Chapter Text
Childe idly licks his hand as he makes his way back to town, down a waterfall with the familiarity of the stairs he steps onto as he enters Liyue.
His hands are clean of blood once he passes the archway leading into Liyue, nodding to one of the Millelith who scowls and looks away, face red. Laughter bubbles up in Childe’s throat as he passes, uncaring how he looked. What’s some blood? It was just a few bandits, their lives were of little concern.
Archons, he hates the fact he needs take-out this much. It takes hours out of his closely scheduled week to do this, to sustain whatever sort of madness that burned in his veins and has done so since he had crawled out of the Abyss at fourteen. It is best addressed by what people shed in the heat of the moment: sweat and blood, but it was never truly enough, and with him having expected to only been here a few weeks, perhaps a few months, he is starting to get a reputation he couldn’t afford to have.
The lobby of the Northland Bank is empty as he strides in, clicking across lacquered wood. All there that’s left to do is return to the small room above the lobby, the quiet office suite that he can gather himself and think-
“Sir,” Ekaterina speaks up as Childe is about to ascend the stairs, “your pants.”
Childe stills at the top of the stairs, cradling his hand in his face as he becomes very aware of the damp between his legs, “Thank you, Ekaterina. I’ll go change once I get settled.” That explains why he felt so damn satisfied after the last trip, finally at ease after a whole week’s worth of agitation.
“Of course, sir.” Childe beats a hasty retreat, cursing the lapse. Ekaterina did not get paid enough to deal with his personal affairs, none of the Fatui did, and the fact he slipped, hadn’t even realized he is coming off the heady high of a good brawl is a very bad sign. He finally gets into the private quarters of the bank, locking the door before he strips every inch of clothing off, ignoring the sensitivity of his skin and his half-hard dick.
He has gotten sloppy and risky, fuck, he had come in his pants like he was fifteen and riding the high of trouncing three Fatui at once- he has to take a night off and find a more discreet place for food, before he gets himself caught up with something unforgivable. While the Tsaritsa permits anything in the name of her silent war, Childe has a few rules and one of those is to never drag the Fatui into his personal nonsense unless forced. And his little outings, desperate for contact and touch, may it be in blood or sweat, are the most personal things he has. The Fatui are off limits.
Childe runs his fingers though his hair, breathing slowly in and out. Right. He yanks out a drawer with unnecessary force, pulling out a map of Liyue and picking out several different small disks, each bearing a different Elemental symbol. He spreads the map tenderly, his hand caressing the familiar surface before he starts putting down the disks, considering his options. So the ruins near the Golden House and its miners and hoarders are out of the picture, at least until people stop talking. The Chasm has potential, but with the miners there, he knows he will encounter someone who recognizes his face. The pools south of the Chasm has hitchurls and idiot hoarders, hoarders he could challenge if Childe was truly desperate, but…
He has no interest in dealing with them either. Trying to brawl in the city would betray anything he did to the Qixing, and Childe has no intent to let them have any idea what he is doing, not yet.
God he needs a nap. Childe gets up again, ignoring the dresser to call forward water to scrub at his face, more carefully to clean off his sticky dick, trying to control himself. Slowly, but certainly, with memories of a plain of ice with only a wooden stool, a world too cold for anyone to stay still yet too empty for anything but blood, Child works himself down from the unpleasant prickle under his skin, slowly into the depths of slumber.
It’s the gurgling growl of his stomach that wakes him up, a fine tremble in his hands. Those things, Childe knows how to handle. Normal food would do the trick here, something starchy and meaty, full of vegetables and spices. Noodles, something he could slurp up and feel warmth in his belly. He is more careful getting ready, throwing on a light robe for good measure, and he slips out, inhaling the night air with relief. Right, noodles.
Childe lingers at the slope, passing the plaza and its grand stairs to the docks, between Li and Yue, before he walks on. Neither felt right to his stomach, passing street vendors chattering and customers, even a few of his people, slurping down noodles with sloppy vigor. Then something catches his nose just before he crosses the bridge into Chihu Rock.
What smells so damn good?
