Archive of Our Own

The Eleven Harbingers are widely known as the most powerful of the Fatui. 

Designated by a distinct name and numerical rank, they exist as highly prominent figures in Snezhnaya. The strength they carry surpasses that of mortals and sometimes rivals archons themselves, famed beyond measure. Their reputation precedes them and they have always been held in the Tsaritsa’s highest esteem. 

Yet despite this, incredibly little is known about the First Harbinger. 

Much of the public believe the seat to be empty. The other Harbingers know this is false, but they have still never seen his face: not at banquets or meetings held by the Mayor, never by the Tsaritsa’s side for commemorations or special occasions. Arlecchino even sent her most cunning agents to find him—out of curiosity alone, a challenge she thought might be possible—but not a single one ever returned back to her. 

No traces, no names to follow. He is entirely invisible and impossible to trace, too elusive to ever be seen or caught. With so many rumors and so little evidence, he’s become a mystery. 

This is because, unlike the other Harbingers, Childe likes to keep his work and personal life separate. 

His loyalty to the Tsaritsa is beyond extensive. In truth, he would bring the world to its knees if she asked it of him: the sun and moon and all of the stars, carving each and every one out of the sky. But there are things that he wants that she might not understand, things that the Fatui cannot always offer him. 

Status means little to him. Money somehow even less, and that has nothing to do with the fact that he has more than enough of it. Political power, military influence, any sort of authority he could potentially hold… owning the first seat means he could have all of this and more. It’s just that none of this interests him, not even a bit. 

There is only one thing that drives Childe. One thing worth chasing that surpasses all else, something he reaches towards, takes each breath for. 

And that is, and always has been, pleasure in every form he can take it. 

The air itself tastes different when he’s deprived of it, how that hunger fills his lungs to the point of aching. The way it surrounds him, follows him, a constant pressure he can feel with every step he takes. And if he knows he’s close, there’s a familiar heat that twists and turns inside him. A buzzing at the tips of his fingers as his attention seems to narrow and focus, wiring him. 

There is always a peak to any experience, a point that is more intense than the rest. Maybe Childe is more affected than others, but that feeling is always so stark. Like a moment of sudden clarity, every thought and want and need and desire he has is entirely consumed. There’s a stillness where he is so present and so alive, it feels like he’s reached something beyond. 

The way he reaches these heights often vary. Many times, he will be surrounded by bodies with every inch of him soaked in blood. During others, he’ll go to bed with someone whose name he doesn’t care to learn. What matters is the commonality, the eventual outcome to it all and the precise way it satisfies him. There have just been things he does and things he doesn’t, things he wants and things that he doesn’t. 

Things that matter, and things that don’t. 

That being said, the title of Harbinger does matter greatly to him. There are many threats to Snezhnaya and anything with the potential to harm the Tsaritsa—or her plan—must be monitored closely: he studies these targets, watches them from afar and learns who or what they are. And if the time comes when they are determined to be too dangerous, Childe removes them in any way he feels necessary. 

That has always been how he shows his loyalty and devotion to her. It’s one of the main reasons why Pierro—the Director himself—recruited him all those years ago. Being a Harbinger means he belongs to the Tsaritsa, the only god Childe would ever allow to chain him. 

But this alone doesn’t describe the full scope of his work. The Tsaritsa sees him as a reliable tool for completing more special operations, as his Harbinger status isn’t commonly known and he never stays in one place for long. It allows him to gather all kinds of information without much difficulty, two fingers on the pulse of Teyvat at all times. 

Because of this, it isn’t hard to catch Childe’s attention. He keeps enough tabs on every region to know if something is amiss, as this would mean he’d need to look into it: either for the Tsaritsa or his own personal benefit. It’s amusing to monitor his fellow Harbingers as well, tracking their every move without their knowledge. The Tsaritsa didn’t ask to keep an eye on them, but he often does so regardless. 

And as of late, the most interesting of them to watch is Signora. Her arrival in Liyue Harbor came shortly after her retrieval of the Anemo Gnosis. It seemed she was waiting for the Rite of Decension, which would have been the perfect opportunity to put any plan in motion. 

Then, Morax himself was assassinated. 

No one could have predicted it. Not even Childe, who watched from afar as all of Liyue turned upsidedown. He would have loved to get closer and even add to the chaos himself—under any number of aliases or disguises—but keeping a necessary distance was far more important. The Qixing were far too alert and Childe was rather interested in what Signora would do next. 

Osial rose from the deep very soon after, in what was rumored to be a power grab after Morax’s passing. Childe knew better: Signora had been hard at work manufacturing Sigils of Permission and storing them in Northland Bank. He thought that Signora released Osial as a distraction to take the Gnosis from the Exuvia, as that’d be most sensible. 

However, she never came to the Golden House. He’d watched it closely the entire time, even deciding to enter it himself while the Qixing and the adeptus were out at sea. But when he drove his hand through the Exuvia’s chest, he realized it was empty. 

The Gnosis was never there. 

And only days later, Signora returned to Snezhnaya with that fateful chess piece. 

It was as fascinating as it was frustrating. Was the Gnosis somewhere else after all? It couldn’t have been, since Childe knew Signora and her agents hadn’t gone anywhere during the Osial crisis. What was releasing Osial for, if it wasn’t supposed to be a distraction? 

Morax’s death, too… Childe was skeptical from the beginning. The Qixing’s reason they fed the public was an obvious cover-up and there are very few threats in this world that could so easily kill the Geo Archon, especially while he still retained the Gnosis. It was all too strange and he couldn’t let it go. 

It was one late night when Childe combed through the files, searching for anyone Signora might have paid off. The Qixing has always kept a running record of all its citizens and their documents. For tax reasons mostly, but also to keep a close eye on the flow of money in Liyue Harbor. Mora is this city’s lifeline and anyone who uses it can be traced without any difficulty. 

And as expected, he did find something: a folder tucked away, surprisingly crisp and new compared to the others. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, at least not when he first began reading it. But as he looked closer, he realized something. 

The file is not only too new, but also very fake. 

It describes a man by the name of Zhongli, who’s been employed at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor for a little over two months. His financial history is minimal with very few previous records before then. And even stranger, the date he began working was only one week after Signora’s arrival and one week before Morax’s passing. 

Childe would think it was a coincidence if he actually believed in them. Instead, there’s a rolling warmth that starts at the core of him, a familiar sort of hunger. The feeling is an instinct pressed bone-deep, and suddenly he is so sure of exactly what he’s seeing: fake stamps, forged signatures, papers drawn up to create a new identity. This is one of the better jobs he’s seen but to his trained eye, there are just a few subtle details he knows to pick up on. 

The truth is more clear than ever before. All of those pieces fall into place and he begins to realize, slowly but surely, what he should have known all along. 

Morax is still alive. 

Wangsheng Funeral Parlor is a modest business, tucked away in an unsuspecting corner of the city. 

