Work Text:
It’s an unspoken rule among Harbingers that their relationships are meant to be distant. With their line of work and the degree of danger it involves, it’s obvious that love has no place amongst them. Their personalities and their pasts make it easier for the Harbingers to avoid the temptation though — they are all tainted in some way, imperfect and too morally deformed to attract affection. Whether they were born corrupted or left to suffer from its touch, the Harbingers are a testament to Celestia’s cruelty. If there is some universal justice or responsibility withheld by the Gods of Celestia, then they have failed Teyvat by allowing the Harbingers to continuously fill their lungs with breath. They’re ruthless, efficient, and vicious, everything they would need to be to wage war on heaven itself for their Tsaritsa. And just as there is no kindness in the freezing snowstorm of Snezhnaya, there is no love among the Harbingers.
Or, so it is supposed to be. Capitano has questioned whether it was accurate to say the Harbingers were incapable of love. Though he remains quiet and uninvolved with his colleagues, Capitano notices the little things that reveal a layer of complexity to them. He notes the way Arlecchino listens carefully whenever Columbina is mentioned, her eyes glint dangerously as she’s pulled to attention by a sense of territorial protection. It is rare for three Harbingers to attend a mission together, but he catches the way she glances to note Columbina’s location and demeanor during social events. Likewise, Capitano listened to the song Columbina sang when Arlecchino was asleep and recovering from breaking every bone in her body. He catches Columbina running her hand through sweat-soaked white hair, but he commits to a silent agreement to never speak of it — not even to Arlecchino. It isn’t always romantic subtleties that Capitano notices either. He sees the way Pulcinella trots after Childe and intercepts mail addressed to the youngest Harbinger before it can fall into Pantalone’s hands. Dottore handles his equipment with a gentle touch and reverence that many believed was impossible for the man. Sandrone did the same; she laid hopeful kisses on the foreheads of every automaton she crafted before releasing them into service to the Fatui. Pantalone would smile warmly whenever he settled into a comfortable position or wore plain clothes that hung off his frame but seemed more comfortable than his usually fashionable outfits, while Signora’s face would soften at the sight of the rare blue butterflies that visited the Palace Garden. Though Scaramouche was elusive, Capitano had noticed the way he hesitated to leave a diplomatic meeting in Inazuma they had infiltrated. Scaramouche had hidden himself in a corner, but he watched the Raiden Shogun’s every move and snapped at an insignificant attendee when they whispered during her speech. Even Pierro had moments of tenderness. Capitano had seen the way the man gazed at a recruit with long blue hair and dark tanned skin, though he chose to place the memory in the furthest corner of his brain.
Though, out of all of them, Tartaglia, their youngest, indulged himself in breaking the unspoken rule the most. There was nothing hidden in the way he handled the souvenirs he bought for his siblings or the way he pestered Pantalone about ensuring they were delivered without possibility of damage if Childe wasn’t able to himself. Capitano had accompanied Childe several times during missions when the Harbinger was freshly inducted among their ranks. His elder sister had spotted him and cornered him in an alleyway, pestering him with questions while glancing at Capitano mischievously. The softness that radiated from Childe’s voice when he laughed and explained that Capitano wasn’t his husband or a recipient of sexual favors from him was noticeable.
Childe was similar to Capitano in many ways. The Abyss had crushed them and torn them apart, ripping through every sinew and strand of flesh in their body to create space for its presence in their soul. It drowned them and baptized them in unholy waters that left a residual stain on their being — there was no hiding the mark of the Abyss. They had both tried and failed to prevent it from showing, and they both continued to try. But, seeing Childe indulge in love despite this made Capitano wonder. In all his life, Capitano had only cherished one thing — a small white kitten that lived a short year cradled in Capitano’s arms. When it had died, Capitano had felt something shift inside him and he felt a beat in his chest from a heart he didn’t have. The Abyss had corpsified him, drawing away any evidence that could classify Capitano as alive. The breath of life had returned to him with the feeling of a warm tongue licking his arm and the strained meow of content. Though the memory is distant and archaic, it’s enough to make Capitano wonder about himself when he sees the subtle hints of love written in the hidden lines of his comrades' lives.
