( the fight — long anticipated, from zhonghli's traitorous reveal at the northland bank to now, locked inside the bottom level of the golden house — doesn't go exactly as childe plans.
zhongli is a storm of undented grace and strength unrolling on childe like a cresting wave, but his control holds as steady as steel. when childe pushes, zhongli endures readily, deflecting falling arrows with a casual flick of his polearm and retaliating to subdue, not injure. his centuries-built discipline bites into the bleeding wound of his pride, insulting, maddening; he refuses to bend even as childe glides through a shifting tide of weapons, discarding his bow for blades, his blades for a sword, his sword for a polearm.
come on, he says, more than once. his polearm hits the ground following a well-timed blow from zhongli, and childe exhales through his teeth, hooking his toe under the shaft and kicking up. he catches the shaft in an outstretched hand, poles crossing as he surges forward into zhongli's returning swing. )
Xiansheng. ( on another punched exhale that shivers into a slow-winding hiss on the last syllable. zhongli looms over him, held back by childe's own polearm as he repositions into a wider stance to slow his slide on water-slick marble.
he tuts and pins zhongli with a sharp-eyed stare, eyelashes fluttering to a half-mast veil, almost demure. )
I said I wanted a fight, not a match.
( his grip on his polearm tightens into a white-knuckle fist, shoulders quivering in his strain to maintain their deadlock. zhongli is far stronger than he looks — fitting, childe supposes, for a god who has felled so many. he should unwind from this, reset and start again from a better angle where he has the advantage, but the heat peeling off zhongli is an inviting abyss, and it cleaves into childe's reflexes like a honed knife. he's warm enough to touch. close enough to lick his serrated edges. sweet enough to swallow him whole and steep in the burn.
he tips his head back and bares his throat like a willing lamb for the slaughter, then tangles his hand in his tie and twists, tugs, anchoring him into his space. the pressure bearing down on top of him increases; childe arches slightly against it, and snaps his teeth near zhongli's mouth.
( it is a wonder, that after over six-thousand years of existence, something so young and inexperienced makes his blood burn, stimulates a long-suppressed appetite that Zhongli would have sworn had crumbled away with the sands of time eons past.
how curious it is that a boy so fiercely dedicated and in servitude of a fellow archon would manage to pull at his desires, his interest, causing it to rise from his flesh and fill his own senses to near madness.
for a boy who desires so much attention, Zhongli knows the last thing he should be doing is indulging him.
yet, here he is, ever indulging Childe's childish whims, his insatiable need to constantly assert his capability— his dominance in a pack of wolves that serve the Tsarita so loyally.
what is he looking for, now, that the charades have been brought to light and the puppet masters have cut their strings?
your purpose here is gone, is it not? why have you not returned to your master?
Zhongli listens intently to every word that drips off the other's tongue, but he doesn't flinch— doesn't move— despite his tie being turned into a proverbial leash—even with Childe's mouth so very close and a new advantage wrapped around his greedy fingers. a low rumble of mirth escapes his throat at such demands, still refusing to give even an inch from the pressure and force he is applying down against the harbinger and his hydro-weapon. )
I will play with you as I like, especially when you are the one starting all these games in the first place.
( the fatui's delusion remains unactivated, as does his Harbinger abilities— such a petulant child to pout when the game is played from both sides rather than simply one. )
You are very stubborn.
( something flickers in Zhongli's eyes, a sudden added extra amount of strength reinforcing his already stone-wall advance on Childe's chances to do anything but succumb.
still, Zhongli tilts and angles his head slightly to be able to brush his lips up against the opening of Childe's ear, his whisper heated with so many hints of what's going through his mind and no hints at all. )
It's rather enticing, I must say, but I am not so easily felled by your usual promiscuities.
( Zhongli has no feelings of guilt or remorse at playing the young Harbinger like a finely-tuned instrument and Childe deserves no hand-outs. If he wants a real fight, he will have to stop playing around with the geo-Archon first.
you are owed nothing. why are you still here — )
Not anymore.
( —when the one thing to please your Tsarita is gone? )
( zhongli's honey-warm voice ripples over him, each word carrying with it a myriad of unreadable promises, and he's so close that his breath curls down his collar like an electric shock. childe twitches, arm jerking where he holds his polearm taut to zhongli's polearm, and falls half a step back, then another as his position slips on glossy marble, until his back hits a stone column.
oh. his pulse spikes, kicking to the frantic rhythm of a hummingbird's wings, an unbearably human response that has nothing to do with the fight and everything to do with zhongli's mouth searing bare skin. )
Is that right?
