipice before laying eyes on Childe, in which time he would be dead, yet he looked at Childe directly with hardly a cursory glance. Sure Rex Lapis was somewhat good-looking, but how could looks overcome his killing intent? He brushed the recollection of the pang of longing he had felt at the time and the irrational need to go closer aside, forgetting that spike of heat that had settled in his stomach and had slowly seeped down to his groin. A deadly gaze alone would not force him into submission.
The stairs ended in a short platform barred by a heavy wooden door. It was more ornate and elegant than the barren metal of the cells. The wood was rich and dark, screaming opulence, and adorned with a few simple carvings and a golden knob. Tentatively, Childe twisted it open to reveal a corridor similar to the one he had just gone through, except much more luxurious. This hallway was done up in rich carpet and chandeliers, marked with the occasional pot of flowers or statue. Picture frames and similar wooden doors lined the walls. Despite the riches on display, guards were absent. Slightly encouraged, he padded down the hallway on careful feet. Rex Lapis was not outrageous in his display, despite his wealth. There was an air of subtlety to his choice of paintings and decor that spoke of grace and an appreciation for the art itself, rather than the idea of it. There were no arrogantly placed portraits of the man himself either; the frames instead depicted beautiful landscapes of Liyue, ornate dragons and scenes of battle.
Childe tried gently opening some of the doors along the walls, but all were locked. One door led to a supply closet filled with boxes and a single wooden broom. He snapped off the broom’s head, fashioning the stick into something like a staff. It wasn’t much, but he had a weapon. He was growing more confident in his chances of escape. Was Rex Lapis so preoccupied with work or other assassination attempts that he had forgotten about the assassin in his own house? Or office. Childe wasn’t really sure where he was, but it certainly made for an awful prison.
The hallway curved and occasionally branched, but the branches he explored all led to dead-ends or more locked doors. There were no windows that Childe noticed. He eventually made it to one particular branch where the carpet had shifted colours from a muted red to a more vibrant, almost bloody, crimson. This branch wasn’t lined by doors like the others, but ended in one far more elaborate than any he had yet to see. It was carved and accented with gold, the whorls and patterns mesmerising to the eye. He didn’t pause to admire the craftsmanship; he was just desperate to leave. However, the lack of foes or resistance, coupled with his increasing pain, made Childe somewhat lax in the attention he was paying to his surroundings. He gripped the golden knob of the door - Archos above it was real solid gold - and twisted, barely bothering to creep or sneak through.
He was met with a spear point against his neck.
Childe didn’t waste any time and swung his broomstick, intending to stun his attacker and make a run for it. Unfortunately, his poor broomstick met its end with a swift blow and snapped into two pieces, falling to the floor in a rather sad heap. With no defence, the spearpoint returned to his neck again and stayed put, slightly pressing into the sensitive skin.
He finally looked at his attacker, who was surprisingly short compared to his own height. The spear he held was no joke, finely whetted to a deadly sharpness. The guard’s eyes were hard and full of harsh warning, glinting amber with anger. His features were set into cold neutrality, making it nigh impossible to figure out his intentions. His hair was long and dyed teal at the tips, uncommon for hired muscle. He was clad in black gear of some sort that showed off tattooed arms, additionally odd. Childe glanced down to see combat boots, the right one decorated with a smatter of blood.
Slowly, he put his hands up in defeat. “So you’re the bastard who kicked my chest in,” he said, as cocky as he could manage. He winced when he raised his arms too high and his ribs protested.
“Quiet,” snapped the guard.
“Oh, not a talker eh? I could always-”
The spearpoint pressed harder to his throat, pricking at the skin. Childe promptly shut up.
Without taking his eyes off him, the guard cautiously pivoted to the side and held the wicked edge of the spear against Childe’s throat and used the point to prop up his chin. “Walk.”
He obeyed, taking slow steps and keeping his hands raised to where it didn’t hurt him to do so. The throbbing in his head was getting worse and he was unbearably thirsty. This hall was similar to the ones he had encountered before, except hung with war memorabilia instead of art. Old swords and rusted suits of armour hung on display, shining as though they were fresh out of the forge. He was tempted to reach out and grab a pair of twin swords from a nearby display, not for any means of escape, but rather to marvel at their weight and make. His actions were halted of course, but the urge remained all the same.
This hall led out to the first bit of sunlight Childe had seen in a while. It was a rather large, almost cavernous study with a high ceiling of which one wall was made entirely of glass, allowing the setting sun to cast the room in brilliant hues of yellow and orange. The sun showed not much time had passed since he was captured, unless it had already been days. The Tsaritsa would have heard of his blunder by now, hopefully anticipating his return with news of his target’s eventual death. He would be hailed and praised and he would be allowed to have one night at home and a meal with his family. He just had to accomplish his mission.
