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On a night like any other, Zhongli lost himself.
Life still went on despite this fact. After he had removed himself from the position of Archon, people had stopped praying to him. They still loved him, but no longer in the way that was carried over by their worship. His "death" left a deep scar in their hearts, one that would never heal. Mankind, however, had the ability to overcome the most dire of predictments.
Liyue was thriving.
It was rare for Zhongli to not be in high spirits on nights like these; despite having lived and relieved them, over and over, for the past centuries since he had adopted this human vessel. That was because he considered it— this, a privilege. This current peace he and old friends had fought so hard for. All the bloodshed, misery and devastation. Those dark memories would forever stay with him, as a part of the history he and his old friends built.
There were times however — when the larger realisation just hit. Unexpected and unwelcome. A numb feeling of loneliness.
It was always brief, and easily ignorable once Zhongli pulled his thoughts back together.
(Guizhong's smile under the lights of the xiao lanterns sticks to the front of his mind.
Zhongli forces the image into the back of it but it won't leave.
It won't leave.
It won't leave.)
Director Hu had been the one to point out his sudden irritability towards some of their associates. She had led him to her office to reprimand him for his unprofessional behaviour, and how —
She had paused to look at him, eyebrows coming together and creasing the bridge of her nose, and Zhongli hated it, hated the way she had looked at him like he was stupid, like he was missing something so fundamental that it’s embarrassing.
— "unlike him" it was.
Her tone was soft with concern when she asked, “What's wrong, Mr Zhongli?"
It drew upon him just then.
The increasing irritability, the unjustifiable anger towards the most mundane of inconveniences, the recent nights where he'd wake with a sweat-clammy back and a bulge in his briefs—
Zhongli reprimanded himself for not realising this sooner. He might actually be stupid.
What was wrong with him: nothing.
Zhongli would like to say that there was a clear distinction — Zhongli was the man, and Morax was the dragon. But in reality, things weren't so black and white.
This form—this body of an adult human male, was not him. It was just a vessel he had created for his illuminated self to walk among mortals. Nothing more than a costume.
Everything else, however — his mind, soul, and even senses — those were all himself. Those of a dragon.
That didn't bother him. Most of those characteristics worked to his advantage, even, his libido being the only exception. Dragons were sexual creatures, and even if he was not a slave to his instincts like he once used to be, sex was still something he actively enjoyed from time to time.
If anything, sex was just another aspect of his life he was particular to a fault in; having lived for as long as he had, having taken many partners in that span of time, he’d developed concrete ideas of his likes or dislikes. Ruts were an annoyance, but they came consistently, making it easier for Zhongli to manage his schedule between work, hangouts, and the regular visit to the Pearl Gallery.
This was not the case. His rut wasn’t scheduled to occur for another two weeks.
"Urgent family matters," he had lied, "I'm terribly sorry, Director Hu. If it isn't too much to ask, may I request this week off? We can discuss the details after I solve this issue if that's agreeable to you."
The look of confusion never left Hu Tao's face, even as she had agreed without further inquiry — which Zhongli appreciated. He would make sure to honour her benevolence by retreating to his old abode in Juyen Karst, far away from this mundane life he took great pains to achieve for himself.
That had been the plan. Before he'd taken that man into account.
He smelled Tartaglia before he saw him.
He was unsure of it at first. The scent was slightly off, but then again, the only other people that walked around this area were ruffians and wandering merchants, both of which either lacked time or decency to shower properly.
Furthermore, Tartaglia was the only person he knew that used this brand of cologne. A distinguishable Snezhnayan scent. A tiny piece of Tartaglia's homeland for him to carry on his constant travels.
The Tsaritsa had only spoken praise for her Eleventh Harbinger ("He's good at his job; sowing chaos wherever he marches. That's why I keep him outside my borders," his mind reminded of their meeting), so Zhongli had high expectations for him to give Liyue its test of strength. Perhaps too high, even.