Floral and dark, with a sweet undertone that brought to mind a pot filled with earth and fresh flowers, the sort that shatters apart so wonderfully when you drop the container like the best toys. He rolls up his scarf, working on covering his face so that the cloth can conceal his careful sniffing as he sulks through Liyue’s alleys. Childe isn’t familiar with this part of Liyue, where the boundaries between Slope and Terrace blur, but he follows his nose, trusting the intoxicating smell to not be a danger.
The buildings are close, passages that are just wide-enough for lovers to march abreast, with a patchwork of colors from wear and tear. Some are the bright red of Liyue’s main streets, others are faded brown, or gray from age. Others are stone, and it is one of these stone passages Childe chases the scent.
Thicker and thicker, until he finds himself in a lonely hall that is so thick with the smell that Childe wants to roll around in it like he’s some sort of dog, bathing in it until he is full, take in what sort of person could live here, but he doesn’t care, he needs to know. Carefully, lightly, he opens the door.
In the dark, the first thing Childe can make out are a pair of hooded, familiar golden eyes and a form Childe has seen across the landscape, now without a robe, and both hands occupied with a long, thick, and flushed length of flesh that gleams at the tip with precum.
Sweet Majesty.
Childe is seeing Rex Lapis.
He is seeing Rex Lapis jerking off.
“Either leave, or-” Zhongli’s- oh Tsaritsa’s fucking anatomy on a Harbinger’s face- it’s Zhongli and he’s staring with eyes that burn as his voice hitches, then growls out, “Or help.”
Childe steps forward, his jaw going slack as he feels fire rush through his veins, his mouth so wet that he can feel the risk of drool. That. The dick in Zhongli’s hands. That’s what he wants.
He makes the decision then and there, he’s going to fucking devour Zhongli. Fuck the other revelations in his head, he can figure those out later. Childe’s eyes dart to Zhongli’s stunned, hungry face and bolts for him, water flashing behind him as he skids down to his knees between Zhongli’s legs before he can attempt to close them, before Zhongli can deny Childe exactly what he wants.
To Zhongli’s credit, the shaft between his legs hasn’t flagged in its resolute stance, even throbs against Childe’s hand as he steadies it, lines the damp tip to his lips. Without a thought of savoring it when Childe is so damnably hungry, he opens his mouth and envelopes it in slick heat, groaning as his own body throbs with lust. Zhongli makes a strangled noise above Childe, and he spares a glance upward to find Zhongli has shoved half of his own hand into his mouth, the other twisting the soft bedding with an intensity that makes Childe shudder.
“Ch-” Zhongli rasps out as Childe lifts his head up, taking a sharp gasp of the air he had forgot about until his lungs had started to burn. The next syllable is stuttered out as Childe withdraws his mouth, and he slides his tongue down the underside, watching as Zhongli’s hips buck upward, his feet braced against the bed to create a beautiful arch with his back and ass, perfect for Childe to slide his hands underneath and grip.
How has he not noticed this glory before? Childe squeezes the firm swells of flesh as he returns his lips to the weeping slit at the tip of Zhongli’s dick, opening his mouth slowly as he lets his head slide back down, inch by heavenly inch. Zhongli’s noises are still muffled, his chest obscuring his face as his back arches, exposing those pale, distressingly sculpted abs damp with sweat.
Childe focuses on hollowing his cheeks and sucking down the precious thing before him, groaning helplessly as the weight fills his mouth and glides down his throat as if he is made for this. He fights to memorize every ridge and vein pushing its way past his lips, stretching it as wide as he can afford it, the deep, desperate moan from both of their throats resonating across that blissful instrument, through Zhongli’s body, and reverberating in Childe’s hands, still filled with Zhongli’s ass.
He clenches his hands, digging into flesh to pull Zhongli back down, along with that delicious cock, until all that is still in Childe’s mouth is the tip, and he waits as Zhongli wordlessly whimpers. Childe needs to see this- Childe’s eyes stay fixed on Zhongli’s face as Zhongli looks wildly down, his eyes locking as his entire body tenses, that singular tell of a mountain peak of a climax. As Childe hopes, has craved without realizing it, he gets to watch as Zhongli crests that peak and shouts all the way down, flooding Childe’s mouth full of a thick liquid that reeks and clings perfectly to his tongue and down his throat.