The north wall was covered by an almost obscenely large bookshelf packed with books and scrolls of all manners in a very tidy and seemingly meticulous fashion. Another door stood adjacent to the one he had entered from. A large desk empty of contents save for a lamp and a single small statue of a dragon dominated the centre of the room. Two chairs faced it, part of a matching set with the coffee table and lounge furniture that sat a bit further down from the desk. The whole place exuded a fine mix of modern and archaic; a preservation of knowledge and work that had been carefully maintained over what could be centuries.
It must have been Rex Lapis’s office, perfect for the smarmy rich bastard he appeared to be.
The wall opposite the desk boasted a crackling fireplace and an extremely large painting of a war. Childe was captivated by the piece, the movement and colours and story. There was a dragon of wind, a beast of stone, people with weapons and a burning city all locked in a clash of death.
He was so captivated by the painting that he did not notice the guard ushering him to a chair and forcing him to sit until he was forced to turn away from the art and face the desk. With a shock, he found Rex Lapis watching him with his hands propped under his chin and his elbows resting on the high-backed leather chair on which he sat. Childe couldn’t believe he had missed him on his cursory sweep of the room.
Rex Lapis was breathtaking. After having only seen him in photographs and through his scope, Childe could not fathom the beauty of that man. His long hair was neatly pulled back into its customary knot, just mussed enough to give him a regal but wild look. A single earring dangled from one ear, a white feather. His suit was impeccable. Finely tailored to fit every contour of his body, showcasing broad shoulders and a trim waist. His tie was white, inlaid with some sort of amber gem, contrasting starkly with the black of his blazer. Gold cufflinks and black gloves. No jewellery beyond the earring.
And fuck, those eyes.
They were just as piercing close-up as they were from the focus of crosshairs. They blazed with the intensity of an inferno and were heavy with secrets and knowledge that only lured Childe in. He wanted to spiral into their depths forever and let that gold swallow every fibre of his being.
“Hello, Tartaglia.” His voice was musical and deep, laced with smokey intrigue. Warmth pooled in Childe’s belly and he suppressed a shudder. That voice couldn’t possibly belong to a human.
“Tartaglia’s a bit of a mouthful, isn’t it?” Childe replied with a showing of teeth that could have been a grin or a grimace. “You can call me Childe.”
Rex Lapis returned his expression with a small smile of his own. “Childe, then. It’s lovely to finally meet you.”
Childe was silent for a moment, and then spoke. “Finally? You… know of me?”
“I know as much about you as you have researched of me.”
That set off warning bells in Childe’s head. Did Rex Lapis know of his research? His mission? It was ultimately impossible, so he brushed it off and filed the thought away for future consideration.
“Why am I not dead?” he asked instead.
“It would be a waste. I do apologise for Xiao’s lack of hospitality though. He does tend to get a bit carried away.”
Childe glanced at the guard, Xiao apparently, who had removed the spear from his neck and was now standing at the door they had come in from, arms crossed and gaze watchful. “Ah yes, I’ve become well acquainted to his boots. And he’s a brilliant conversationalist.”
Xiao audibly scoffed, cleared his throat, and pretended he didn’t hear Childe’s offhand remark.
Rex Lapis ignored him. “Do not worry, I’ll have your wounds looked at shortly. I also hope you’ll forgive me for the temporary accommodation I provided, the other rooms were not yet prepared for your arrival.”
“So you wanted me to get out?”
“The restraints were a precaution; I’m sure you can understand. I trust you found the mechanism within that released them?”
“There was a mechanism?”
Rex Lapis glanced at Childe’s hands, which were braced against his seat’s armrests in the case of action. His wrists were rubbed raw and his thumbs were bruising. Noticing his gaze, Childe balled his hands into fists and tucked them into his lap.
Rex Lapis sighed. “You certainly are quite wild. No matter. We’ll have those checked out as well. Xiao, call Ganyu please.”
The guard disappeared into the other door, never taking his eyes off Childe. The door slid shut. The bodyguard left his charge defenseless and alone in a room with his known would-be assassin? Rookie mistake.
Childe lunged forward and out of the chair, grabbing the edge of the desk and vaulting himself over it towards Rex Lapis, still sitting there with his chin propped on his hands. He hadn’t so much as blinked. It was going to be too easy-
A hand gloved in warm leather stopped his leap and slammed him on to the desk. The air was knocked out of Childe’s lungs and his already battered ribs ached, fresh waves of pain encasing his chest. The hand pushed him, sending him tumbling off the desk and on to the carpeted floor. He caught himself on his palms and pushed himself up, back into his seat. Rex Lapis replaced the offending hand back under his chin and watched Childe with newfound amusement.