Zhongli had not been impressed when he first met 'Childe' — as the Harbinger had introduced himself. His first impression of the Snezhnayan was of a condescending snob from a faraway land.
'Childe' had not even bothered doing the bare minimum by keeping his identity a secret. He wore his Fatui uniform and insignia in broad daylight, which instantly made people wary, and some scared of him.
Clearly, subtleness wasn't in the man's personal vocabulary.
On the diplomatic meetings he was invited to, depending on his end goal, he'd either choose to adorn himself in the medals of his military accomplishments or settle for a loose-fitting satin blouse tucked into a pair of dark trousers that cling so tightly to his skin it left no inch of those attractively long legs to anyone’s imagination. If he wanted to make a show of intimidation, he'd go for the former. If he wanted to seduce, he'd go for the latter. He'd stroll around with the flat expanse of his belly and hip bones bared out by his strategically unbuttoned shirt.
Seduction was a strong weapon in the world of politics, and no doubt Tartaglia had to master it somewhere along his rapid climb to the top ranks of his organization. But that 'Childe' persona… That jovial young lord was endearing in a way that differed from the hands-between-the-thighs approach. 'Childe' had a charm that was — for a lack of a better word — genuine.
Zhongli admitted this technique to be so effective that even he fell for it. He warmed up to the young man's presence in no time, their relationship evolving into meeting him outside of the scheduled meetings to lose many hours a day just talking about anything that crossed his mind.
It's rare to see—a man that lived up to his reputation.
Tartaglia really was dangerous.
He should've known by then the Tsaritsa did not offer her praise to anyone so easily. The timing was perfect—Tartaglia had dropped the whole act so easily; Osial had been unleashed, the crisis had been averted by the combined efforts of his adepti and the Qixing, and the final contract had been fulfilled with the handing off of his gnosis to La Signora.
Zhongli inhaled deeply, and then parted his lips, exhaling softly.
The perfume had already begun to wear off and fade, revealing Tartaglia's natural musk.
As if he was being pulled, Zhongli followed the scent until he could finally see him.
From somewhere Zhongli knew he wouldn't be noticed, he watched Tartaglia swim in one of the crystalline pools of Luhua. Tartaglia slipped into the water. When he resurfaced, it was with the grace of a water-born deity. The ripples disappeared and the water grew still again, the young man in the middle unmoving. His eyes closed, as he blissfully basked in the sun's dying lights, pinks and oranges painting the water's surface. Tartaglia pushed his hair off his face, slicking it back with both hands, and began walking towards the water's edge to—
Oh— Oh.
The sight of one of the Tsaritsa's Harbingers nude was considered something forbidden to witness by anyone that wasn't their Tsaritsa. They were the Cryo Archon's crown jewels, and she, like all other fairies, was very, dangerously overprotective of her personal treasures.
Zhongli took this unique opportunity to appraise the youngest of the Eleven from top to bottom.
Bare of the military uniform, the man who imposed fear and respect was nowhere to be found. Tartaglia was athletic as one would expect, but thin, concerningly so. His hair was a fiery colour, a stark contrast to his alabaster skin. He calmly walked to the edge of the riverbank, the water level sinking past his waist to reveal long legs, smooth-skinned and elegant. His toes touched the dirt and he bent down to pick up two small, lovingly handcrafted bottles of clay from his pile of clothes.
Tartaglia applied scented oils to his hair in gentle circular motions while Zhongli watched, mesmerized, as the colours of the sunset painted his pale complexion in light brushes of yellow and orange.
(Like gold…)
After finishing his hair, Tartaglia then moved to his body, running his palms down his torso to his limbs where a few pink scars crisscrossed. Zhongli's eyes followed those hands further down, down to his crotch where— Zhongli's gaze focused on it like an arrow ready to be fired— he was greeted by the sight of the boy's bare cunt.
Oh, Celestia be good, he felt as if his prick was about to fall off from how hard and heavy the thing was.