The question rattled through his brain one more time as he lay with his arms wrapped protectively around the malnourished frame of the eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers. It had only been a month since Capitano stole him from a dimly lit cavern and scrubbed months of blood from his bruised skin. After securing the Geo Archon Gnosis, Signora had begun to move to Inazuma. However, she reported that a certain ginger had gone missing. When Capitano had finally found him and shattered heavy handcuffs of rock from around his wrists, Childe looked like a desecrated corpse. The actions Capitano took were logical and efficient, or so he told himself. He had carried Childe gently in his arms to an isolated tavern on the outskirts of Mondstadt, unknowing to any of the recruits or his fellow Harbingers. With a delicacy in his movements, Capitano addressed the thousands of wounds on the pale freckled skin. Childe had woken up several days later in the warmth of a bathtub while Capitano’s hands massaged the soap into his hair. Water had flown and destroyed the room, forcing them to migrate to another tavern once the struggle between them ended. After several more days of strained care, Capitano had found himself sitting in a chair with Childe settled on his lap. Dark bags remained drawn under Childe’s eyes, but his face had begun to regain some color and his body was slowly recovering its lost weight. A few days later, during their travel back to Snezhnaya, Capitano found himself shocked by the echo of a heart inside his chest while he held Childe’s trembling form. There were no words passed between them on what had happened in the cave. Instead, Capitano focused on easing the tension on the other Harbinger’s muscles and pressing gentle kisses to the side of his face. Capitano isn’t sure when he begins to mimic his other Harbingers, but he watches Childe from the corner of his eye when they travel, chides him when Childe insults merchants along the road to the palace, and Capitano smiles underneath his helmet when he catches Childe wearing one of his shirts by accident. It hangs off his shoulders and makes him look years younger, but the sight brings another minute of rhythmic thumps in his chest. When Childe quietly tells him what happened in the cave during the night, Capitano can’t help but wonder why his fingers twitch irritably with the burning urge to crush every inch of the entire nation of Liyue. But, he focuses on listening to the hushed whispers of Childe’s memory.
Rough hands are curled tightly in sweat-damp ginger hair. They pull ruthlessly, dragging behind them the bruised body still attempting to struggle. Looking back, Zhongli glares at Childe with impossibly bright golden eyes that are dark around the edges. The hue of his eyes were endless and beautiful when everything was alright between them. But, now, there is nothing alright between the two men. In the growing darkness of the night, the cloud of dust they walk through obscures most of the light that remains in the day – it makes Zhongli’s eyes look ancient and angry. Childe struggles to talk, but there’s a tight collar of clay wrapped around his neck. Its pale tan surface stands out against the bruised white flesh of Childe’s throat and a bright orange band that wraps around the middle of iit pulsates in the darkness. The surface of the collar is rocky, molded with the intent of controlling – whether through pain or threat. Sharp edges dig uncomfortably into his sore skin, while some points create scratches that bleed faintly as Childe struggles to breath. The asphyxiation is light, but it’s enough. It keeps Childe awake through adrenaline alone, even as his body seeks to shut down from blood loss and work to repair the thousands of cuts, bruises, and broken components that Childe carries.
But, Zhongli is relentless. He pulls the Harbinger by his hair, tightening the grip of his hand and the collar whenever he feels resistance to his pull or hears the Harbinger choking for breath to speak. Zhongli doesn’t want his words. They had exchanged enough in the moments when Osial was unleashed. With the battle that waged afterwards, there was nothing left to say. Zhongli, in a series of uncharacteristically human weakness, had trusted the Harbinger. He would not make the same mistake again.
He drags him through the ruins of Liyue Harbor, ignoring the quiet gasps for air and grunts of pain as they trespass on ruined ground. The sight of the Harbor’s ruin brings a steady pacing beat to Zhongli’s heart. Though his Gnosis is gone, the blood of an Adepti lies in his veins. When Morax descended to become Zhongli, he had chosen to let his heart grow still and let the bloo and in his veins become motionless – the flow of divinity halted inside him, allowing him to linger in the presence of his people and to experience the world among them. The result of his choice echoes in the cries of pain as the citizens of Liyue pull themselves from the rubble and stare at the ruins of their home. Their screams of sorrow thrum through the earth, flowing through the veins of Liyue until it reaches its focal point within Zhongli.
Morax’s heart has not beaten for a hundred years. On the hundredth and one day, it begins to push blood through slumbering pathways in his body. The power he long stored away is called back to him as he drags the focal point of anger in his heart over broken glass, snapped logs, and bits of debris with ruthless intent. There will be no contract of mercy offered, Zhongli can only offer Morax’s wrath over the wrath of every citizen in Liyue. Though he entertains the thought of tying Childe up to a geoconstruct in the middle of Liyue Harbor and allowing his citizens to punish the man as they please, Morax is selfish. He is the draconic Prime of the Adepti, the Warrior God, and the Lord of Rock. With or without his Gnosis, Morax is a conqueror and he will ensure that it known in every shadowing corner of Tevyat or brilliant edge of Celestia that Zhongli has conquered Tartaglia, the eleventh of the Tsaritsa’s Fatui Harbingers. A particularly loud grunt sounds from behind him as Zhongli finds his way to a cliffside beside the water’s edge. He turned to glance behind him and stared into the wide bright blue eyes staring back at them. Childe glares back at him, his eyes attempting to convey lethal intent though they are pink with the tears the journey to the cave has brought forth from him.