“Come now Childe, don’t be so rude. You don’t want me to chain you up again, do you?”
Childe had to suppress another shudder. Those words in that dangerously delicious voice of his convinced him that he did indeed want to be chained up by him. He shook off the thought quickly. This was his kill and his captor. The man standing between him and survival, it was no time for such thoughts. He ignored the heat of Rex Lapis’s gaze as it trailed down his half-naked body, equally scrutinizing and appreciative. At least Childe hoped it was appreciative.
“What kind of CEO knows how to fight?” Childe scowled.
“The kind that isn’t a significant fool,” came the reply, gold eyes fixed back on his face.
“Speaking of significant foolishness, why am I dressed like this? Do you like having me almost naked in your office?” Childe hoped to get a reaction out of him with these words, but Rex Lapis didn’t even blink.
“I hope you’ll forgive me for that as well. I had your clothes stripped to be searched and burned for security reasons. They were also a bit of a mess due to Xiao’s actions. My assistant will be along shortly with something a bit more comfortable.” While obvious Rex Lapis hadn’t undressed him on his own, it still contributed to the increasingly annoying pricks of arousal he was beginning to feel.
“Why does said Mr. Grumpy there have a spear and not a gun? Seems a bit impractical.”
“We tend to favour a bit more of a traditional approach to things here. It’s his weapon of choice.”
“Again, impractical.”
“Yet you’re drawn to the allure of ancient battle as well. Do you like the painting?”
Childe refrained from swivelling to look at it. “It’s okay, I guess.”
“There’s something about the weight of a weapon that becomes an extension of yourself. I’m sure you, as a Harbinger, can understand the sentiment.”
“So you know my ranking?”
“Of course.”
The door opened again as Xiao entered, followed by a blue-haired lady carrying a tray of refreshments and what appeared to be a shirt. She placed the tray on the desk and handed the shirt to Childe wordlessly. She had a kind face and smiled sweetly at him. He considered trying to capture her and hold her as a hostage as a means to escape, but stopped when he saw her hands. Archer’s hands, calloused and hardy. She knew her way around her fight and he did not feel like getting shown up for the third time in what was most likely a single afternoon.
“Thank you, Ganyu,” Rex Lapis said as the lady exited. She vanished with a quiet wave. Xiao watched on apprehensively, fingers clutched tight around his spear.
Rex Lapis examined the tray and poured himself a cup of steaming tea. There were two cups, as well as a jug of water. “Would you care for a drink, Childe?” he asked, sliding the tray towards him.
Without much hesitation, Childe reached for the jug and poured a generous amount into his cup, drinking greedily. When he was sated, he set the cup back down and was met with an odd look on Rex Lapis’s face who had been keenly watching him.
“Better?” he asked.
Childe nodded, and slipped on the shirt with some difficulty. It was made of the same fabric as the pants he wore, not exactly refined but durable and warm to an extent.
“You’ll have access to a better wardrobe once we’ve settled business here. You’ve been highly inquisitive, Childe, but have yet to ask why you're here.”
“Why am I here, Rex Lapis?”
That got a chuckle out of him. “If you’re to be called Childe, it is only fair you don’t have to recite a mouthful of a name when you address me in kind. I go by many names, but you may call me Zhongli.”
Zhongli? He wanted to be familiar? Sure Childe had been courteous with his own codename, but he’d expected to have killed the man and been out of there by then. The whole thing was quite ridiculous. Everyone seemed to be a martial arts expert and he was being treated to tea and clothes like a guest.
“Fine,” Childe scowled, “Why am I here, Zhongli?”
Zhongli removed his hands from under his chin and rested them clasped on the desk, leaning forward slightly. Those molten eyes were blazing with some emotion Childe couldn’t name. His smile was devilish. His presence commanded power, sophistication and passion, blazing so brightly without him having to do anything. He held all the cards; Childe was completely at his mercy, ready to fight or flee or gamble his life to those eyes.
Childe’s breathing was erratic and shallow enough to hurt his ribs. He couldn’t understand what had overcome him. The tips of his ears burned and he felt exposed, even with his new shirt on. That arousal was slowly climbing its way to the surface of his thoughts and he shoved it back down again, refusing to give in to his subconscious desires. He’d rather die than fuck this guy who acted like he owned him.
“You’re here, Childe,” drawled Zhongli, “because I’d like you to consider a contract.”