Plump lips flushed pink from the bath and with a small heart-shaped tuft of downy ginger hair at the crown of the slit. He was practically salivating just from imagining making the boy sit on his face so he could taste his dripping quim.
Old dragons like himself were hard to please, and as the centuries added up, he decided to stop his search for a proper mate. The era of dragons was long bygone, old friends didn't know of the ways of the flesh, and experienced prostitutes lacked the reverence and worship lovers were known for.
He had never felt anything so strongly as he was feeling right now in centuries! Centuries! And towards the enemy, no less!
His eyes widened as he then dwelled on that last thought.
Enemy… Yes, that was all Tartaglia was.
Enemies should be dealt with. And if Zhongli were to subdue Tartaglia now—he would be solving his two biggest problems at once.
Two birds.
One stone.
It was hours past the time Tartaglia retreated inside his tent when Zhongli finally made a move.
The flap to Tartaglia's tent was pulled to the side, revealing the curled up form of the boy inside. Zhongli approached the entrance quietly, lowering himself to have a better look at Tartaglia's moonlit features.
This up close and barren of the seemingly perpetual smirk, Zhongli could make out the details of the boy's face. Tartaglia looked serene in his sleep. Endearing, even; with that dusting of freckles over the bridge of his nose and shoulders.
Celestia, Tartaglia was so young. It was so much more apparent now, without the uniform and the makeup which concealed the fat on his face and hips.
Zhongli greedily looked him up and down. He was only wearing his uniform pants, the hem loose and hanging off his trim waist.
Tartaglia's body looked more like one of a dancer than one of a warrior. This was complemented by his ephebic face, the soft curls of ginger that framed it, the long, light-coloured lashes resting over his cheekbones and the small dusting of freckles over the bridge of his nose.
Of course, Zhongli knew better than to fall for this illusion of innocence. Tartaglia only appeared docile because he was relaxed. When in motion, he was lethal, every part of him moved with calculated grace and when he tensed, everyone would be treated to the sight of strong abdominal muscles, toned from the battle the Eleventh constantly craved. If Zhongli touched his belly now, he was sure he’d feel them, how hard and taut they were…
Placing his hands on the hard ground, Zhongli leaned in carefully. His face hovered right beside Tartaglia's neck— and inhaled deeply.
He immediately felt something sharp press up under his jaw.
He grunted, pulling his weight off the boy. The sharp edge of what he now recognized as a blade made of hydro followed him, the pressure of it never leaving his skin.
"Morax..?"
Zhongli's gaze met wide blue eyes.
"Zhongli," he corrected. "The Geo Archon has passed away."
"Oh, he will in a minute if he doesn't tell me what in the Abyss he was doing just now."
"I was just passing by— and then I was lured here by you."
The pressure under his jaw was relieved slightly. Tartaglia made a confused expression.
"Your scent, to be more precise. At first, I was surprised. I didn't expect to find you in Liyue, still. If you were the least bit as wise as your associate, you would've left already."
Tartaglia rolled his eyes. "Is this about the contract—"
"No. No, that contract has already been fulfilled. There's nothing left that's binding us down."
"Oh, really? Then let me ask you this again, since you clearly didn't understand the first time I asked—why did you come to me? 'Lured by my scent'? What does that even mean? Actually—no. I don't care enough to know. If your reason is anything other than to have a real battle— I am not interested."
There was a nagging itch on Zhongli's cheek. He raised his hand to scratch it.
"A duel," he grumbled, growing irritated when the itch only seemed to get worse with his ministrations, "is not what I'm here for..."
"Oh?" Tartaglia's tone became condescending. "Interesting wording. So you do want something from me. Go on…" He shook his weapon in a beckoning motion. "Spit it out."
Zhongli lunged at Tartaglia.
Tartaglia barely had the time for a reaction when his back hit the ground, knocking the breath out of his lungs. Zhongli hovered over him, his hands clasping the top of the boy's biceps and pinning him in place.