Cocking his head to the side, Zhongli let the power rush through his veins. He stared at Childe’s and smiled at him cruelly, watching the way the beginning colors of fear flickered in the prideful eyes. The sound of cracking rock sounded from behind him, the cliff face behind them groaned as it obeyed its master’s command. Vibrations coursed through the ground underneath as a crack in the cliffside grew larger as it spread itself open to create an entryway. Zhongli watched the world flicker in Childe’s eyes. A golden radiant light that burst from the doorway, sending rock hurtling past them and smashing into the ground like benign asteroids. Pulsating the light faded to a dull echo, leaving only the bright pools of Zhongli’s eyes and the glow of celestial blood underneath black scales. The sight replayed perfectly in the ocean pools, framed by the dark anger and subtle colorations of fear that floated in the mixture.
It was delightful.
Licking his lips, Zhongli devoured the taste of anticipation that soaked the air. It was only a mere display of his returning strength. If the effortless displays of power brought this result, Zhongli couldn’t contain the dark flicker of excitement that burned across his being. This battle would be interesting – much more worthy of an Adeptus’ attention. He turned away and let his grip loosen slightly. If he knew Tartaglia and the way the man functioned like a cornered animal, the reaction Childe gifted him would be horribly predictable.
And it was. The moment Childe felt the slightest grip on his hair loosen, he threw himself to the side to pull free from the grip and give him the space to pull his own meager element energy through his veins. The weight of his Delusion had already been placed across his arms and rendered Childe incapable of resummoning it, but there was never a moment when Tartaglia backed down from a fight – even if he knew there was no miniscule chance of winning across all multitudes of existence or realities of probability. Zhongli let him go, watching from the corner of his periphery as the young man flew from his grip and rolled across the ground. Raising his hand, Zhongli’s fingers snapped with a loud click the moment he heard the distant lull of ocean waves in his ear.
“You are horribly predictable for a Harbinger. I hope you don’t continue to bore me, Childe. After all we’ve been through, the least you can do is make this a bit interesting.”
The motions that follow the symphony of Zhongli’s words move effortlessly smooth as Childe plays into his hand perfectly. The snap commands the earth to respond. Power surges through Liyue’s ground and it breaks earth beneath them in a long crack leading straight to where Childe is moving to steady himself. The rock sent up by the splitting of the ground smashes against Childe’s neck as his collar glows brightly. In a second, it aligns perfectly to make a long chain of geoconstructs, woven together by a golden chain, and secured against Childe’s collar. The faint sounds of the ocean is gone before it can truly manifest as Zhongli’s power restrains the hydrotic energy within Childe. Silence is broken by the sudden expulsion of air and blood from the Harbiner’s mouth. He coughs, pants, and wheezes, tearing at his throat furiously as he tries to thrash himself free. Blood drips faster down his neck and Zhongli can see a few points where the rock has grown to press into the skin, puncturing it. For a moment, something deep inside of him stirs at the desperate noises that Childe’s making. The Harbinger’s face is mostly red, though it has begun to carry a shade of purple as the scarcity of oxygen leaves it marks. Zhongli hadn’t wanted this to happen. The Tsaritsa had been clear in her intent when they last spoke, and Zhongli had known Childe was a member of the Fatui from the moment his feet landed on the Harbor Dock. He had hoped that their time together would be enough to sway Childe from completing the mission according to plan, but Zhongli understood that it was an unlikely scenario. He had not planned to be forced to fight his friend beside his people in a desperate attempt to save the city Zhongli had helped rise from the ruins of his broken heart, and he had never thought he would be forced to claw the Harbinger away from the last ancient remnants of his ancient happiness.
The Tsaritsa had never intended to crush Guizhong’s Ballistas. It was understood in their agreement and by every Archon or God that touched the ground of Teyvat that there would be no harm done to the last pieces of Guizhong that remained. Turning from Childe, Zhongli walked through the entrance. Closing his eyes, he let the hum of the geoconstruct drown the choked scream from the Harbinger as he yanked on the chain and dragged him forwards behind him. The earth has to those who would give to it, allowing flowers and nations to rise from the dust of forgotten pasts. But, the ground had every right to seize its freedom, and drag those who wounded it down into the depths of rubble and dirt. This was the unbearable contract — non negotiable in war, peace, love, or loss.
In the end, Childe had passed out from blood loss before he could see the chamber that Zhongli had devised. Though it was expected, the inconvenience left Zhongli irritated and alone with his thoughts. He supposed it was for the best though, it would make setting the stage for his nightly entertainment a bit easier.
It still looks the same as it always did, Zhongli noted to himself as he looked around the chamber. Large columns of obsidian rose from the ground, bursting through the floor and creating large circles of rubble surrounding their entrance. They were simple, but elegant. Across each ran several bands filled with molten rock, which filled the room with an ominous glow capable of fluctuation depending on Zhongli’s mood. In the center of the room, the floor dipped to create a shallow basin. Large pillows, cushions, and layers of satin and silk bed sheets covered its expanse. Though atypical in design, the fond memory of decades spent curled in the nest brought a faint smile to Zhongli. Though, it faded the moment it had appeared as Zhongli’s eyes were drawn to a pile of aged parchment paper beside it. It was the least grandiose decoration in the room, but it commanded his attention nonetheless, and Zhongli let himself be pulled into its orbit. Carefully, Zhongli reached down and picked up one of the papers and gently blew off the layer of dust that had covered it.