For seventy-seven generations, they’ve arranged funeral rites for mortals and adepti alike. The Rite of Parting was also delegated to them by the Qixing while investigations were being carried out. There couldn’t have been a more ironic place for Morax to hide while this blew over. 

Childe isn’t concerned with why Morax faked his own death. Whatever reason he has must be good. But if Signora already took the Gnosis, that means the Tsaritsa shouldn’t have any further use for him. 

And if there is one thing that Childe has always wanted, it’s the chance to challenge a god. 

While it’s a shame that Morax no longer has the Gnosis, he is still an adeptus who’s lived for six millennia. As one of the original Seven who won the Archon War… he must be so enormously powerful, maybe lacking the Gnosis only makes him as strong as the other, more recent archons. The thought puts Childe at ease, since he already felt a little bitter that he missed fighting Morax at his peak. 

Still, there was nothing he could ever do about it. The Tsaritsa put her plan in motion long ago and he always knew that meant stripping the archons of much of their strength. In that case, Morax might as well be the strongest of the Seven that he could fight, considering his age and experience. 

This is something Childe can be more than satisfied with. 

It’s late at night when he finally decides to approach the funeral parlor. The lights are still on but it should be nearing closing times, according to the hours pinned to the door. Despite the chilly ocean air, Childe decided to abandon his jacket: he only wears the wine-red undershirt beneath, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a leather belt strapped across his chest and shoulders. 

Really, he isn’t cold at all. Not just because Snezhnaya’s weather is far more intense, but because of the heat of anticipation that simmers under his skin. Every part of him is wound up and restless, making him especially impatient. 

Maybe if Childe learned a little more self control, he’d be able to reel himself in. But there’s already a familiar tightness in his chest, a giddy feeling that starts to take hold. He’s able to contain it to a degree, at least to the point where it doesn’t cross his face, but he doesn’t intend on denying it much longer. 

So, Childe finally wraps his hand around the knob and opens the door. 

The inside of the parlor is rather elegant, polished wood floors and a traditional Liyue chandelier that hangs from above. There are shelves of files and scrolls tucked along the walls, with other packets stacked in certain slots. A stick of incense is lit in the very corner of the room, a thin ribbon of smoke rising from it. 

And as expected, there stands a man behind the counter organizing papers. 

He’s about Childe’s height but a bit leaner. His hair is dark with one section of it longer than the rest, tied back to reveal a single earring dangling there. It matches his attire too: a suit that fits his form rather well, giving him a professional air. Or maybe elegant is a more correct word, with those gold and silver accents that reflect the light. 

On first glance, anyone would assume he’s a typical mortal. But as soon as he looks up, those eyes give him away: they’re a warm, but sterile gold with pupils just sharp enough to not feel entirely human. There’s red eyeliner smudged along the lower lid, probably meant to soften them just a fraction. 

Childe had been too impatient to spend any time scouting out the parlor. He didn’t know what new form Morax might have taken since faking his death, but Childe figured he would quickly find out once they met face to face. 

(That being said, he hadn’t expected Morax to look so… beautiful.)

(Handsome feels too intense of a word. Something about him is just so pleasing to the eye, like a work of art. But also untouchable in the same way, perfectly composed and impossible to reach.)

(It makes Childe’s mouth water.) 

However, Morax doesn’t seem to be aware of who he is just yet. He only seems to straighten in Childe’s presence, setting the papers he was working on aside as his demeanor turns professional. 

“Welcome and good evening.” His voice is drawn and polite, surprisingly softspoken. “I am Zhongli, a consultant here at Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. How may I help you?” 

Ah, right: Morax goes by that name now. Childe needs to commit that to memory. 

“I just have a few questions,” he replies coolly, leaning on the counter. “It shouldn’t take too much of your time.” 

Morax—or Zhongli, rather—turns towards the shelves to slide out a few papers. “I’ll assist you the best I can. If there are any answers I’m unable to give, then I will schedule an appointment with the director.” 

“She isn’t here?” 

“Not until tomorrow. She leaves much earlier than I do.” 

Childe hums softly at that. “Well, don’t worry. I think my questions will be within your scope.” 

Zhongli gives a short, courteous nod as he pulls a couple packets this time. “We offer many types of burial services. They vary in price and there can be customization costs, depending on what the client prefers. I can show you all our options and we can find what works with your budget.” 

At the angle in which Zhongli is turned, Childe catches a glimpse of a gold glow. Hanging from two thin chains at the small of his back is what appears to be a Geo vision. Or rather, the closest that Zhongli could probably get to making one. 

And suddenly, Childe has an impulse: to draw out a reaction or something equally interesting. He wants Zhongli to know that Childe knows what he is, a message so clear and so direct that it cuts straight through the polished image he’s created for himself. 

So Childe folds his arms against the counter, leaning forward a little more. 

“Is that real?” he asks suddenly. 

Zhongli blinks at that, glancing back towards him. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Your vision. It looks like a fake.” 

“What about it looks fake?” Zhongli says, though he sounds more curious than anything. It makes Childe cock his head. 

“Maybe it’s just a little too bright,” he lies, keeping his tone casual. “I can think of a few reasons why you would wear something like that, but only one of them makes sense.” 

A silent moment hangs between them. For a heartbeat, then another. If Zhongli is surprised, he certainly isn’t showing it: his demeanor remains unmoved and his composure is perfectly kept. He only continues organizing the papers he’s pulled out, tapping the packet against the desk below the counter. 

“Your senses must be very astute,” Zhongli finally says, a very apparent shift to his voice now. “But you should know that mine are as well.” 

Childe gives a soft hum of interest. “Is that so?” 

“You breathe much slower than the average human,” Zhongli says, so relaxed that he could be speaking of the weather. “And your heart beats so slow, I nearly mistook you for dead. In my experience, that only occurs when an ordinary person falls into the Abyss.” 

There’s lick of heat in Childe’s guts, the kind that grows as it twists and turns inside him. No one he’s ever met has been able to come to such a conclusion, much less so fast. It’s such a raw feeling, an intimate one that feels so strange and foreign. 

(And Childe…)

(Childe is impressed. Or maybe it’s more than that and he just hasn’t found the word for it.)

The air in the Abyss was, in fact, thick with darkness and relentlessly suffocating. The deeper he went, the more difficult it became to breathe. His body began to adjust and compensate for what he was lacking. When he finally returned to the surface, his heart and breathing slowed to a crawl. 

How Zhongli knows this, Childe isn’t sure. Maybe he’s just been around for so long that he’s seen similar cases. If so, that actually makes this far more exciting. 

“You noticed so quickly,” Childe says, genuinely fascinated. “Would you have really never said anything?” 

“As a consultant, it would be inappropriate to question potential clients in such a way.” 

“I think we both know that I’m not here to plan a funeral.” 

Zhongli sets the papers down on the desk in front of him, his gaze lifting to meet Childe’s now. “Then I am afraid I cannot help you. These are the only services I am qualified to discuss.” 