"As much as I dread to admit, I fell victim to your seductions, Harbinger. I usually never act on my own temptations but since you decided to overstay your welcome in my territory, I believe it's safe to assume you intended for this to happen."
He leaned into the juncture of Tartaglia's neck. He felt the boy grow stiff as he gently rubbed the tip of his nose along Tartaglia's carotid artery, taking in quick, desperate inhales. "Haah, this smell… I can't just ignore it. So ripe…"
Zhongli snatched Tartaglia’s wrist before his hand could hit him in the face, and pinned it over his head. Zhongli leaned in close and slotted his face into the curve between that thin neck and bony shoulder.
“What’re you doing?” Tartaglia shouted, and pushed at him. “You need to stop!"
"I watched you bathe, picked up on your scent hours ago… You've got a sweet-smelling little cunt."
He felt Tartaglia stiffen beneath him. Zhongli's thumb brushed down the skin of his wrist to his palm. His skin was soft from the bath. There were small calluses sitting on the crest of his palm, right below his fingers. Hands of a warrior, indeed.
"Are you in the midst of your cycle?” Zhongli ignored the boy's protests. He scented the air with a flick of his tongue. "Hmm, not enough. I'll have to have a proper taste to clearly tell…" He pondered, pulling away just enough to take in the boy's horrified expression. "Ah— I scared you, didn’t I?”
“Yes, Zhongli,” Tartaglia said, and he squirmed where Zhongli had him pinned. “I’m very scared right now.”
Zhongli chuffed closer again. "That's a normal reaction, especially if it's your first time. No need to worry, I'm not a greedy bed mate. Be grateful I'll be your first—"
Zhongli was surprised by a headbutt to his nose. The impact wasn't strong enough to hurt, but it startled him enough to make him loosen his grip on the Harbinger, who took the opportunity to twist his arms back to pry his wrists out of Zhongli's grip. Tartaglia kneed him in the groin and Zhongli grunted, his voice tearing into the carrying growl of an angry dragon. Oh, he was angry alright. He had been courteous and this was how Tartaglia responded? So be it. They'll do this the hard way.
Tartaglia kicked him a few more times before he was rolling to the side. Zhongli reached towards that head of orange to grab him by the curls.
"Let go, you freak!"
A blue light shining out the corner of his eye and Zhongli released his grip on the boy to block the incoming attack.
Zhongli saw his reflection on the translucent blade — his eyes shone bright amber, with a few dark scales surrounding them; the corners of his mouth were pulled up to his ears to accommodate his new set of sharp teeth and reptilian tongue. Ah, so that was why he was itching there.
Tartaglia's eyes met his.
Something violent twisted in Zhongli's chest. The pure vitriol in those blue eyes… Tartaglia's pupils had dilated into small dots. He looked absolutely manic, and Zhongli wanted to replace that look with the picture of calmness he had seen before.
Tartaglia spat on the ground near Zhongli's feet, jerking his free arm to the side in a violent motion to form another identical dagger.
"In old times, you earned the right to mate your chosen partner by forcing their submission through a duel. Very well then. If you insist on doing things in so ancient a manner… You will yield yourself to me when I win."
"If you win." Tartaglia had the audacity to correct. "But if I win— you will have to tell me everything about your contract with the Tsaritsa. Bit by bit."
"Hm…" Zhongli ran the tip of his elongated tongue along his gums to relieve the ache there. "Very well. I accept these terms. Let our word be set in stone."
A weak breeze touched his cheek. He made a sharp turn, arm raised behind him. The geo energy lingering in the air responded to his calling, gathering in his palm and forming the shape of his trusty golden spear just in time to black Tartaglia’s attack.
Tartaglia did not look discouraged, only upset he had lost the element of surprise. He followed with a barrage of relentless attacks.
Tartaglia forced him on a defence. The Harbinger’s intent was to take away all openings. Such a tactic was useless against him.