The paper was a canvas to a series of detailed sketches. They were architectural plans for a large city that lay nestled beside the mountains. It’s buildings were elegant, the instructions planned for the usage of light brown and soft orange wood. In neat printed writing, the plans continued on to construct a dock that would compliment the city and give it utility beyond its own borders. The final touch added at the bottom of the page were lanterns, which would add a soft glow to the city and help it illuminate in the night without appearing ostentatious. The plans were for a place named, “Liyue Habor” and their name was scrawled in the corner beside the lantern in faded ink — Guizhong. Zhongli’s fingers gripped the paper tighter as he scanned the instructions he had dutifully followed a lifetime ago. When his eyes departed from the paper, it occurred to him how cruel time had been.
His chamber floor had been smooth, unscathed and glistening. It was now covered in scratches and piles of rock which had broken the stone floor during a forgotten moment of weakness. There had once been hoards of weapons that lined the room in territorial display, but none of these could be found. There was a time when white glaze lilies had sat in intricate vases beside the place where Guizhong had settled in her white robes to plan the world they would help build together. The darkness of the chamber emphasized its hollowness and the dust that scattered across the floor whispered the memory of a world that Zhongli had watched crumble under the weight of time. Staring back at the plans, centuries of anger and sadness wrapped around his heart. In his forgotten home, Zhongli was left with the ghost of a kinder, more familiar world. A faint cough sounded from behind him and Zhongli turned to stare at Childe’s prone form. His eyes softened for a moment as he caught the pained expression plastered across the bruised face, but they hardened as his fingers let the paper fall to the floor.
Written in the flooded ruins of Liyue Harbor was a dream and a promise. It was proof of the passage of time — which destroyed everything it breathed into existence. But, it was their dream, and it had been drowned by the carelessness of a man who Zhongli had made the mistake of slowly beginning to trust. With every step he took towards Childe, the grooves in the pillars and floors beamed brightly. They followed the rhythmic pulse of his heartbeat as it pushed anger through his veins. And if there were a faint feeling of hands trying to hold him back or a quiet voice begging him to calm down, it was drowned by the deafening sound of elemental energy awakening inside him.
When Childe opened his eyes, he found himself laid across a stone altar. His vision swarmed as he blinked back the waves of nausea and pain that consumed his senses. Ultimately, he opted to squeeze them shit once more as he struggled to choke down the bile rising up his throat. Everything hurt. Childe had never been cautious or reserved in battle, pain was something he was well acquainted to. But, the feeling of every bone in his body threatening to shatter with the slightest movement was an agonizing threshold he had never experienced.
Groaning, he gently tried to move himself and clear the fog from his head. A sharp pain echoed in his wrist, but it was quickly replaced by a growing sense of dread when Childe realized his wrists were restrained. Shit.
Childe took a shaky breath as he opened his eyes once more and forced them to adjust to the faint light. Slowly, the world came into focus. Above him, the ceiling was nothing more than a collection of jagged rock. He was in a cave, or hideout of some kind. Childe grimaced as he looked down to see that he was dressed in only the dirty remains of his undershirt and his black briefs. It doesn’t occur to him to think about where his clothes are as his attention is drawn to the pillars of rock around him. He looks back at bands of geo-constructed stone around his wrists, and reality washes over Childe’s brain. He had followed the plan and begun the final stage of their mission with Signora. Osial had been released, the Gnosis had been secured, and Zhongli had — Childe felt his heart stopped as he pieced together the last piece of the puzzle. Zhongli, Morax, or whatever alias the Archon had settled on, had beaten Childe to a pulp and dragged him from the city. The last thing Childe could remember clearly was the sight of patches of black and gold scales along Zhongli’s arms as Childe was dragged across bits of pointed rock, leaving a thick trail of blood behind them.
“Fuck,” Childe groaned as he let his head fall back. He tried to channel his vision, but a heavy weight was settled inside him and it blocked every ounce of energy Childe put into trying to summon even the smallest hydro blade. He needed a plan, as fast as he possibly could. Before they had parted to execute their respective pieces of the mission, Signora had mentioned that another one of the Harbingers was coming to ensure that evidence of the Fatui’s involvement was kept to a minimum. Signora was heading to Inazuma after handing off the Morax’s Gnosis, and they didn’t need to put the hermit nation on higher alert than it already was. If Childe could either break out by himself or find a way to get a message to the remaining Fatui, then he could get out of here. It was just a matter of getting out.
“Alright, let’s see what we can do.”
The words left Childe’s mouth instinctively as he tried to quietly prepare himself for facing the burning ache of his body. Craning his head back to look behind him, Childe was given enough time to recognize Zhongli’s face despite the sleek black horns that rose from the side of his head before a fist slammed into the side of his face. Blood immediately filled his mouth as a tender cut inside his cheek was reopened.