( most people — when faced with the towering mountain that is zhongli, the ruthless god of war in the flesh — would cower at his feet and beg forgiveness for their paltry mortal transgressions, but childe hasn't been most people since his tumble into the abyss. zhongli sets his blood on fucking boil in a brand new, thrilling way. he wants more of this feeling clawing at his spasming chest, throat flexing as he swallows around a hitched breath.
his head tilts back, an invitation and challenge written into the bare, slim arch of his neck. ) In that case —
( the hand in his tie twists again, reeling zhongli that much closer. he clenches his polearm tight, flickering sparks charging from his palm into sculpted water, mottled purple and electric, like a flare gun warning. the tsaritsa's delusion courses through him on a white hot riptide, lurching him back into the pillar and squeezing every inch of air from his convulsing lungs. it's too much. it's always too much, every time, lighting his nerves on fire even as it bolsters his strength. always a price to pay for unbridled power.
his eyes are wet, lashes gleaming with unshed tears. another side effect. he exhales on a tremulous laugh, and his polearm disappears, replaced with an electric dagger that he holds flush under zhongli's chin, forearm bent sideways.
he leans in, tongue furling zhongli's bottom lip in a kittenish and beckoning lick. )
( Zhongli still often wonders what She was thinking, allowing the delusions to exist and be used amongst her most loyal. it was true not everyone was capable of a vision, but even so...
this is, of course, the first time he's seen it used, at least this up close— and the burden etched across Childe's entire body for that small second or two is felt without having to look at him from the front.
without the support of the hydro-polearm against his own, Zhongli loses the pressuring advantage of being the superior side of the deadlock and is forced to make a recovery lest he wished to sever his throat on Childe's dagger all his own. which means he slams the tip of Vortex Vanquisher hard into the stone pillar at Childe's back alongside the other's head. it embeds so neatly into the stone as if the pillar were made of sand and it decisively misses even ghosting Childe's face, clearly uninterested in spilling any blood from or on that pale skin.
the flawless advantage is lost, which Childe can be commended for. Zhongli had no intention to ease up if he couldn't figure out how to break the deadlock on his own. it's ever reckless, though, something the young harbinger is all too happy to incorporate into his way of life— and even moreso when drowning in the violence that he ever beckons to come forth. )
Nicely done. ( his complimenting words escape in an almost purr, but any want for retaliation he may wish to provide in response to that tongue teasing is left unanswered. that blade is right up against his skin and he can feel the roiling heat as the electricity conducts aggressively through its water catalyst, it attempting to invade beyond skin deep by seeping through his very pores. it's unpleasant at best, and Zhongli isn't going to make himself bleed just to get the last action in.
therefore—for now—he yields, only shifting his weight to try and get his feet more grounded in his current position. there's only so much movement he can do with his tie so tightly restrained and a dagger's edge up against the junction of his chin and neck, but he'll do what he can with all the typical grace and calm that he exudes, regardless.
it's only after that Zhongli brings his freed hand up to hook his thumb under Childe's chin, his gloved fingers curling about the side of the other's face to casually—but gently, with care—brush away the dampness from one eye. there's nothing in his expression or his words acknowledging his action before it finally slips away. )
I am intrigued, although I'm afraid that you'll have to be more specific on what type of challenge you are actually looking for out of this encounter.
( violence or sexual, either seems to be beginning to weigh equally on his scales. )
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zhongli is a storm of undented grace and strength unrolling on childe like a cresting wave, but his control holds as steady as steel. when childe pushes, zhongli endures readily, deflecting falling arrows with a casual flick of his polearm and retaliating to subdue, not injure. his centuries-built discipline bites into the bleeding wound of his pride, insulting, maddening; he refuses to bend even as childe glides through a shifting tide of weapons, discarding his bow for blades, his blades for a sword, his sword for a polearm.
come on, he says, more than once. his polearm hits the ground following a well-timed blow from zhongli, and childe exhales through his teeth, hooking his toe under the shaft and kicking up. he catches the shaft in an outstretched hand, poles crossing as he surges forward into zhongli's returning swing. )
Xiansheng. ( on another punched exhale that shivers into a slow-winding hiss on the last syllable. zhongli looms over him, held back by childe's own polearm as he repositions into a wider stance to slow his slide on water-slick marble.
he tuts and pins zhongli with a sharp-eyed stare, eyelashes fluttering to a half-mast veil, almost demure. )
I said I wanted a fight, not a match.
( his grip on his polearm tightens into a white-knuckle fist, shoulders quivering in his strain to maintain their deadlock. zhongli is far stronger than he looks — fitting, childe supposes, for a god who has felled so many. he should unwind from this, reset and start again from a better angle where he has the advantage, but the heat peeling off zhongli is an inviting abyss, and it cleaves into childe's reflexes like a honed knife. he's warm enough to touch. close enough to lick his serrated edges. sweet enough to swallow him whole and steep in the burn.
he tips his head back and bares his throat like a willing lamb for the slaughter, then tangles his hand in his tie and twists, tugs, anchoring him into his space. the pressure bearing down on top of him increases; childe arches slightly against it, and snaps his teeth near zhongli's mouth.
better. )
Stop playing with me.
no subject
how curious it is that a boy so fiercely dedicated and in servitude of a fellow archon would manage to pull at his desires, his interest, causing it to rise from his flesh and fill his own senses to near madness.
for a boy who desires so much attention, Zhongli knows the last thing he should be doing is indulging him.
yet, here he is, ever indulging Childe's childish whims, his insatiable need to constantly assert his capability— his dominance in a pack of wolves that serve the Tsarita so loyally.
what is he looking for, now, that the charades have been brought to light and the puppet masters have cut their strings?
your purpose here is gone, is it not? why have you not returned to your master?