"I thought you said you were no longer the Geo Archon, Lord of Contracts!" Tartaglia shouted after he got pushed away by Zhongli. He twirled his dual blades by the handles before joining them together, their shape changing into one of a double-edged spear.
"But, as always, you just go along with whichever thing favours you at the moment!" He sounded amused, out of breath.
Zhongli ignored him and stood his ground when Tartaglia lunged back towards him. Hydro met Geo with a shattering sound. Small crystal shards formed where their weapons clashed. They fell to their feet but neither moved to pick them up.
"You're suuuch an hypocrite, Morax.”
Tartaglia’s tone was light as always, but Zhongli had spent enough time with him to know there was something different about this.
"And just as I was thinking you could disappoint me no more than you already have,” he continued, words laced with his theatrics. “I never imagined you'd be that kind of man too."
Deciding he heard enough, Zhongli stepped away and twisted around, delivering a kick to Tartaglia's side.
The Harbinger had time to react, much less make a sound. His body was sent flying through the ruins nearby, destroying the stone and raising a large cloud of dust.
Elation bursted inside Zhongli’s chest and he had to release it through a shaky exhale. It was hard to level his own strength in his altered state.
He strolled towards the pile of rubble where Tartaglia was buried.
Vortex Vanquisher thrummed into the shell of his palm. It spoke to its master, to Morax.
(It's been so long.
I missed this.
Feed me this boy's life.)
The dust cleared. Zhongli wasn't surprised when it didn't reveal Tartaglia.
A wet cackle brought his attention to the top of the remaining ruins.
Tartaglia was laughing, his hand pressed to his side. "Hahaha, my bad—" He cut himself off suddenly, looking at Zhongli intentelly.
Dark red slowly painted the fabric underneath Tartaglia’s palm. Zhongli's nostrils flared. The air carried out the smell of blood and something else. Something putrid and out of this world.
"—You're no man at all, are you?”
"No." Zhongli replied. "And neither are you."
Something flashed in Tartaglia's eyes. It was gone before Zhongli could pin what emotion it was.
Using his higher ground, Tartaglia made his Hydro take the form of a bow and shoot down a flurry of arrows. Zhongli could see each of their trajectories. He stepped around most of them and cut through the ones he couldn't dodge.
"Not hiding behind your shield?" Tartaglia taunted.
"You said you wanted a 'real battle'.”
Tartaglia must have forgotten his own words.
Zhongli was no man. This boy’s military tactics could only work on a mortals’ battlefield. A playfield; if you compare it to real war.
He might not be Morax anymore. He might have lost some of Morax’s memories to the erosion. But the muscle never forgets.
He leaped, holding his spear on a two handed grasp. He swung it to the side. Tartaglia had to throw himself off that height to avoid it. Instead, Zhongli hit the stone underneath, destroying the last of what was once a temple.
They met each other again after Tartaglia took back his double daggers, exchanging blows.
Tartaglia was a good fighter, on par with the small godlings that had fought in the Archon War, but not even they stood a match for Zhongli. If he had the intent to kill Tartaglia, the fight would’ve been over much sooner.
To Tartaglia's credit, his stance was calculated. Zhongli barely found any openings, but they were always there. He just decided to take one of them now.
Zhongli slammed the iron-shod butt of his spear into Tartaglia’s exposed stomach with such force it bruised the soft internal tissue.
"Guh—!?" Tartaglia doubled over, his control of the Hydro overcome by his need to vomit. He spilled out the remains of the boar he had hunted for dinner.
Zhongli grabbed onto the boy's nape and pushed his face into the vomit. Tartaglia’s hydro constructs dissolved so he could focus on freeing himself. He squirmed wildly, gathering dirt under his curled fingers and kicking it behind with the top of his soles. Zhongli kept him like that for a while before dragging him along the dirt and waste, using his face like one might use a mop.