Zhongli stares blankly at Childe for a moment before his eyes flutter shut and he crumples backward onto the bed, an exhalation coming out of his mouth of soul-deep exhaustion and unconsciousness. Childe isn’t sure what to do, wiping his mouth with his scarf as his body sang with satiety.
What the fuck just happened?
And how can he have it happen again?
Wait, no, he can’t do that. He is not going to be able to explain how he put his mouth on someone like… like this, to the point of the guy passing out, diplomatic immunity or not. If he leaves now, Zhongli will likely justify it as a dream, especially if Childe keeps a straight face the next time they see each other.
But can he? It feels absurd to even consider it, when he has found something so good, but he can’t risk it, not even for Zhongli.
Especially for Zhongli.
Childe grits his teeth and steps away into the night air. It’s just the moonlight, a fancy that Zhongli will excuse if Childe plays his cards right.
He just has to avoid getting caught the way he is by anyone, Liyue or Fatui. That’s easy, he just- has to take the roofs, right? He glances upward, calculating how quickly he can do it without brushing his aching erection against anything. He is used to discretion when he must, and here? Here, he must. He needs to cover his trail and make sure no one notices his hasty retreat, through a window in Northland Bank, then fumbling the lock to his office twice before he slams it closed and shoves his hands down his trousers for release.
Childe barely has his hand around his cock and his tongue around his scarf-covered hand, where Zhongli’s smell lingers before his legs give out, another pair of pants soiled by desperate desire, the second in a day. Her Majesty be fucked, why is he acting like this? Why is he seriously considering another visit, just like that? He is the vanguard of the Tsaritsa, the weapon in the storm’s eye, he wasn’t some teenager with a sword barely the length of his forearm, hungry for something he can’t define.
He pulls off the scarf, folding it neatly. For a moment, he thinks, and tucks one end of it into his mouth, worries the semen-stained fabric with his teeth and tongue as he thinks of his next move.
Right, now he needs to clean up again, and write to the Tsaritsa. There is no way she doesn’t know that Rex Lapis is Zhongli. There’s more to this and while he’ll play his part, possibly blindly if he must, he is not going to let the director of this play, his Archon, know that something is going on and he is not going to go into this unprepared.
The Sigils are in progress, the best idea for him is to double-check his accounts are prepared, for when things start to fall into place. He needs to be able to leave immediately once he extracts the Gnosis, once- someone does, as he has every plan to make things interesting to cover his escape, leaving a particular Traveler behind to take the fall.
As for Zhongli, all he can do is pretend nothing is wrong, that nothing has changed. After all, with the labyrinth of gardens and pathways, there should have been no way for Childe to have found him, especially not like… that.
Childe huffs through the now spit-soaked cloth in his mouth. Tea first, to get the taste out of his mouth. Then he needs to prepare, and fast, before morning. Things are moving quickly and he looks forward to the finale as much as he dreads it and the end of his time here in Liyue.
*
Childe is sprawled across the Golden House, the mask of his Foul Legacy shattered, his armor fragmented around him, ichor bleeding out of his arm, his body too weak to take another form and escape. His last card has been played, calling upon the Sigil forgeries to claim the Gnosis from the rumble of Liyue Harbor if he must, and now two people stand before him: the strange traveler and Zhongli, both he knows to be more than human.
Not even a Foul Legacy can outdo the power of two divinities, not when one had come prepared. In Zhongli’s hand is a wicked spear that still burns white-hot even now, had flared to life the moment it had come close to Childe, and it hurt. Childe isn’t sure what the hell it is, but he knows it is somehow anathema to him, and it makes him hate it and want Zhongli all the more.
“Go,” Zhongli barks to the Traveler, their golden eyes wide, Zhongli’s tone one Childe could see commanding armies, training warriors, training him. “You need to work with the Qixing, I’ll deal with him-” The sharp gesture Zhongli makes at the Traveler sends them running with their strange companion soaring by their side, not even sparing a glance at Childe. Zhongli, on the other hand, watches the Traveler retreat, his eyes off Childe for a split second.