He knows. Very obviously so, but he still remains passive aggressive: speaking between the lines and not replying directly. Even the Abyss comment was roundabout in its own way, clearly evasive. 

Childe pushes off the counter with his arms and begins to move, slowly circling around to the desk behind it. Zhongli watches him all the while but doesn’t try to stop Childe from drawing near. As the distance between them grows shorter, that writhing feeling within Childe grows stronger, more intense, more difficult to resist. 

And he finds himself taking one more step than he meant to. 

Then another. And another, another after that, until he’s gotten so close that even Zhongli takes a respectful step back. But there is nowhere to go and he backs into the desk, where Childe then holds the edges on either side of him. It traps Zhongli there, with only inches between them both. 

Yet despite their proximity, Zhongli remains entirely still and calm. He only stares through Childe, through all that emptiness utterly unfazed. 

“You told me that you would answer my questions,” Childe murmurs, keeping his voice soft and low. “I never said they had anything to do with the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor.” 

“You also said you would not take too much of my time.” 

“That’s more subjective, don’t you think?” 

Zhongli’s lips press into a firm line. “Nothing comes without a price in Liyue Harbor. Your questions are no exception to this rule, especially if they fall outside my scope as a consultant.” 

“What is your price, then?” Childe asks, curious. 

“Each personal question you ask about myself, I am allowed one about you as well. If you answer truthfully, I will do the same.” 

How interesting. Honestly, Childe probably should have expected this. It makes sense that the god of contracts would be so rigid and punishing, especially towards someone like him. 

“I agree then,” Childe says, leaning forward. He hovers only inches above Zhongli, but doesn’t close the distance. “How did Signora take the Gnosis from someone like you?” 

It’s the first time he’s talked about Morax and his status so openly, no smoke and mirrors this time. Still, Zhongli doesn’t show even a fraction of surprise which means the fake vision comment was most definitely successful. But he doesn’t seem all too shocked that Childe knows this information either. 

“It was not taken from me,” Zhongli says, keeping his tone even. “I gave it willingly, as it was a part of a contract I had with the Tsaritsa.” 

Usually, Childe is aware of all kinds of secrets passed around the world of Teyvat. He knew there was no way Signora could fight Morax to take the Gnosis, but a contract between two gods? The Tsaritsa never mentioned it to him at all, which is very odd. 

“What could have possibly been worth a Gnosis?” Childe wonders aloud. 

“The details of our contract are confidential.” 

“But you said you would answer my questions.” 

“It may not be the answer you want, but it is still an answer.” Zhongli crosses his arms, putting a bit of a barrier between them. “You now owe me two questions.” 

“Then ask them,” Childe says coolly. “I don’t bite.”

Zhongli doesn’t reply for a few moments, tilting his head. It makes Childe feel as if he’s being observed, carefully picked apart and inspected. 

“Upon meeting you, I introduced myself with my name and standing,” Zhongli begins, a firmness to his words. “I would like you to extend the same courtesy towards me.” 

Ah. 

That makes things a bit difficult. 

If the question was a simple ‘who are you,’ then Childe could just tell him an alias and be done with it. But Zhongli told him he was a consultant at Wangsheng, and if he’s expecting an equivalent exchange, Childe would have to reveal his Harbinger status. His ranking would technically be this so-called ‘standing’ that Zhongli is referring to as well. 

Childe would rather not lie or give any partial answer, either. If Zhongli asked for information that puts him in a bad position, then it makes this all the more exciting. 

“You can call me Childe,” he finally says, as casually as he can phrase it. “And since you’re so curious, I am First of the Fatui Harbingers.” 

There’s a flicker of something in Zhongli’s eyes: a hint of doubt, perhaps, that shifts then to uncertainty. 

“I have only heard of you in passing,” he says slowly, carefully now. “If I remember correctly, you do not often make yourself known.” 

A sly smile draws across Childe’s lips. “That’s right. I don’t.” 

“But there is nothing in Liyue for you. The Gnosis is gone and I have stepped down as archon.”

“If there was really nothing I wanted then I wouldn’t be here, would I?” 

Zhongli takes a small, momentary pause before speaking next. 

“It would be reasonable to next ask why you are here,” he continues, a steadiness to his voice. “However, I believe you will tell me this regardless if you’ve already come to me so directly. I would like to use my second question on another matter.” 

That makes sense. “What is it?” 

“I had made an assumption earlier about your time in the Abyss. If this is true, I would like to know just how long you spent there.” 

A certain lick of heat settles in Childe’s bones. Gauging him as a threat must be Zhongli’s highest priority, and there is so little information about him circulating in the world, it would make sense from a defensive standpoint. 

But while Childe is almost always a very forthright person, this is something he just can’t say. 

“I’ve said it before: time is a really subjective thing,” Childe murmurs, tilting his head a bit further. “I guess my answer would be… a very long time.” 

“How long, exactly?” 

“Long enough to put all of Liyue at the bottom of the ocean, if I wanted to.” 

“If you wanted to,” Zhongli echoes coldly, somehow keeping his patience. 

“That’s right,” Childe says with a shrug. “But honestly, why would I do that when I can just fight you myself?” 

A long, resounding silence hangs there between them. Zhongli’s eyes narrow just a fraction, so slight and so subtle that no ordinary person would have noticed. Childe thinks this might be the furthest he’s ever gotten in breaking Zhongli’s composure. 

“You want to fight me?” Zhongli says slowly, almost disbelieving. As if he’s attempting to clarify it to both Childe and himself. 

“Even without the Gnosis, I know you’ll be highly formidable,” Childe assures him. “Our gap in power isn’t so large that the battle would be over quickly. It will be memorable, for whichever one of us who survives at least.” 

Once again, Zhongli doesn’t speak for several moments. His expression is entirely unreadable: some mix of uncertainty and detachment, coupled with something else that Childe can’t exactly pin down. 

“I apologize, but I cannot do what you ask,” Zhongli finally answers, surprisingly civil for such an uncivil request. “Liyue needs time to recover, both from my passing and the havoc that Osial brought.” 

That makes Childe cock his head. “Fight me in the Abyss then. There’s no need to do it above the surface.” 

“I have other reasons for refusing as well. No matter when or where, I will not fight you.” 

The response is a little harsh. There isn’t even any room for negotiation, which is annoying. But these ‘other reasons’ that Zhongli speaks of… does he not think that he will win? If he gave up the Gnosis willingly, he must be secure enough in his power. Unless he began declining in some way, somehow. 

Actually… 

“Six thousand years is a very long time to be alive,” Childe begins, innocently enough. “If you fought me, you might use so much of your power that it would be difficult to resist erosion afterwards. This is why you’re conserving the energy you have left after giving away the Gnosis.” 

“That is one of my reasons. Mortal life does not require much of my strength and I am not as strong as I once was. Fighting you means winning a battle but losing a war, in the best case scenario.” 

“And if I destroy Liyue, then you lose anyways.” 