Zhongli hoisted the Harbinger back up by the hair. Tartaglia managed to regain his footing, his hands coming up to grab Zhongli's to try to pry it off himself. It’s a vain attempt. He bore his weight down on the Harbinger, making him kneel. His chest was the next to hit the floor. The new position had him raise his bottom in the air. A common representation of submission that had Zhongli's blood running with a new surge of liquid-hot pleasure.
In his newfound enthusiasm, he mounted the Harbinger and started humping him, feeling the way he tensed underneath him. Feeling something shift in the air.
Zhongli paused in his actions to smell it properly.
It was fear.
"Yield." The word was laced with a growl. "I want to hear you say it."
Tartaglia hollowed his cheeks and spat blood and bile on the ground to his side as an act of defiance.
"Just kill me now before I do it myself."
"A true warrior would know when to graciously accept defeat."
Tartaglia glared back at him, the skin of his face rubbed raw. Blood leaked from some of the cuts, mixing with the pinkish, disgusting-looking consistency of his own vomit.
"I will never—" His voice cracked. Tears formed in his eyes as the manifestation of all the human emotions he must be feeling at once. "You will not do this to me!"
The sound echoed horribly through the valley, and Zhongli's ears.
Zhongli heaved. Seven Seats… His body, his mind—they no longer felt like his own. The itch on his cheek was too intense to keep ignoring. He could feel his teeth shift, gradually growing in length, shifting into something sharper, and definitely not human. The urge to transform clawed at him now that the desire to claim and mate was burning throughout him, his true form begging to be released. And Zhongli was allowing it.
Tartaglia twisted out of Zhongli's reach when he went for the hem of his pants. Zhongli huffed and sank his claws into the grey fabric instead. He easily ripped off the material to expose his privates to the night air. Tartaglia shouted, affronted, and kicked his legs back. He spat an assortment of profanities in Zhongli's direction.
"Such disrespect towards myself in my own land would have seen you slaughtered like swine back then."
"Go fuck yourself!"
"I’d rather fuck you instead. Right here. Right now."
Tartaglia attempted another kick but Zhongli caught his shin before the hit could even land. Zhongli pushed away, taking Tartaglia’s leg with him. He dragged the boy down then forced him around to land on his back. Zhongli decided he wanted to see his face gaze while he robbed him of everything.
Tartaglia’s struggles restarted anew. Zhongli twisted it until he heard the bone crack.
Tartaglia screamed, attempting to wriggle away, but his pointless struggle only made it easier for Zhongli to catch his other leg and force them apart and over his shoulders.
"Look what you did," Zhongli sighed. "I don't understand you. You purposefully seduce me, then you act like you don't want it? Do you find pleasure in this?"
Forced to fold on himself, Tartaglia became completely immobilized. He kicked the air uselessly, continuing to scream wordlessly at him.
Zhongli's prick throbbed at the sight. He slid between those supple thighs, rubbing his length between the spread folds of the boy's quim.Tartaglia made an outraged noise and kicked the air with his good leg, digging the heel of his foot into Zhongli's shoulder blades repeatedly.
"Get. Off! Me!”
Zhongli's hands slid further up, from the backs of Tartaglia's knees, up lean shins, until they wrapped around delicate ankles. Zhongli pushed onto them until they touched the ground, one on each side of his head. Manacles made of pure Geo formed around Tartaglia's ankles.
Tartaglia made a miserable noise. The position worsened the pain in his wound, but Zhongli felt no sympathy for his peril.
Proud, he just took his time admiring his work — the fearsome warrior, spread-legged and folded in on himself like he was presenting. His cock seemed even larger where it rested over Tartaglia's sweet little cunt. The prospect of fucking a tight virgin hole excited him in ways only beasts could feel similar to.
"You protest, yet I can feel on my cock how wet your cunt is right now." Feeling invigorated by this, he rolled his hips back and forward, revealing more of that healthy pink as Tartaglia's cunt spread naturally.
"You're disgusting." Tartaglia was saying, angry tears rolling down his cheeks. "You're filth. You don't have the right.You don't…" He choked on a hiccup. "The Tsaritsa…"
Zhongli huffed at the mention of another Archon.