Blinking away tears, Childe growled as he felt a hand grab his jaw and force him to look up. Zhongli’s eyes were an infinite pool of bright yellow amber, but the lines of his face and the harsh press of fingernails into his skin were hints of his anger. Childe’s brain raced to figure out something to say. Zhongli was pissed, which meant Morax was pissed. Though he didn’t have his Gnosis, the heavy weight Childe felt inside him and the unbreakable restraints of stone were enough to remind him that the situation wasn’t in his favor.
“You forgot to mention you had horns, xiansheng. That would have been an interesting dinner conversation to tell me.”
Against his better judgement, Childe said the first thing that entered his mind. Then, he bit into his lip to stifle a yelp as Zhongli’s hand struck across his face.
“You will learn not to speak unless spoken to.”
That’s the only warning Childe is given before the collar around his neck begins to tighten and restrict around his throat. Survival takes precedence over recovery as Childe begins to squirm and beat his bruised wrists against the rock. Oxygen leaves his lungs in a panicked rush as pressure around his neck continues to grow and Childe feels the bones in his neck creak. His vision begins to fade as Zhongli blurry figure draws a blade down the tattered remains of Childe’s undershirt, cleaving it in half. The top of the knife kisses his skin lightly, but it presses down as it dips between Childe’s pectorals. Blood blossoms from the bright scratch that’s left behind while Zhongli hums as he listens to the panicked grunts and groans coming from Childe. When he raises the knife and returns to press warningly beside the bulge of his flaccid cock, Childe goes completely still. He’s rewarded with an influx of air as the collar loosens around his neck enough to allow him shallow breaths. Childe opens his mouth to speak, but the stinging pain of the knife about to pierce his skin makes the words die in his throat.
Zhongli watches the display in satisfaction. It is almost surprising to him that Childe doesn’t fight him more, but he supposed it made sense that the Harbinger wouldn’t want to risk the chance of Zhongli mutilating his dick. Relaxing the pressure on the knife, Zhongli stares into Childe’s eyes as he cuts the fabric with the blade. There’s a look of disbelief and horror on the Harbinger’s face when Zhongli wordlessly reaches down to remove the cloth and expose Childe’s most intimate parts to the open air. The cock twitches involuntarily as the cold air washes over it. It’s smaller than Zhongli expected, but it’s a decent standard for mortals. To his surprise, however, Childe is completely shaven — something the Archon hadn’t expected. Though Childe’a face was smoothed with a boyish youthfulness, the Harbinger was crude and obsessive enough to give the impression of heavy reliance on several outdated standards of masculine beauty. The fact that Childe chooses to shave intrigues Zhongli, and captivates him. He doesn’t care aesthetically, but the action is far too femininely aligned for Zhongli to have associated with Childe’s hygiene routine. Reaching out, he let his fingers graze over the skin of Childe’s upper thigh and watched the way the muscles stitched in response.
“What the fuck are you doing Zhongli?”
Childe’s voice is strained and hoarse, but it’s laced with anger as he glares down at his former friend venomously. It’s his attempt at regaining his composure and fighting back, but Childe regrets the action instantly. His shout echoes throughout the cavern as draws the knife slowly over his upper thigh. Blood pours from the wound, falling down the side of Childe’s thigh as Zhongli adds another small slice below it.
“I gave you instructions, I expect you to follow them. Or are all the Tsaritsa’s dogs this disobedient?”
“You’re a fucking piece of shit!” Childe snaps at him, indignation burning at the comment and mixing with pain as Zhongli grips his thigh and forces the blood to flow faster from the wounds. The world started to grow fuzzy again as Childe fought to understand the situation. It wasn’t that he didn’t expect Zhongli to be angry. When he learned that the consultant had lied to him, Childe was hurt and horrified. There was no way for him to deviate from the Tsaritsa’s plan, and he would never have anyway — or, so he tells himself. Childe expected Zhongli to be angry, but the hands gripping his thighs and pressing bruises into his skin are not the anger Childe anticipated. When a long serpentine tongue licks the length of the red mark and laps at the blood on his thigh, it occurs to Childe that maybe Zhongli was completely a lie. He can understand Morax wanted to try human life for the experience, but Childe had thought he would be straightforward enough to make Zhongli a more peaceful version of himself rather than fake alter-ego.