If he can just get to Zhongli, maybe he can-
Childe rushes at Zhongli one last time, only to collide with a stone stele. He topples to the ground, his body aching from a heady combination of his wounds, his transformation, and hunger. The Foul Legacy had taken all of his energy stores and now, he knows he is going to die. There’s no other ending to this tale-
“Your kind haven’t been seen for a very long time,” Zhongli murmurs above Childe. Childe’s eyes flutter open to find the spear pointed at Childe’s hammering pulse, “Most adeptus would have had your head for daring to step foot into Liyue.”
“What… am I then?”
Zhongli maintains his grip on his spear, his hand and weapon unwavering. A small blessing, with how close the point is to Childe’s throat, “Once, centuries ago, the Tsaritsa sought the last of them out, as did Barbatos, chasing rumors. They never told me what had happened then, it was only recently, with the Traveler to act as courtier that I managed to learn more on the matter.”
“I do not know how it happened, and I suspect your Archon has no idea, but it would seem you are a cubus, an entity that feeds on the vital energies of those who interact with you. Once, they swam in dreams, and they could surface from those dreams with faces fair enough to lure mortals to the Abyss. They often feasted on the fluids of mortals to replenish their own magic.”
Blood, sweat, tears, and semen.
Well that now made sense.
“What… what are you going to do with me?” Childe’s instincts scream there is something else going on, and he hates not knowing. He has been the fool before, and he hates it. His fingers curl deep into the stone, his teeth grinding.
“I had always considered them an enemy, ones who breach the contract of fidelity and chastity,” Childe’s heart twists at Zhongli’s impassive words as the spear moves with slow deliberation, “how peculiar that I snare one,” Zhongli’s spear taps Childe’s too-warm cheek with a quiet smack of Childe’s coagulating blood on the weapon, and Childe wants to dislocate his jaw and just lick it to taste blood, “and that it is so very mutual.”
Mutual? Is Zhongli implying that-
Zhongli drops the spear with a clatter and kneels down between Childe’s thighs, almost a mirror of that night weeks ago as he places his hands on either side of Childe’s aching torso, hovering above him, “I had thought then, you were just a dream, a passing fancy spun up by my desires. I have never been victim to a cubus’s magic, but I certainly can tell its effects in my people.”
Slowly, he inches his mouth forward, agonizingly close and yet not touching, not yet as he whispers, “I can see how it is intoxicating, and with you,” Zhongli brushes his lips against Childe’s cheek, “I see it in your Fatui. You don’t touch them, nor have you touched Liyue. Not a single Millelith has died at your hand, even here, in front of the Golden House. You are a monster, but you are one with principles that bind you.”
Childe stares up at those golden eyes bearing down on him, a vortex of emotions too many and too wild for Childe to pick apart here on the floor.
“Swear to me,” Zhongli whispers, his lips kissing Childe’s brow just beneath where his mask has broken, the warmth and tenderness making Childe shudder, “Forge a new contract to me, and I will keep you fed and strong until the end of our days.”
Something prickles Childe’s eyes, then trickles down his face, the wind in the distance howling. He knows Osial is coming, he knows he should run, he should use his claws and rip out the damn Gnosis now, and… he doesn’t care. He has cast his lot and he knows to the Tsaritsa, he is just a tool. An useful, vicious one, her blade before the storm, but… is it worth it? Here is Zhongli, offering a fragile gift that promises so much more, if he dares to step into the unknown.
“How about,” Childe raises his hand, bracing himself against the ground and the grooves his claws have dug to pull himself up to meet Zhongli blue eye to golden eye, “We write a better one than that?”
The vulnerable anxiety in Zhongli’s eyes melts away at the exactly right words for Childe to say, as he smiles and nods. The smile turns hungry, teeth deliciously bared, his hand sliding down to be achingly close to Childe’s dick, just beyond its weeping head, “Then I’ll write it on your very skin so that all will know you are mine.”