"You will have only my name on your tongue if you wish to be freed."
Zhongli leaned forward again, but this time to brush the side of his face against Tartaglia's sweat-slicked chest. He let his brown locks run across his skin. He licked over freckled skin and up to his face, cleaning it of all the blood and tears. Tartaglia shuddered and grunted in pain when his broken nose shifted. Zhongli continued licking and stroking his face against him, until his own scent was sufficiently joined with Tartaglia's.
Mine.
Zhongli scooted back, gaining the sufficient angle and room to lean in between Tartaglia's spread thighs. His elongated tongue lolled out of his mouth from between pointed teeth, to slide up between the lips of Tartaglia's sex. Tartaglia's body jolted and he screamed again, shaking his head violently.
"No! No, nooo!" Tartaglia wailed. "Get off me or I'll kill you!!"
Zhongli ignored him in favour of sinking his tongue inside the narrow entrance of his virgin cunt. He parted his jaw further to envelop all of it with his mouth, his nose nestled over the small tuft of hair at the top. He hummed in pleasure, innahing deeply, taking in the scent of a ready maiden before he felt Tartaglia's warm, velvet walls with the tip of his tongue.
"Aah?! What are you— Nooo! Nooo…"
Wonderful. Exquisite.
The girls at the Pearl Gallery were jewels; a sight for the gentlemen's good eye, but nothing could compare to the taste of innocence. Zhongli moved his tongue back, forth and around Tartaglia's vagina, feeling up his untried walls.
"Let me go, let me go…" Tartaglia's voice sounded strained, no doubt from trying to hold in his moans of pleasure. Zhongli could feel the boy's thighs twitch around him. "I hate you…"
Zhongli pulled away, thick lines of spent connecting his mouth to Tartaglia's parted buds. He panted, watching as the tiny entrance nestled between them gaped around nothing. Beads of slick slipped out from it with every motion.
"Already missing my tongue?" Zhongli didn't wait for a reaction. He rose up straight and tugged at his pants, freeing his aching prick and taking it into his palm with a hiss. "Lay your worries to rest for I have something better to replace it."
Tartaglia sucked in a breath and held it, eyes wide with fear as he watched — that was all he could do now anyways — Zhongli guided the head of his cock to his entrance.
"No way… There's no way that'll fit. I will die…"
"You won't," Zhongli reassured as he slowly rubbed the ridged length of his cock between Tartaglia's folds, his gaze trained on Tartaglia's face for any signs of pain. "You will feel good. I will make sure of it."
Tartaglia's chest rose. When he released the breath he'd held in, it came out stuttered. He almost sounded like a wounded animal.
Sympathy was something people like Tartaglia weren't deserving of, but Zhongli was a merciful god. Tartaglia had picked a fight and then got overpowered by a much stronger opponent. He was merely paying the price for his hubris.
His cock slid in easily, taking its destined place inside the Harbinger's warmth.
"Perfect, pretty little thing." He arched his back, thrusting in deep to chase more of that sensation.
"Let me go…" Tartaglia bubblered.
"Where to? You're exactly where you need to be right now."
"Sto—op… Please…"
"Yes," he whispered, suddenly feeling out of breath. He pushed away and watched the way Tartaglia's labia spread around his girth so beautifully, "Keep begging me."
"Please, Morax— Xiansheng… Don't do this to me…"
"Childe— Oh, Childe… Again. Call me that again."
"Xiansheng…"
"You poor boy. You always act braver than you actually are."
"I don't want thiis…" The boy was whining now. "I don't want—"
"Shhh, at ease, boy. I promise you will grow to enjoy this feeling."
"No..!" He whispered, looking down at where they were connected with mortified eyes. "Stop! Xiansheng! I don't want—" He choked on his own words when Zhongli suddenly grabbed his hips to pull him into his first thrust.