But, Childe doesn’t know a single version of peace that involves biting into someone’s thigh and pressing a knife blade to their sack — even if that person is their enemy. A cry of pain finally escapes Childe’s mouth when a hand dips between his asscheeks and a finger forced its way past the dry rim of Childe’s ass. His body feels like it’s on fire and he goes to scream, but the collar tightens once again and suffocates the sound from his lips. Pulling away from his thighs, Zhongli gazed dispassionately at Childe. He watched the panic spread across the worn face as air became obsolete and unreachable. Tears gathered in the corners of the ocean blue eyes as Zhongli worked his finger in and out of Childe’s ass with shallow thrusting motions. The sight generates a heat in Zhongli’s core that stirs and collects in the junction of his legs. Slowly, he freed it from the tight, convulsing heat and removed the knife from where it was positioned against Childe’s balls. Straightening himself, Zhongli walked beside the table and crossed behind Childe. He watched the other man's eyes follow him and heard the sound of his wrist smacking against the altar. It was almost cute the way the Harbinger eyes had gone wide and followed his every movement. Childe played the role of the Tsaritsa’s loyal mutt perfectly, and his puppy dog eyes were perfect mirrors to the pain and fear that corroded his will for defiance. When Zhongli returned to the table with several large glass phallic objects and a bottle of oil, he delighted in the way the quietest of whimpers involuntarily left the Harbinger mouth. Setting the objects down on the empty space near Childe’s head, Zhongli reached out and gently wiped away the tears that trickled from his eyes.
Fear and anger permeated in the air, radiating in intense waves from the Harbinger. There had been a time when Zhongli allowed himself to freely delight in the taste and to let himself enjoy the pleasure of watching the prideful break under more powerful hands. Centuries had passed without the desire to fulfill that craving, but it resonated within him. Childe had torn his nails through barely healed wounds that were much older than him, and he toyed with a heart that had spent centuries healing from betrayal of loss. The situation was certainly different, of course. Childe was alive, breathing and capable of movement. But, that made the loss much worse. Zhongli pushed away the thought and drew his hand away from Childe’s face, there could be no amount of kindness between them. He didn’t want to give the Harbinger another means of avoiding his rage, Zhongli couldn’t continue to risk his people and the timeless dream he had founded the city on. The Tsaritsa was ruthlessly efficient and coldly cunning, it wouldn’t surprise Zhongli to find her outside his doorstep several months later with an army ready to reduce Liyue to dust. If any part of him still looked at the freckled cheeks and tangled ginger head with fondness, Zhongli buried it under the memory of seeing Childe aim to destroy the last remnants of a precious history that faded further into oblivion with every year. His fingers returned to grip Childe’s jaw harshly, “I’m going to give you a very simple choice. You can either comply and open your mouth when I command it, or I will break your jaw and force it open.”
His fingers dug painfully into Childe’s jaw, testing the resistance the bone gave and giving the Harbinger a clear warning. Zhongli could keep him alive easily, they both knew broken bones wouldn’t be enough to kill Childe. Grabbing the construct, Zhongli snapped his fingers and watched as the collar crumbled instantly. He quickly pushed the bits of rock away as he watched Childe work to re-familiarize his lungs with air. Zhongli gives Childe a moment to catch his breath, before he presses the construct against the bruises on his cheek.
“Are you fucking kidding me? What the fuck is this?”
Childe’s voice is raspy as he flinched and tried to pull away from the touch of the smooth rock. He’s staring at Zhongli in disbelief. There wasn’t a world where Childe expected the older man to react the way he did. Though the stories of Morax described him as ruthless and hedonistic, Childe couldn’t imagine the consultant as either, but he looked at Childe cooley and his eyes glinted dangerously in the low light. “It’s a lesson in obedience, and cause and effect. Your actions have led you to being tied to a stone and at the mercy of the Prime of the Adepti. Your obedience, or lack thereof, will decide whether I break more of your bones than you’ve already broken yourself.”
“You lost your Gnosis, we’re on equal —”
Zhongli laughs at the thought. He set the construct down beside Childe’s head and raked his hands over the Harbinger chest, letting his energy collect in the tips of his fingers. For a brief second, it enters Childe and the Harbinger’s face goes pale as his lungs suddenly freeze in place. His entire body halts, unresponsive and unmovable, before Zhongli’s hand departs from his skin and air rushes to fill Chile’s lungs again. It leaves him coughing. He chokes and his lungs now rattle quietly with every breath Childe takes, a small stream of blood trickles down from the corner of his mouth.
“I thought you were better versed in the Archon History, Childe. You should know I was powerful long before my Gnosis, and I will be powerful long after your Tsaritsa has finished her little chess game. Now,” Zhongli picked up the discarded toy and pressed it against Childe’s bruised lips, “I’m going to ask one last time before I take your non-compliance as an answer. Open your mouth.”
Childe stares at him wordlessly, he scans Zhongli’s face for any semblance of reason. But, he finds it empty and he restrains the urge to break into hysterical laughter when he notices the bulge standing out from within Zhongli’s pants. “You’re a dirty old dragon, Morax,” he snaps at the consultant, but Childe’s mouth opens anyway as he fights feelings of nausea at his own compliance. He feels pathetic and disgustingly distant from himself — Tartaglia was not submissive, but Childe felt the nerves inside him thrumming and he felt fear creeping into his veins. He hadn’t been afraid since he fell into the Abyss and watched Ajax drown as he screamed for help. When he rose from the water, Childe left behind his fear in the corpse of himself. He didn’t want to be afraid anymore and he promised himself he would be strong enough to cast a shadow over his former self. But, Childe broke that promise as he opened his mouth compliantly and gagged on the smooth glass construct that slid into his mouth— he was getting nervous.
