( 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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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. )