“Fuck, yes,” Childe hisses, his clawed hands scoring the stone floor again as he rocks against Zhongli’s hand, trying to get something, anything to rub against his erection. A clink of glass rings out in the room, and Childe spies Zhongli uncorking a small bottle with his teeth.
“Are- are you fucking serious? You brought oil here?” Childe snarls, even as his body yields to Zhongli’s touch, spreading his legs desperately for more of him.
Zhongli hums, pouring the oil on his hands and rubbing them together eagerly, his eyes keeping Childe pinned. Hoarse laughter bubbles out of Childe at that ridiculous gesture before the noise melts into a greedy moan as Zhongli’s slick fingers start to tease, rubbing small circles about the tight circle of muscle before carefully, that damnable other hand returning to press down on his stomach, keeping him pinned.
“Were you planning this?”
“Planning, no. Hoping?” Zhongli’s fingers shift and ah, sweet erect Archon, Childe feels a wave of jaw-dropping pleasure, his arms giving out, not even caring as his head collides with the floor. “I confess to a yes,” Zhongli shudders as Childe’s legs tremble, eyes closed as if he’s the one being given pleasure, “I may be one of the Seven, but even I can feel, as you have seen.”
Childe gasps again, somehow another finger slipping in smoothly as Zhongli . Distantly, Childe can hear battle, magic and firearms and ballistas being fired. Liyue is fighting for its survival, and here Rex Lapis is, starting to finger his ass as if he has all of the time in the world. Why? Didn’t he care for his city? Childe was starting to not care about the Tsaritsa, not if it meant feeling like this, somewhere between the exhilarating exhaustion of a good fight and every thought fucked out of him. He doesn’t fucking care what’s going on outside at this point.
Then somehow, breaking through Childe’s panicked, distracted internal conflict, Zhongli slides in and rocks unrelentingly against that same damn spot that had made him collapse before, and all Childe can do is open his mouth open in a silent scream of joy. This, this is the same righteousness he feels on the battlefield, testing his limits as far as he can, the burn of raw power in him, and then, Zhongli starts to move with an almost punishing force.
How, how is this so easy and right? At this point, Childe doesn’t give a single frozen tit, his hands scrambling and clawing at the leather coat still cruelly on Zhongli’s back, depriving Childe of more of this man’s touch as Childe accepts, and keeps accepting every bruising, glorious thrust, taking in each hungry grunt and groan until Zhongli’s thrusts become more urgent. Childe cranes his neck up to drag Zhongli into a final, starving kiss full of teeth and tongue as Zhongli buries himself to the root, and roars.
Liquid heat pumps into Childe and all he wants to do, all he can do is scream ‘yes’, this is exactly what he needed. Desperately, he grips his dick, a mad thought of keeping himself from coming to keep as much of this inside of him you idiot it’s not the same, all he wants is to stay like this, hard and full and power coursing through him like a vase being filled with precious water.
He feels his hand slapped away, teeth set into his ear as Zhongli wraps his hand possessively around Childe’s cock, gripping it with the cruel strength of a vise, “No,” Zhongli growls as Childe shouts wordless protest, “I will pour out every drop of your Tsaritsa’s power, and fill it with mine.”
Zhongli’s other hand, glowing with Geo, presses the sparking and hissing Delusion against Childe’s abdomen, and crushes it.
That broken legacy fractures lightning across Childe, a malicious ball of Electro forced out into the world, and his back feels like it’s being flayed and he has seen what that is like, his head like it’s being cracked open from the front, even as he hears the dying roar of Osial in the distance, his scream bellows louder in the chamber, his body spasming around Zhongli’s cock as finally, somehow, he feels whole, impossibly full and warm. He rides that delirious high as he thrashes, the twin points of Zhongli’s hands.
All that remains of his armor once Childe comes down is water and rust, Childe shivering in the damp contrast between Zhongli’s body and slick stone, a strange, soothing heat radiating in Childe’s stomach.
Zhongli’s leans to the side, plucking something off the ground as Childe pants, trying to collect himself before his hands scramble for purchase as Zhongli hoists him upward, a leathery cloak pulled close around his armor-less body. “Come, we have work to do.”