It’s his second threat and Zhongli’s expression becomes icy again. But Childe knows it’s the most powerful card he can use to push Zhongli in the direction that he wants, since it seems there is no other way to move him. As expected, he’s solid as rock and just won’t budge. 

“I’d rather us come to a different agreement,” Zhongli eventually says. “If you are intent on using Liyue as leverage, then we will have to find alternatives to what you want.” 

“There is nothing else you can give me.” 

“I am negotiating with you. This is the most that I am able to do.” 

Childe is getting a little impatient now. Maybe if Zhongli starts seeing his people die by the handful, he’ll reconsider. It’s a shortcut that is sure to move him and Childe doesn’t really care if Zhongli erodes away after winning or losing. None of that is his problem. 

However, Childe knows he shouldn’t make too much of a scene. Even if he could cause a disaster that would appear like he had no involvement in, it could deal a serious financial blow to Snezhnaya. Political ties with Liyue are an enormous asset to the Tsaritsa, considering how much the Northland Bank makes off the harbor. And the Tsaritsa wouldn’t be happy either, of course. 

Decisions, decisions. 

“If you’re negotiating with me, then what do you feel is a fair exchange for Liyue’s safety?” Childe asks, out of curiosity. “You must have some sort of idea.” 

Zhongli stares into him. “Everything else I am able to offer you, aside from fighting you, I will consider.” 

It’s an interesting answer. Maybe there are more reasons why Zhongli is avoiding a fight, ones that Childe just won’t be able to guess. Trying to figure them out and refute them would be a waste of time, though. It’s become very clear that this is a line that just can’t be crossed. 

As Childe mulls over the situation, his gaze starts to wander: it crosses Zhongli’s features, as pretty and alluring as they are. Those eyes in all its chiseled gold, the sharp, cutting angles of his jaw… into the swooping curve of Zhongli’s neck, where the rest of it disappears under the collar. Something about it draws a restlessness from Childe, the tips of his fingers starting to buzz with a familiar itch. 

It gives him an idea. 

A bad one, of course, but an idea nonetheless. 

“Give me everything then,” Childe says, with finality. It makes Zhongli blink. 

“Everything?” 

“Give me whatever I want, whenever I want it. And no matter what it is, you can’t refuse me.” 

As expected, Zhongli seems a little uncertain. “That request is too much to ask.” 

“Then limit it with a contract. That’s the only way you’ll be able to contain me.” 

Childe knows this is an offer that Zhongli shouldn’t be able to refuse, as the previous god of contracts. It controls the damage Childe could potentially do and allows more room for compromise. The stakes won’t be high enough to put Zhongli off entirely, but still gives Childe the freedom to do whatever he wants. 

And right now, he wants nothing more than to fuck a god. 

It was nothing more than a vague idea when Childe first saw him, turning in his mind over and over again. But now, it isn’t just Zhongli’s looks that tempt him: it’s the way he carries himself with all that composure and so much restraint. Every part of him feels so clean and untouched, just out of reach for someone like Childe. 

(A contract like this should satisfy him in the meantime, at least until he figures out a potential loophole.) 

For now though, Zhongli does seem like he’s hesitating. There’s that unreadable look in his eyes again and Childe can’t tell if he knows exactly what’s being proposed. To be fair, Childe was purposely vague since he doesn’t just mean sexual favors alone. It’s just that this deal would happen to cover them, technically. 

“There are some basic restrictions that must be established first,” Zhongli says slowly, remaining firm. “It is unacceptable to reveal my identity to anyone, no matter the circumstance. This stays between the two of us.” 

“That’s fine,” Childe says coolly. “I’m assuming the same goes for me and my affiliation with the Fatui.” 

Zhongli gives a curt nod. “I would rather the Qixing not know of your presence here anyways. It will cause problems that neither of us can afford.” 

It’s true that the walls have ears, especially in Liyue. Even the Tsaritsa doesn’t know that he’s here and he would like to keep it that way: what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her and he keeps his personal life separate for a reason. 

“And what about my proposal?” Childe asks, getting a little impatient. Zhongli, on the other hand, doesn’t yield just yet. 

“Earlier, you asked me what could be exchanged for Liyue’s safety.” Zhongli meets the heat of Childe’s gaze with ease. “Considering the weight of your request, it is not enough to avoid harming Liyue or its people. I want more.” 

“What else, then?” 

“In my passing, I have left the defense of Liyue to the Qixing and the remaining adepti. However, if there is ever a threat too powerful for them to handle, then you will be the one to step in.” 

Childe doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. 

“You’re using me,” he scoffs, unable to keep the annoyance from his tone. “You want me to be a fail safe.” 

Zhongli, however, is unfazed by the accusation. “Liyue needs multiple lines of defense. If you’d like me to agree to your proposal, then these terms are essential.” 

This is about conserving his power. If Childe takes care of any danger that the Qixing cannot, that saves Zhongli from dealing with it. Then Zhongli is able to either last longer or save his strength for a more impossible challenge, one that Childe himself may have trouble with. 

And considering Childe’s line of work, he is constantly aware of anything that could pose a problem for the Tsaritsa. All he would need to do is extend his watchful eye to Liyue, and in very special circumstances, intervene if Zhongli tells him to. These situations should be rare anyways, since the Qixing and adepti were able to defeat Osial by themselves. 

Childe doesn’t like it, but it might not be unbearable. Especially for what he wants in return. 

“I’ll agree,” Childe finally says, reluctant. “But if I’m not allowed to harm anyone in Liyue, I don’t think it’s fair to completely extend that to you.” 

Zhongli’s eyes narrow. “No attempts to fight me are allowed under any circumstance. We have discussed this and it’s the basis of the contract.” 

“This isn’t about fighting. I just think that I should be able to do whatever I want to you if it doesn’t include combat.” 

Really, Childe just wants to give himself some freedom with the violence. It would get boring if he had to restrain every urge for the sake of some ‘no fighting’ rule. Also, it will allow him more creative ways to possibly push Zhongli to the point of fighting him after all. 

“As long as it does not put my mortal form at significant risk, I will allow it.” Zhongli sounds stiff as he says it so he must not like this very much. “It seems that when you said you wanted ‘everything,’ you meant it in every sense of the word.” 

“Of course,” Childe says, a sly smile creeping across his lips. “And now that we’re both clear on the terms, I’m assuming the contract will be sealed.” 

Zhongli gives a reluctant nod and hooks a finger under the glove, carefully sliding it off and setting it aside. His hand glows a strange gold that is so unlike any mortal, with the gradient of it darkening at the wrist and beneath his sleeve. Even in this form, it seems he can’t fully erase all evidence of being an adeptus. 

“This contract is heavenly binding,” Zhongli says, outstretching his hand. There isn’t much room to do so, not with Childe being this close. “You and I will be tied to it and all its conditions. It will be altered only if we both agree to future modifications.” 