Zhongli listens intently to every word that drips off the other's tongue, but he doesn't flinch— doesn't move— despite his tie being turned into a proverbial leash—even with Childe's mouth so very close and a new advantage wrapped around his greedy fingers. a low rumble of mirth escapes his throat at such demands, still refusing to give even an inch from the pressure and force he is applying down against the harbinger and his hydro-weapon. )
I will play with you as I like, especially when you are the one starting all these games in the first place.
( the fatui's delusion remains unactivated, as does his Harbinger abilities— such a petulant child to pout when the game is played from both sides rather than simply one. )
You are very stubborn.
( something flickers in Zhongli's eyes, a sudden added extra amount of strength reinforcing his already stone-wall advance on Childe's chances to do anything but succumb.
still, Zhongli tilts and angles his head slightly to be able to brush his lips up against the opening of Childe's ear, his whisper heated with so many hints of what's going through his mind and no hints at all. )
It's rather enticing, I must say, but I am not so easily felled by your usual promiscuities.
( Zhongli has no feelings of guilt or remorse at playing the young Harbinger like a finely-tuned instrument and Childe deserves no hand-outs. If he wants a real fight, he will have to stop playing around with the geo-Archon first.
you are owed nothing. why are you still here — )
Not anymore.
( —when the one thing to please your Tsarita is gone? )
no subject
oh. his pulse spikes, kicking to the frantic rhythm of a hummingbird's wings, an unbearably human response that has nothing to do with the fight and everything to do with zhongli's mouth searing bare skin. )
Is that right?
( most people — when faced with the towering mountain that is zhongli, the ruthless god of war in the flesh — would cower at his feet and beg forgiveness for their paltry mortal transgressions, but childe hasn't been most people since his tumble into the abyss. zhongli sets his blood on fucking boil in a brand new, thrilling way. he wants more of this feeling clawing at his spasming chest, throat flexing as he swallows around a hitched breath.
his head tilts back, an invitation and challenge written into the bare, slim arch of his neck. ) In that case —
( the hand in his tie twists again, reeling zhongli that much closer. he clenches his polearm tight, flickering sparks charging from his palm into sculpted water, mottled purple and electric, like a flare gun warning. the tsaritsa's delusion courses through him on a white hot riptide, lurching him back into the pillar and squeezing every inch of air from his convulsing lungs. it's too much. it's always too much, every time, lighting his nerves on fire even as it bolsters his strength. always a price to pay for unbridled power.
his eyes are wet, lashes gleaming with unshed tears. another side effect. he exhales on a tremulous laugh, and his polearm disappears, replaced with an electric dagger that he holds flush under zhongli's chin, forearm bent sideways.
he leans in, tongue furling zhongli's bottom lip in a kittenish and beckoning lick. )
What about now?
no subject
this is, of course, the first time he's seen it used, at least this up close— and the burden etched across Childe's entire body for that small second or two is felt without having to look at him from the front.
without the support of the hydro-polearm against his own, Zhongli loses the pressuring advantage of being the superior side of the deadlock and is forced to make a recovery lest he wished to sever his throat on Childe's dagger all his own. which means he slams the tip of Vortex Vanquisher hard into the stone pillar at Childe's back alongside the other's head. it embeds so neatly into the stone as if the pillar were made of sand and it decisively misses even ghosting Childe's face, clearly uninterested in spilling any blood from or on that pale skin.
the flawless advantage is lost, which Childe can be commended for. Zhongli had no intention to ease up if he couldn't figure out how to break the deadlock on his own. it's ever reckless, though, something the young harbinger is all too happy to incorporate into his way of life— and even moreso when drowning in the violence that he ever beckons to come forth. )
Nicely done. ( his complimenting words escape in an almost purr, but any want for retaliation he may wish to provide in response to that tongue teasing is left unanswered. that blade is right up against his skin and he can feel the roiling heat as the electricity conducts aggressively through its water catalyst, it attempting to invade beyond skin deep by seeping through his very pores. it's unpleasant at best, and Zhongli isn't going to make himself bleed just to get the last action in.
therefore—for now—he yields, only shifting his weight to try and get his feet more grounded in his current position. there's only so much movement he can do with his tie so tightly restrained and a dagger's edge up against the junction of his chin and neck, but he'll do what he can with all the typical grace and calm that he exudes, regardless.
it's only after that Zhongli brings his freed hand up to hook his thumb under Childe's chin, his gloved fingers curling about the side of the other's face to casually—but gently, with care—brush away the dampness from one eye. there's nothing in his expression or his words acknowledging his action before it finally slips away. )
I am intrigued, although I'm afraid that you'll have to be more specific on what type of challenge you are actually looking for out of this encounter.
( violence or sexual, either seems to be beginning to weigh equally on his scales. )