“Good boy,” the praise feels like a slap to his face, but Childe tries to enjoy it as a sign that he gets to keep full utility of his jaw bone. The construct thrusts in and out of his mouth. It remains shallow at first. Then, it pulls back until only the rounded tip remains, before Zhongli thrust it forwards. The tip hits the back of Childe’s throat and the Harbinger chokes loudly as he struggles to keep his gag reflex at bay. Spit drips from the corner of Childe’s mouth and leaks down the side of his as the toy fucks his throat harshly. When it finally pulls from his mouth, Childe’s eyes are puffy and red with tears as he coughs to choke back the spit that’s filled his mouth. He sniffles as he tries to blink away the tears from his eyes, but Childe leaves his tears unaddressed when a strong hand grabs his leg and pushes it upwards.
“Wait, what the fuck are you doing?” Childe snaps as he tries to move his leg out of the grip. His heart smacks against his chest and his blood begins to thrum with adrenaline. Childe isn’t stupid. He’s worked with the Fatui long enough to know where this is going and he’s found the limit of obedience. Zhongli doesn’t respond. They struggle for a moment and Childe shouts as he tries to kick the consultant away. When his foot smacks against the side of Zhongli’s face, however, the conflict is quickly ended as easily forces his legs into their positions and locks them in place under stone cuffs. It leaves Childe on full display as his knees are bent in the air and his feet are shackled to the side. “Fuck you!” is the only response Childe knows to give as he pushed his knees together as a weak attempt at defending himself. He’s aware it won’t matter much, but it’s enough to make Childe feel like he’s putting up a fight. He refuses to let himself bend at the mercy of a thousand year old perverted dragon with sadistic tendencies — even if that dragon was someone he had formerly considered a friend. But, Childe’s not sure how to feel. The switch in their relationship gives him a sense of whiplash as he struggles to align the fact that Zhongli, and their months worth of fond memories spending time together, is the same person forcing apart his knees and settling between his legs despite Childe’s shouts for the man to stop.
“Why the fuck are you doing this? You don’t need to, there’s a million other things you can do!”
Zhongli remains silent and indifferent as Childe cries and screams at him. He grabs the bottle oil beside them and coats his fingers generously before pressing one of them back into the hole. His fingers hesitate for a moment when Childe cries his name. But, when Zhongli glances up to see furious eyes filled with tears glaring at him and snarling vicious words at him, the memory of Childe destroying Guizhong’s Ballista as Zhongli shouted for him to stop surfaces. Even if he wanted to forgive Childe, he couldn't bring himself to. There’s anger burned into his heart at the sight of everything he loved reduced to rubble and he can’t forgive the way the Harbinger ignored his pleas to leave the relics of Guizhong alone. There’s a price to pay for breaking someone’s heart — Zhongli supposed that they would both have to pay it.
He works his finger diligently in and out of Childe’s entrance, watching as the muscle contracted and clenched to push him out. When he feels the passageway relent, he adds another finger to the mix. Childe’s legs and arms struggle to free themselves while the Harbinger hurls insults at him, but Zhongli ignores the words until he curls fingers upwards and hears an uncharacteristically soft whimper come from the Harbinger.
“Xiansheng, stop.”
There’s a softness to Childe’s words that draw Zhongli’s attention back to him. But when he looks up, there’s a brief wave of guilt that washes over him. The sight of tears running down Childe’s bruised face and the hurt in his eyes are horribly erotic. It sends blood and heat rushing down to reinterest Zhongli’s cock, which had remained semi-hard in his pants. He feels himself twitch as he watched Childe bite down on his lips, drawing blood from the broken skin, to try and suppress another soft groan as the fingers inside him press upwards against the same spot. Morax had been a conqueror and the thrill of power had kept Zhongli alive for a long time. The sight of Childe beginning to look wrecked and totally conquered is hypnotizing. Zhongli moves his fingers faster, thrusting them inside the tight passage and against the bundle of nerves within Childe.
“Does that feel good, Childe?”
It’s a stupid question, but the way Childe glares at him angrily as he blinks away tears drives Zhongli forwards as he quickens the stroke of his fingers. He stretches a third into Childe’s hole and watches as they’re greedily sucked in. Muffled whimpers and gasps encourage him to finger Childe faster as Zhongli seeks to draw every noise he possibly can from the Harbinger. When Zhongli notices that Childe’s cock has hardened and is leaking precum, he can’t help himself from halting his work to lean down and suck on the skin of Childe’s abdomen. His fingers return to their work as Zhongli feels the muscles flutter under the suction of his mouth. He grazes his teeth against it, teasing the skin briefly before biting it as he relished in the moan that tumbled through Childe’s chest. The Harbinger is oddly quiet, as the swears and curses melt into moans and whimpers. Zhongli lays greedy claim to every inch of skin he reach while abusing Childe’s prostate with his fingers. He leaves bites along the base of Childe’s cock, along the toned plane of his abdomen, and along his thigh. Zhongli’s teeth breath the skin with each mark he leaves and his tongue laps at the faint droplets of blood he’s able to pull from the puncture. When Zhongli hears the pitch of Childe’s whimpers increase and feel the flutter of his muscles, he halts his fingers and slowly pulls them away. Childe’s rim is puffy and it twitches erratically as Zhongli’s fingers leave it gaping. However, the loss only lasts for a brief moment before the cool wet head of the glass construct pushes past Childe’s rim.