Childe hums softly at that, removing his own glove as well and letting it fall to the floor. He leans back a bit, to give just enough space to grasp Zhongli’s hand with his own. It’s hot to the touch, far more than Childe was expecting: it’s almost searing, less like a warm furnace and more like scorched coals. 

Nevertheless, he keeps his grip firm. The molten gold in Zhongli’s eyes seems to glow, pulsing for a few moments before he draws his hand back. There’s angry red marks stark across Childe's skin, but it isn’t until he looks at his palm when he sees a smoldering geo mark etched into the center. 

“What’s this supposed to be?” Childe asks, pressing his thumb against it. A dull ache pulses up his arm, but the pain seems to be fading by the second. 

“A stamp of sorts,” Zhongli replies. “It should be easily hidden, since you wear gloves as well.” 

How annoying. There was no warning given about this at all, but Childe should know by now that Zhongli doesn’t tell him anything that he doesn’t ask. 

None of that really matters, though. The contract is done and now they’re both bound to it. Which means… 

Childe’s gaze hugs the curve of Zhongli’s neck once more, but this time, he reaches forward with his bare hand. Zhongli tenses just a fraction but doesn’t pull back, as Childe traces his thumb along against the smooth edge. Right where it meets his collar, and he curiously dips beneath it. 

The skin is warmer here and Childe feels the beating pulse that lies there, pounding steady. Not as fast as most humans, but definitely not as slow as his own. It draws a spike of heat from Childe’s core, a newfound lust eating away at him. 

Childe would do anything to fight Zhongli right now—to bend him, to break him in every way, to pull him apart and devour him. He wants to crush him under his heel because that is where all gods will someday belong: beneath him and grinded down to dust. It will take time but he knows he will find a way to get what he wants. 

For now, he will have to restrain himself. 

It’s difficult but he’ll do it if it means the eventual high will be all the more intense. That actually goes for this as well: he could bend Zhongli over right now, to fuck him and get it over with. But considering Zhongli is such a stickler about his time being wasted, Childe wants to drag this on out of spite. Even if he’s restless and eager, he can afford to be unhurried if it means getting under Zhongli’s skin. 

Childe draws his hand away and Zhongli seems to relax slightly, clearly adverse to his touch. But he isn’t done just yet, reaching just past Zhongli’s neck now to slide his fingers around the hairpiece. That jewel keeps the longest part of his hair tied back and in place, so Childe carefully pulls it forward, sliding it over Zhongli’s shoulder. 

And little by little, Childe tugs it down. All the way until it slips off the length of the strands and falls to the floor with a sharp thud. The longest, now-loose strands of Zhongli’s hair drape across his shoulder until Childe gathers them into one piece again, hooking it with his finger and lifting it to meet his lips. 

It’s impossibly soft to the touch. There’s a gold shimmer that blends into the very ends, so sleek and fine as the color shifts in the light. Just like Zhongli’s hands, it actually radiates a bit of warmth. 

“How many people have you slept with?” Childe asks casually. It’s a sudden question but it doesn’t seem to take Zhongli aback. 

“If you are asking personal questions again, then I reserve the right to ask you the same number,” Zhongli says, as opportunistic as ever. “Just as before, our deal still stands.” 

“Of course. I’m just curious, you know.” 

Childe knows he’s being insufferable. Zhongli, on the other hand, looks more unamused than anything. 

“Some, a long while ago,” Zhongli replies, impossibly vague. 

Childe twists Zhongli’s hair around his finger. “The exact number, though.” 

“I do not remember.” 

“If you can’t remember, you must have gotten around a lot then.” 

Zhongli’s lips press into a firm line, but he doesn’t respond. Is this a touchy subject for him? Childe wouldn’t have guessed, but maybe there are reasons for it. 

“Well,” Childe continues, dragging his fingers through the strands, “how many can you remember?” 

“One,” Zhongli says, his reply curt and short. 

“Really? Only one?” 

“That is four questions that you have asked me, including your attempts to clarify. I do hope you are keeping track.” 

Childe cocks his head. “You do such a good job, though. Especially when they’re questions you don’t want to answer.” 

Zhongli’s eyes narrow—that brilliant, beautiful gold—and it’s all the confirmation that Childe needs. The topic clearly bothers Zhongli more than he lets on, but Childe will have plenty of time to exploit that later. He’s far more interested in Zhongli’s potentially large body count, and if it was a long time ago, then that means this new form of his is truly untouched. 

(Never having been handled or used, Childe assumes.) 

“I believe it is time for me to start closing up,” Zhongli says, cutting through the silence. It’s more than clear that he’s trying to change the subject. “You were our last customer for the night and it has gotten very late. So please, excuse me.” 

But as Zhongli tries to step past, Childe’s free hand catches his waist. His hold is gentle but firm, gripping him just tight enough to keep him from getting through. Zhongli naturally tries to shift away from Childe’s touch, but in one swift step forward, Childe traps his knee between Zhongli’s legs to pin him against the desk’s edge. 

“I’m not finished with you,” Childe says soft and low, tracing the knuckle of his finger under Zhongli’s jaw. “Not until you give me what you know I want.” 

Zhongli falters for the briefest of moments, shrinking back slightly as Childe starts to lean in. But Childe fists Zhongli’s hair in a tighter grip, keeping him from pulling away entirely as Childe’s lips finally meet his. 

And somehow, they are even softer than Childe imagined they’d be. 

There’s a sweetness there, like honey or something darker. It makes Childe hum softly into Zhongli’s mouth, chasing the taste deeper. Zhongli stiffens a bit and leans back against the desk, but Childe pushes forward and licks further into the kiss. There’s a numb sort of pressure in his chest, pooling with a familiar heat that he knows too well. 

Fuck, he just wants more. 

His hand on Zhongli’s waist travels up and grips the lapel of the coat, yanking it open with one quick movement. It gives away with a tear and the buttons clatter to the floor, drawing a dissatisfied, irritated noise from the back of Zhongli’s throat. But Childe is already moving onto the next layer, hooking into the vest beneath to pull it apart by force. 

Zhongli’s lips part, as if to interrupt the kiss to say something, and Childe instead takes the chance to slip his tongue inside. It makes Zhongli tense and he tries to jerk back, but Childe’s grip tightens on his hair to anchor him in place. With nowhere for him to go, Childe kisses Zhongli like he’s consuming him, taking all he can possibly taste. 

Soon enough, the coat is sliding off Zhongli’s shoulders and pooling at his feet. That vest too, leaving the last layer behind: a light dress shirt underneath. Childe breaks the kiss only to press his lips right beneath Zhongli’s jaw, moving down the curve of his neck. It finally allows Zhongli a moment to catch his breath as Childe rolls his tongue across the drumming pulse that beats there. 

“You hate it when I touch you,” Childe whispers against his skin, steeped with hunger. “If you really despised this sort of thing, you should’ve barred it from the contract.” 

Zhongli’s jaw tenses. “It would have been pointless. You wanted what you wanted.” 