We. Why does that word sound so powerful here? The strange cloak is welcome, with how tender Childe feels, his stomach still churning from heat, his ass sweetly aching, limbs still trembling from orgasmic aftershocks, every inch of his body feeling battered and bloodied.
As Zhongli carries him out, the rain splattering about them both, Childe flinches at the impact of droplets as if he is shocked each time one strikes, no matter how gently. Zhongli glances at Childe and quickens his pace until they are under shelter, avoiding people, and still carrying him like he is a treasure or a bride. Childe feels strong, warm fingers card through his hair before Zhongli presses his lips again something oddly hard and sensitive at his brow, almost as if someone had touched one of his teeth from the inside.
It isn’t unwelcome, but-
“You’re getting clothes first,” Zhongli’s voice’s voice interrupts his thoughts, the splash of water as they traverse that labyrinth again, the smell of fear and blood and magic in the air even people scramble to pitch out rainwater from the torrential storm that Childe has caused with his summoning, shivering against the abrupt chill of Zhongli’s pace.
Cryo fills his veins as he catches himself in the mirror. Blue-purple bruises riddle his scarred skin, marks from his impacts that should have not formed so soon, burns from Zhongli’s spear, cuts from the Traveler’s blade, all showing evidence of healing too quickly for his body to naturally do.
Then he notices exactly what is so hard on his brow. A single, delicate horn spirals outward from under his bangs, the same deep blue and purple as his bruises, and as he touches it, again, that sensation of his teeth being touched from within and shock, a shock that makes his back flex and the leathery cloak he has assumed Zhongli had brought with him, spread outward, a pair of wings that knock down a few books resting on a small table nearby.
Before Childe can ask how the hell he is going to wear anything with these things, Zhongli’s chest is against his back, Childe’s shoulder acting as a pillow for Zhongli’s jaw. Now that Childe has a better look, Zhongli has taken injuries from him as well, minute nicks and cuts from close calls. A hand rests perfectly on Childe’s bare hip as Zhongli speaks.
“Focus. Imagine those parts as nothing but shadow. Let them fade back and think of what you will be.”
Childe closes his eyes to do exactly that, and then slowly opens his eyes to find those additions have vanished. He can feel them, but it is like the faintest shiver on his brow, on his shoulder blades, down his spine, and every bruise and cut has been hidden… besides one mark, red that fades to amber, like Zhongli’s markings and eyes, almost radiant in the dim room and set under his navel, four squares overlapped by a larger one.
Childe rubs at it curiously, discovering it doesn’t smudge. If anything, pressure on it makes his cock throb, almost as if he could get hard from that touch alone.
“My sigil,” Zhongli whispers, the noise making Childe’s dick twitch more, releasing Childe and offering him a jacket, soft grays that aren’t quite his usual attire, far more the shade of stone than of ash. “Get dressed. We have an appointment at Northland Bank to make.”
Damn, he would rather find out just what the hell this mark can do to him, but Childe knows he will get some answers if he goes now. Childe grumbles as he pulls the shirt on and fumbles for his Vision, pressed into his hand by Zhongli, gasping at the tenderness of hidden bruises, the sensitivity of his skin.
“Punctual as ever, Morax. Congratulations, Liyue still stands.” Childe groans at Signora’s voice as Zhongli step into the Bank. Figures. Of course she is involved, she was in Mondstatdt before, she must have made the deal soon before he had arrived months before. He hadn’t expected to feel better about giving into his own hunger this quickly, at this blunt reminder that he is just a tool to the Tsaritsa.
Signora’s smooth smile doesn’t even falter as Childe follows in Zhongli’s wake. “And the lovely star of the show! How does it feel, turning Liyue into a diamond?” Her smile is tight and smug enough that if Childe hadn’t had his brains practically fucked out of his ass barely an hour before, Childe would have punched her hard enough to create a Signora-sized security breach in Northland Bank’s vaults.
Childe puts on his own familiar, courtly mask, a cheery smile that is more like baring teeth as he answers, “Oh, just delightful, despite all of the improvisation I had to do. You know, keeping a co-worker in the dark is a terrible look on you, Signora.”