When Childe moans at the replacement, it’s louder and Zhongli can see the younger man’s look of shame as he breathes heavily. Their eyes lock together as Zhongli pushes the construct in until it’s nestled against Childe’s prostate. He gives Childe a moment, before breaking their stare to press a kiss to a darkening bruise he’s left on the Harbinger’s thigh. Then, he pulls the construct out and begins thrusting it ruthlessly inside of Childe. The room is filled with hoarse moans as the wet sound of the construct slipping in and out of Childe’s ass joins the chorus. Zhongli leaves more bite marks where he can, and greedily plans where to leave the after he’s given Childe a moment to rest. The Harbinger’s cock twitches and throbs, the head flushed an angry color of red as it leaks precum across Childe’s stomach. Soon, the pitched whine of Childe’s voice returns and Zhongli bites down as he feels the Harbinger’s body tense. His hand speeds up the steady frenzied thrusts inside Childe as he hears the Harbinger sob. Zhongli glances up and he watches as Childe’s back arches, his cock twitches angrily as cum shoots from the tip and splatters across Childe’s chest. A few droplets are painted across his collarbone and the remained of his cum drips from his untouched cock as Zhongli removed with construct. It slipped from Childe’s hole with a wet pop and Zhongli laid it on the side of the altar as he stood to leave.
The Harbinger watched him, silently trying to grasp his mind for words and coming up empty. Zhongli headed towards the entrance of the chamber, where he had dragged Childe inside. When he reaches the threshold, he glances back. The sight of the ruined Harbinger panting for air while watching Zhongli leave with hazy tear filled eyes forced him to fight the urge to return to Childe and ruin him again. Zhongli’s dick throbs in his pants and he makes a mental note to take care of it himself later. As he leaves and closes the entrance behind him, Zhongli is left with a running list of plans, and the sickening satisfaction that Childe looked truly sinful and beautiful when broken.
When Childe goes quiet and closes his eyes to fight back angry tears, Capitano remains silent and tightens his grip around the younger man’s waist. There’s more to the story, that much is obvious. He sees Childe attempt to return to his explanation several times, but the words die in his throat. In the end, he settles into Capitano’s arms. And Capitano buries his anger, forcing himself to focus on Childe. The haunting lull of the Abyss temps him to set every square inch of Liyue to blaze until the entire nation is a lump of ash, but he opts to press a careful kiss to Childe’s neck. Over the past weeks, he’s sought to memorize every single nuance of Childe’s reactions. Capitano has mapped out every indication of pleasure, comfort, fear, and disgust that is written between the lines of Childe’s normal motions. When he presses the kiss to Childe’s neck, he pulls back and waits for the sign that indicates he can move forwards. The tension that has been building since Childe began recounting the story suddenly begins to slowly release and there’s a subtle feeling of movement as Childe shuffled backwards to press himself closer to Capitano. The indication fires Capitano into motion as the older Harbinger presses soft kisses to Childe’s neck and speaks warm praises against every inch of skin he can access. Childe accepts his affection silently, humming quietly at times and moving his head to offer Capitano easier access to more of his skin. There is no exchange of words between them because there’s no need to. Childe freezes and shys away when asked if he will let Capitano continue. Childe doesn’t like being asked. The question fails to push past the filter that’s been built into him by his service in the Fatui. He can’t admit he wants the comfort and security, it’s the same among all the Harbingers. So, Capitano doesn’t ask. Instead, he memorized and pays attention to every cue Childe gives him. He backs away at every slight indication of discomfort and waits until he’s given strong pushes towards initiating the contact. They’ve made a secret code together. In the light of a withering fire, Childe lays his head against Capitano’s chest. He lets the sound of Capitano’s heartbeat draw him into relaxed unconsciousness, though he’s completely unaware that the sound will cease to exist when this moment ends between them. Capitano relishes every second of it and he rubs gentle circles on Childe’s back as he brands every inch of Childe’s being into his mind. He forced back the anger flooding through his system and threatening him to action. Instead, he maps every freckle, dimple, and worry line that’s sketched in to Childe’s face. The room falls back into total silence, but it’s comforting. Though they are the agents of the Tsaritsa’s will, the Harbingers relish in the few moments of love they are given. Linking their hands together, Capitano holds every inch of Childe he possibly can and cherishes the way their fingers fit together like pieces of a puzzle. Their hands were never meant to hold, but somehow they do it perfectly.