“And?”

“Men like you are persistent and obsessive. I am not foolish enough to believe that any contract can truly stop you.” 

Childe flashes a coy smile, looping Zhongli’s hair around his finger another time. “You flatter me.” 

“You flatter yourself,” Zhongli says coldly. “And do not be mistaken, I dislike this just as much as the thought of fighting you.”

“That’s good to know. I’ll be enjoying this a lot more knowing that you hate it.” 

Childe doesn’t wait for Zhongli’s reply before taking hold of his dress shirt and forcibly pulling it apart. The fabric tears and Zhongli seems to wince: these clothes must be expensive but Childe couldn’t possibly care. If Zhongli really didn’t want them to get ruined, he should have just taken them off himself. 

The sleeves ride down just enough to expose his shoulders and Childe catches a glimpse of where ordinary, mortal skin meets the dark smoldering edges of Zhongli’s arms. There’s bright gold veins etched into them like ore, stark in contrast and impossibly beautiful. But Childe doesn’t want to pull the shirt off entirely, at least not yet, so his focus instead drifts to the pale expanse of Zhongli’s chest. 

He’s built leaner, with not nearly as much hard muscle as Childe was expecting. To be fair, Zhongli probably doesn’t need it—an archon is powerful enough without physical strength—and Childe wasn’t planning on underestimating him anyways. But when Childe draws the side of the shirt open, it reveals a perked, pink nipple that he traces with the edge of his thumb. 

Zhongli’s fingers curl just a fraction tighter around the desk, a reaction that doesn’t go unnoticed. Childe hums with interest and applies a little more pressure, rolling it against his thumb in slow, soothing circles. In a matter of moments it’s stiff under his touch, and while Zhongli’s expression hasn’t shifted, it’s clear that his shoulders are tenser than before. 

“I guess you’re right,” Childe says, offhand. “I might be able to wait a bit to fight you, but there’s nothing that could have kept me from this.” 

“Because you lack restraint,” Zhongli replies with narrowed eyes. 

“Because you’re too beautiful, actually.” 

Childe centers his Vision to his thumb, hydro pulsing at the tip. It smears a warm sort of wetness across Zhongli’s nipple, allowing Childe to work over it easier. As he plays with it—tugging, toying with it—Zhongli’s pulse seems to quicken, even if his composure doesn’t seem to waver otherwise. 

“I never expected you to look the way you do,” Childe continues casually. “Knowing that you used to sleep around a lot, it actually kind of makes sense.” 

Zhongli’s eyes flash with disdain. “That is not what I said.” 

“But it’s what you meant, right?” He gives the nub another gentle flick before sliding his free hand down, hooking two fingers in the front of Zhongli’s pants. “Now take these off, if you want to get this over with.” 

It earns him another darker, more annoyed look but Zhongli does as he asks: soon enough they’re sliding down to the floor, along with those shoes that Childe kicks away. There’s documents littered across the desk that he easily pushes to one side, cluttering it in a way that looks terribly messy. But Childe really doesn’t care, not with his cock as aching and impatient as it is. 

“This is not nearly enough space,” Zhongli mutters, throwing a cautious glance back towards the door. He must be paranoid since it’s still unlocked and a customer could come in at any time.

“Take off your shirt and lay it down.” Childe ignores the concern as he starts to unbuckle his own pants. “Unless you want the desk to get filthy, which the director probably won’t like.” 

Zhongli hesitates for a moment before reluctantly allowing the shirt to slide off the rest of his shoulders. It reveals the rest of his arms now, all dark and gold-glowing veins that lead to his hands. And once Childe’s pants ride down his hips just enough, he takes Zhongli by the waist and finally lifts him onto the desk. 

It’s true that the space is limited, at least for Zhongli: this is a two-tiered front desk and he has to sit up almost entirely, unlike he would if he were in a bed or a more open table. Even now, his back is pressed up against the edge of the counter that faces the inside of the parlor. Nothing about it must be comfortable but at least it will keep his focus on the matter at hand, since he won’t be able to think about anything but this. 

Now, Zhongli wears nothing but a pair of black quality undergarments. They’re form-fitting and reach the middle of his thighs, a slight bulge in the crotch. Childe traces the outline of it with the side of his finger, then up further to the hem where he starts to tug it off. It exposes the vee of Zhongli’s hips further, further still until his cock comes into view. 

It’s pretty and entirely uncut, with a bit of precum already dribbling from the tip. Maybe touching Zhongli the way he did before actually aroused him a little, as much as he tried to hide it. Nothing more than a physical response of course, but probably something he hated nonetheless. 

Childe glances up to see Zhongli’s eyes averted, off somewhere to the side with his lips drawn firm. He doesn’t look particularly embarrassed but his discomfort is apparent, especially as Childe drags the thin shorts down the rest of his legs to drop onto the floor. It leaves only his dark socks pulled up to his knees, the only clothing that Childe feels appropriate to keep.

With a satisfied hum, Childe slides his bare hand around Zhongli’s cock. It’s average in size, not particularly large but definitely not small. And when he gives it a curious squeeze, a slight bead of precum collects at the very tip of it. 

“You’re sensitive,” Childe murmurs, giving his cock a few painfully slow strokes. “I could tell when I was touching you before, but I didn’t think it was this bad.” 

Zhongli’s gaze hardens but he doesn’t reply, unyielding. He must also be annoyed by how naked he is, since he must have been wearing so many layers for a reason. Somehow, Childe doubts that it only had to do with his arms: maybe clothes offer him a source of security, or he finds it indecent to be stripped to the degree that he has been. Especially compared to Childe, who remains fully clothed. 

But honestly, every inch of Zhongli is as beautiful as he was expecting. That lean muscle, the curve of his hips, the glow of his hands and veins, the dark hair now fanned over his shoulder… there is no end to it. Childe even finds himself sliding his gloved hand along the underside of Zhongli’s thigh, so soft and smooth as he pulls it apart. 

And with that, it spreads his legs at just the right angle for Childe to catch a glimpse of Zhongli’s pink hole. 

Perfect and surely untouched, at least in this form. Zhongli is already a little hard—which is entirely Childe’s fault, he is well aware—so Childe abandons his cock to instead roll a thumb over Zhongli’s tightness. There’s no give, unlike most of the cheap whores who Childe has been with in the past. 

Two of his fingers pulse with wet hydro, slowly but surely coating them both. He presses the first against Zhongli’s hole, sliding it back and forth across the surface. It seems to twitch at his touch, though it’s barely receptive. Zhongli must be far too tense, which would make sense considering how silent he’s been. 

How difficult. 

Childe leans forward, and in this position, it’s enough to loom over Zhongli. He reaches to brush a gloved knuckle of his finger against the side of Zhongli’s neck. Even as Zhongli pulls away slightly, it isn’t enough to escape Childe’s touch entirely. 

“Look at me.” 