Zhongli showed no mercy. He picked up a quick, brutal pace, sheathing his cock as far as it could go into the boy's heat. He paused for a short moment to lift the boy’s hips higher off the floor, and then plunged deep again, drawing a long mewling sound from Tartaglia. The new angle was perfect.
"I don't want to come at all! I don't want to enjoy this at all—" Tartaglia's coherency had been reduced to babbling at this point. As much as Zhongli found him endearing like this, his whining was starting to grate on his nerves. He would rather hear his partner's pleasure.
Zhongli knew that regardless of how lubricated humans were, their bodies were still so sensitive it made them hyperaware of each hard ridge on his cock, and he used that to his advantage. He pulled out slowly, studying Tartaglia's reaction.
"N-nooo..!" Tartaglia hid his face, refusing Zhongli that satisfaction. Zhongli noted, instead, how prettily his body trembled.
The sight had him purring. How utterly adorable. Zhongli wanted more. He wanted to see just how far he could stretch this resilience of his until it tore.
"So beautiful, Childe."
He settled on a slow, languid pace. This way Tartaglia would be able to feel all of him; Zhongli would carve a place for himself inside the Harbinger's warmth, have him memorize his shape and feel until he'll no longer be satisfied with anything else. Zhongli would teach him—only he can make Tartaglia feel this good.
Small 'no's spilled out of Tartaglia's lips at each roll of Zhongli's hips, but his body sang an entirely different song. Like how Tartaglia would squeeze his prick when he was pulling out. Almost as if he didn't want him to leave him feeling empty.
Zhongli let go of one of the boy's thighs to lick the pads of his index and middle fingers. He brought it down to the small nub peeking out from between the top of Tartaglia's inner labia and flicked it between his two fingers.
Tartaglia's eyes snapped open. "Oh stars, oh stars—!" His voice broke into wailing.
Zhongli growled deep in his chest, letting go of Tartaglia’s hips to rub his palms along the expanse of the boy's back until they settled over his bony shoulders, "How does that feel? It feels good to orgasm, doesn't it?"
He used his grip as leverage, keeping Tartaglia immovable while he bore his weight down on his lower back, using gravity to his advantage.
"Haaah… Ah, ah..!? N—no way… how could I— of all people—" The boy's watery tone turned into an unattractive gurgle when Zhongli began thrusting. Unrelenting, unforgiving.
They were both too far gone now; Zhongli enamoured by the heavenly feeling of being sucked in by that scorching, velvety cunt, the obscenely wet noise of his pelvis hitting Tartaglia's reddened labia, and Tartaglia—the poor, foolish little Fatui Harbinger—helplessly drowning in pleasure, squirming and clawing at his arms for some form of leverage. He was looking at Zhongli like he was the only thing he believed in—a dumb drooling dog that only knew how to worship. He had never looked so beautiful.
"Uh-uuhhg… I'm— I'm going numb! Haah, right there— aah, ah, no! Not there! Not theeere!!"
"Childe," Zhongli heaved, a growl in his voice. "I'm close—too—!"
“Wa—ait! Your dick is getting bigger— bigger! Wait, wait! It huuurts! Aah, stop— stop moviiiing! Stop! Stop! Sto—"
Tartaglia's body went rigid as he orgasmed for the second time in a row.
It was too much. Zhongli felt as if he was about to fall over the edge of a precipice, only held back by a thin thread. What made him break was the smell— when he inhaled deeply— there was the acrid smell of urine mixed to the stench of sex and arousal.
Oh, Celestia.
He could feel it now. Warm urine running down the base of his cock, at the place where the boy ended and he began.
"I'll kill you for this…" Tartaglia sniffled with shame. "I'll kill you…"
The boy looked as pathetic as he sounded.
Zhongli merely chuckled, and said, “You can try. Though I doubt your mind will endure what I have planned for you.”
The Tsaritsa wouldn’t mind losing one of her Harbingers if she wished to stay in his good graces.