“Now, now,” Signora’s lips continue to infuriate Childe, “Morax’s little test had to look convincing, after all. Now Morax, if you would, the Gnosis, please.”
That is it, Childe realizes, he was a cover. It has been all a part of a plan, some sort of test, perhaps to prove Liyue would survive without their Rex Lapis? All but except for what Childe was. Tsaritsa’s lobbed off tits on the floor, he’s going to throttle Zhongli later. The idea of scoring Zhongli’s body, extracting his own revenge for not telling him also does sound appealing to Childe. Very appealing.
The present Fatui had the sense to become very invested in work behind cover, much to Childe’s pride. They still have some sense.
Zhongli somehow reads Childe’s intent and covers his sputter with a clearing of his throat, his lingering blush enough to hide the new resurgence of color Once Zhongli regains his composure, he speaks solemnly, “The contract is fulfilled. That which thou seeketh is now bestowed unto thee, for my promise is solid as stone.”
A slender piece of bronze, amber, and steel appears in Zhongli’s hand, pulsing with the weight of the ages.
Childe’s tempted to grab it and shove it into his mouth out of spite, but something keeps his feet planted on the ground, unable to move. This is a contract, he can not interfere.
Ah, so that is part of his own contract.
“We should return to Zapolyarny Palace and seek an audience with Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa,” Signora turns on her heel, her long cloak following suit, “Come, Childe.” She says it like he is some common dog, and it makes Childe grit his teeth.
“However,” Zhongli states, “There has been a breach of contract.”
Zhongli crosses his arms, Signora turning on her heel yet again to study Zhongli. Behind her, the door creaks open, the Traveler and their high-pitched companion peeking in on this glorious moment. “Your Archon sent an entity of the Abyss to Liyue without my prior consent or knowledge, against the treaties of the Archon War,” Zhongli shares a glance with Childe, a smile growing on his lips, a prouder one than Childe has ever seen on the Tsaritsa, “I regret to inform you that you will need to carry the news to her, for I have already claimed my compensation on the matter.”
Her eyes flick to Childe, her nostrils flaring in a sharp inhalation as it dawns on her exactly what that compensation is. Under her frigid exterior, Childe can feel her hunger to shove an icicle in his eye, to show him just what happens to traitors, but he also knows if she lashes out here, he will be able to defend himself.
Oh her Majesty the Tsaritsa, thank his foresight for his preparations for leaving Liyue including withdrawals from Northland Bank.
“Harbinger,” Ekaterina speaks up mildly, “This is a bank. If you have completed your transactions, I humbly request you please leave to allow other clients to arrive unimpeded.”
And thank his foresight in training his (former) agents in how to defend themselves, as Signora stares in stunned shock, that icicle intended for Childe now buried in the wall behind the reception desk after Ekaterina has ducked. Her lips curl into a snarl and she stalks out, leaving snowfall in her wake.
One of the Northland guards, a heavy-set woman that Childe insisted on learning hand-eye coordination by needlework, Vasilisa, peeks her head out from behind a pillar, clearing her throat as well, her voice a higher squeak. He can taste her nervous sweating from here, bleeding out as she addresses him with that old deference, even though she knows something has happened. “Sirs, while we are expected to treat guests and clients kindly, we are also obligated to not parley with traitors. Could… Could you please leave?”
Childe laughs and bows as he turns, Zhongli following, his eyes warm as the sun and making Childe’s skin prickle in the same way, “Don’t be a stranger, comrades. I suspect I’ll be seeing all of you on a battlefield one day.” Childe saunters out to the resulting chorus of horrified groans.
“I would complain about making an entire branch of a bank defect out of fear, but perhaps that would be a good thing,” Zhongli mutters, interlacing his fingers with Childe’s. “I believe it is my turn to treat you to lunch?”
At the word lunch, Childe’s stomach twists, recognizing exactly what Zhongli, his god, means and that his body knows it too. Fuck it, he’s starving in both senses. With a quick kiss as an appetizer, he pulls his Zhongli along. “I’m thinking noodles.”