Zhongli’s jaw sets in place. It’s the most he’s resisted thus far, probably stubbornness to a degree. And honestly, Childe finds it more endearing than anything. 

“Morax,” he says dangerously soft, tilting Zhongli’s chin up with his finger. “I want you to look at me while I’m fucking you.” 

This time, Zhongli does shift his gaze towards Childe. Those eyes stare coldly into him, and while his composure appears to be unmoved, Zhongli’s contempt for him is excruciatingly evident. It makes Childe’s cock ache and he hums softly at the feeling, sliding his thumb along Zhongli’s chin to hold it in place. 

And finally, Childe pushes one finger inside him. 

It’s so tight that he meets immediate resistance, even while slick and dripping with hydro. Zhongli’s fingers instinctively curl around the edge of the desk, his eyes hardening slightly as he continues to meet Childe’s gaze head-on. But as hydro continues to pulse at the tip of his finger, it makes Zhongli wet enough to allow Childe to slide deeper. No spit required, which is truly convenient since this is much thicker and more lubricating. 

Even so, Zhongli is clamping down hard: on purpose or on instinct, Childe isn’t sure. Zhongli’s walls cling to him tightly but Childe’s finger is already so slick, it’s able to push to the knuckle after only a few moments of working it back and forth. Still, Zhongli is so stiff that a second finger doesn’t seem like an option just yet. 

Out of curiosity, Childe shifts his angle midway. He lifts his finger to push it upwards, curling it in a way that suddenly draws a sharp inhale from Zhongli’s lips. It’s so thin that Childe almost doesn’t hear it, but it’s all too obvious how those walls twitch around him. 

With each slow thrust, Childe eases the rough pad of his finger up against that spot. Zhongli flashes him an icy look, but as much as he tries to hold fast, he starts to loosen little by little. His walls are too wet, slick with hydro that Childe works inside him. It eases the tightness just enough for a second finger to finally slide through. 

Zhongli bites back a soft noise and clamps down again. But Childe only rolls the tips of his fingers against that spot, scissoring them with a wet noise. It’s tight and warm in a way that sends a spike of heat straight to his cock, another wave of arousal drawn out from within him. He’s so hard that it hurts, aching at the sight of Zhongli’s stretched hole. 

Once Childe’s fingers are able to comfortably fill Zhongli to the knuckle, he finally slides out completely. Wetness drips from them but he doesn’t bother cleaning it off, instead pushing his unbuckled pants just far down enough for his cock to spring free. He wraps his hand around it and his head does a dizzy little spin, as he gives it a slow stroke to coat it in a layer of slick. 

Zhongli, on the other hand, takes a cautious glance down towards Childe’s movements. There’s no break in his composure and for the most part, his expression is generally unmoved and impassive. But the body doesn’t lie and his shoulders are tight with strain, lips pressed firm. 

Even if Zhongli is on edge, Childe doesn’t really care—the contract is already in place and there is no turning back—so he slides Zhongli’s legs apart, spreading them wider than before. Childe leans in to tilt Zhongli’s chin down, keeping his gaze once more. 

“You’re going to take me,” Childe murmurs, sliding a thumb along the edge of Zhongli’s bottom lip. “And you’re going to look at me while you do. Are we clear?” 

A cold sort of annoyance flickers in Zhongli’s eyes. “Of course.” 

Childe gives a soft, satisfied noise and draws his hand back. He uses it to line his cock up to Zhongli’s hole, pressing the tip against it. And slowly, carefully, he starts to sink inside. 

And fuck, it’s good. 

All that tight warmth seems to envelop him and it draws a long, shaky exhale from his lips. Zhongli immediately tenses but Childe mindlessly pushes further, with hydro dripping from around his cock and Zhongli’s hole. Those walls twitch and cling around the girth of him in the most delicious way, wet and pulsing. 

As promised, Zhongli doesn’t look away. Those eyes of his are entirely unfeeling, or perhaps that is what he would like Childe to believe. But there is no denying the way his jaw tightens, the way he grips the desk as Childe enters him inch by careful inch. There’s deeper parts of him that those fingers weren’t able to reach, probably stretching painfully now. 

Though soon enough, Childe feels his hips press flush against Zhongli’s as he bottoms out inside of him. It feels so much better than he thought it would, his mind giving a dizzy little spin. With all of that warm pressure clamped down on his cock, he can’t even bring himself to think. 

All he can do is move. 

Childe slides a hand under Zhongli’s knee, leaning forward and hiking the leg over his shoulder. It spreads Zhongli even wider and Childe braces one hand on the desk, drawing so close that he hovers only inches above him. Zhongli gives a dissatisfied noise at the position and tries to adjust a bit, but Childe’s weight keeps him locked in place. 

As Childe fucks into him, the desk creaks beneath Zhongli with each thrust. Zhongli’s legs are spread so wide that the head of Childe’s cock always catches on the rim, filling him completely with each stroke. But the pace is quick and punishing, all patience lost now as Childe feels himself slipping into the feeling. There’s that familiar, aching hunger that he just can’t deny, pulling him further, deeper into it. 

Zhongli is mostly quiet, his breath only hitching with every other thrust. Any noise he makes is soft and restrained, either swallowed down or bitten back before Childe catches it. His eyes, however, are still hard and focused to keep himself sturdy. It’s like he’s even stronger than before, determined to not let a single thing seep through the cracks. 

And really, that just won’t do. 

The last time he fought or fucked anyone was before he came to Liyue, which is already far too long to wait. Climax alone won’t be able to satiate him at this point: he wants to truly get under Zhongli’s skin, to get a rise out of him. It’s a lustful and curious urge, one that he already knows how he’ll be able to handle. 

(Childe may not be able to fight Zhongli yet, but he can do him one better.)

His touch slides down to Zhongli’s abdomen, pressing the weight of his hand against it. Those muscles ripple and tense—the stomach is the most vulnerable part of the body, after all—but Childe ignores the reaction and instead channels a deeper, darker power from within. In a matter of moments, it’s drawing a blue glow from his palm that starts to seep through the skin. 

Zhongli sucks in a sharp inhale, his gaze flicking down towards it. For the first time, uncertainty flickers in his eyes and he tightens around Childe’s cock. 

“What are you—” 

“You’ll see.” 

It’s all Childe says, right as he starts to push that warmth deeper. Burrowing it down, sinking and writhing until a mark pulses there: the outline of three eyes in three directions, bound together by blue threads. And the very moment it’s planted, Childe feels his energy grounding in Zhongli, taking root inside his body. 

Goosebumps scatter across Zhongli’s skin and his fingers curl tighter around the desk. He must feel it too, the way that riptide mark seems to shift and ache under the skin. Childe has done this enough times to know how hot and uncomfortable it feels, or at least that’s what he’s always been told. 

The pace of his thrusts continues steady as Childe leans close, lips pressed against the shell of Zhongli’s ear. It makes Zhongli tense but he doesn’t move or turn away. 

“You’re mine, Morax.” Childe feels Zhongli’s leg tighten over his shoulder, the heel digging into his back. “Everything you are, everything you feel: it all belongs to me.” 

Zhongli opens his mouth to speak, but Childe applies a sudden, crushing force of abyssal arousal unto him. It catches Zhongli so off guard that his breath locks in his throat, squeezing suddenly as those walls seize and cling to Childe’s cock. That pulls a gasp from Childe and his free hand finds the long lock of Zhongli’s hair, fisting it tightly enough to hurt as he fucks into him. 

The symbol pulses with heat and Zhongli gives a soft strangled noise, gasping as his hole twitches and sucks Childe deeper. It slides so easily, loose and open with each rolling wave of warmth that Childe drives through the mark. 

“Liyue’s whore god,” Childe whispers against the edge of Zhongli’s jaw, earning him a shiver. “Fucked by a Harbinger since you’d rather take cock than fight. How sad and pathetic.” 

Zhongli gives a harsh swallow at that, clearly strained. There’s a bit of resistance through the mark, a fragile mental wall of sorts that Childe can feel. It’s only enough to keep Zhongli conscious and aware, it seems: a way to keep Childe from completely dragging him out from shore. 

When faced with riptide, the vast majority of opponents can’t remain grounded. Not even the strongest Childe has encountered, who he’s seen buckle under the weight of abyssal power. The sheer amount of control he can assert is so great, they often become nothing more than permanent, empty shells of themselves. It’s a boring end so he usually chooses not to use it, but… 

Zhongli seems to withstand it. Granted, he appears to struggle somewhat: riptide has a very oppressive weight, the kind that slowly suffocates. But only Zhongli’s body submits, while his mind remains intact and protected. 

Childe’s grip tightens on his hair, wrapping it over the knuckle for better leverage. Zhongli winces a bit but he doesn’t resist, as he must be directing all of his energy towards keeping riptide at bay. Those gold veins etched in his arms have started to glow, along with the brighter streaks of hair pulsing heat between Childe’s fingers. Even Zhongli’s hole flutters around his cock, tightening just slightly when Childe bottoms out inside him. 

And fuck, it feels like heaven. The closest Childe could get to it at least: all that arousal is starting to make him heady, twisting and turning to the point where even his own heart starts to pound. Every smack of his hips, each thrust that rocks into that warmth—it keeps driving him closer, pushing him towards what he needs so desperately. That peak, the summit, the reason why he lives and breathes and exists. 

Through it all, Zhongli’s gaze continues to meet his own: those angry eyes glow a bit, hard with exertion as riptide pulses above the vee of his hips. A god spread beneath Childe, fucked out and filled with loathing… the sight alone is enough to finally push him over the edge. 

Childe comes with a shaky moan. Every thought, every feeling hangs suspended until all that heat engulfs him at once. It’s enough to make him reel, his brain lagging from that dizzying release. A still sort of emptiness consumes the world, a fleeting high for the briefest of moments. 

And little by little, the haze starts to clear and his senses slowly start to return. Childe is still trembling with exertion, glancing down to see quite a bit of wet hydro dripping from between Zhongli’s legs: through the shirt, and onto the floor as well. He must have lost control of his vision at some point near the beginning, but he just never noticed the mess. Even the room feels a little humid, the glowing strands of Zhongli’s hair sticking to his neck and chest. 

Zhongli pants quietly, his eyes averted once more. It looks like he broke contact as soon as he was able to, a subtle act of defiance after everything. Riptide continues to pulse there against his abdomen, leaving his cock hard and leaking. 

How impressive. 

Childe reaches forward, taking Zhongli’s chin between two fingers. Zhongli lifts his gaze towards him to watch him carefully, cautiously as Childe leans in. 

“Open up,” he says, drawing his thumb along Zhongli’s bottom lip. It earns him an irritated look, but Zhongli obeys regardless. Childe gives a satisfied hum at that, taking a proper grip on the jaw as he leans over him. 

Then without warning, Childe spits directly into Zhongli’s mouth. 

Zhongli takes it, though not without a wince of disgust. Childe simply traces Zhongli’s jaw before sliding his thumb down, to catch on the edge of his throat. 

“Swallow.” 

It’s all Childe has to say and Zhongli does as he’s told. As a reward, Childe slides his hand over riptide to reel in its power: the symbol remains but it only glows faintly now, almost unnoticeable. Zhongli’s shoulders seem to relax slightly, but still tense as can be while still in Childe’s presence. 

Childe finally slips Zhongli’s leg off his shoulder, allowing it to rest on the edge of the desk. That gives him enough room to slowly slide his cock out of Zhongli, leaving a string of hydro and cum behind. One of Zhongli’s shirt sleeves seems to be dry enough, so Childe wipes the shaft the best he can before buckling his pants again. 

The desk creaks as Zhongli shifts a bit, straightening his posture as he silently watches Childe clean himself up. Zhongli doesn’t speak for several moments, nor does he move to take his clothes yet. It’s as if he’s holding back for some reason, probably still cautious. 

“There’s nothing for you to wait around for.” Childe slides his glove back into place before adjusting his shirt collar. “We’re done here.” 

Zhongli draws his lips into a firm line. “You need to remove this mark.” 

“It won’t bother you much while it’s dormant.” 

“There should be no reason for it to stay, then.” 

This is the most he’s said in a while, though there’s a distinct strain to his voice that he’s trying to hide. Maybe he’s not as put together as he appears, especially considering all that’s happened. But Childe has the right to mark what’s his and Zhongli is no exception, no matter how paranoid it makes him. 

“I’ll be stopping by next time I’m in Liyue.” Blunt and straightforward, he side steps Zhongli’s concern. “Be ready when I do and we’ll talk more then.” 

Zhongli narrows his eyes but doesn’t respond, which allows Childe to finally take his leave. It’ll take a while for Zhongli to clean this all up anyways and he doesn’t feel like sticking around, now that he’s gotten what he came here for. There’s matters he has to attend to in Inazuma anyways, following up on Signora and watching what she does next. 

Still, Childe can’t help but think about Zhongli’s resistance to riptide. While it’s a considerable feat to push himself as far as he did, the fact that he can’t resist it completely means he must be in somewhat of a decline. It’s just as Childe expected—Zhongli is a six-thousand year old god, after all—though it draws out a more interesting thought. 

The contract forbids Childe from engaging in any sort of combat with Zhongli. Physical combat, that is, but that doesn’t apply to anything psychological. To eventually fight Zhongli, he’ll need to wear him down: winning one battle to eventually take the next. 

But if there is one thing that Childe has learned about Zhongli, it’s that he’s uptight about things that trap him. That makes it all the more surprising that he would agree to a contract like this in the first place. Was it truly just to control the amount of damage Childe could do to Liyue? Or are there other reasons, ones that lie under the surface? 

And considering a contract seems to confine both parties… did Childe truly trap Zhongli, or did Zhongli trap him?