gacharolls | >> 005 | I’m a soldier, not a plaything

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>> 005 | I’m a soldier, not a plaything

[ Liyue is burning.

It had only been a few hours since the Snezhnayan army had landed on the city’s shores and in that time the soldiers had wasted no time cutting a swath of destruction and violence throughout the safe harbor. Merchant’s stalls were tipped over, their contents ransacked and pillaged. Temples burned on hilltops, shrines to the gods splattered with blood and viscera of their most devout followers. Ornate, gilded residences once home to nobles and elite politicians crumbled by the wayside and bodies of Liyue’s former citizens bled together in red trickles of blood that flowed like rivers through the streets.

Whatever class system that had been put in place before was inconsequential. There was far too much carnage to pick out the robes of a noble from ones of a commoner, and all parties bled the same.

It was uncertain what had prompted the attack. For all extents and purposes negotiations had been fine, with some trade ships conducting business as usual between the two nations as recently as a week ago.

One of the bodies laying in the street was a small figure garbed in Liyuen clothing, clutching a Snezhnayan matryoshka doll. Childe, better known as Tartaglia to his servants and Ajax to his close family, glanced over the grim sight and murmured a soft prayer before continuing on his way through the city. The bottoms of his boots and trousers were soaked with blood, stained until the fabric changed from a dull grey to a red so deep it was practically black.

He’d been pulled from his chambers by one of his men stumbling in, clothes ripped and tattered, blood flowing from a wound in his side. He’d yelled something about a surprise Millelith ambush and how several of his comrades had already been taken out while they were ransacking the Golden House, and then promptly passed out.

As Childe made his way there he took note of the destruction of the city with something like satisfaction and elation in his dark blue eyes. Perhaps it was because of his status as a Harbinger or maybe because his upbringing was less than conventional, but this was the sort of environment that he thrived in.

Bodies of Liyuen citizens littered the ground underfoot in the walk he took to reach the doors of the Golden House, and before stepping within he noted how they were slightly ajar, small handprints of blood standing out on the wood next to larger ones slimmer than his own.

How strange. He wondered if people had tried to take sanctuary here before the Fatui found them, or if they’d been chased here and sought to make their final stand in one of Liyue’s most well-known landmarks.

He sincerely hoped no blood got on the mora. From the last time he’d visited the mint he remembered that the caretakers tended to just leave it laying around in piles.

As he steps inside Childe finds himself staring at a scene of such carnage and violence he can’t help the catch of his breath, the way his pupils dilate while something warm and hot burns under his skin.

His men lay on the floor, clothes ripped and torn with the press of a blade or a spear. It’s a pole arm, he concludes, when he lifts his eyes and catches sight of a few more of his men surrounding a man with long brown hair dipped in gold.

And gods, he thinks. This man is a vision.

He wields the pole arm effortlessly, as though it’s another part of him. Childe watches as his men go flying with the force used against them, the butt of the shaft used in connection with an open palm to force the Fatui into giving the foreigner a wide berth.

Childe thinks he recognizes the uniform as something of similar make to the Millelith, but he’s not sure. There’s too much blood staining down the man’s front to be able to tell, and Childe hopes not all of it is this beautiful foreigner’s. ]

Enough. [ He calls out, voice ringing authoritatively in the open space. His men on the floor groan in reply. Childe keeps his gaze on the man in front of him, desire thrumming through his veins. ]

You’ve given my men quite the work out, haven’t you? [ It comes out teasingly as though there isn’t a Fatui lying limp with his arm missing. ]

My name is Tartaglia, Eleventh of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa’s Harbingers. But you can call me Childe.

[ And he smiles, the gesture so innocent it’s unfitting for the bloody scene all around them. ]

And what are you called, my lovely?

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If I were going to try to force an escape by killing myself, you wouldn't have been able to bring me back here.

[There's not an ounce of hesitation in the reply, and the foreigner himself shifts to step forward. As he does, one hand rises to remove his earring, then his hair clasp - both of which he places in front of Childe on his way past.

It's something of a reminder - that he did still have some measure of option, and that he's relinquishing them in front of this man. He isn't beaten yet, and he doesn't plan to be.]

Your familiarity with my parts is not reassuring, nor is the evident inevitability of your intention. Acting like a child who has never been rebuked will not endear me, if you truly do want to know my name.

[Even so, he threads fingers through his own hair, letting it fall down his back and obscure Childe's shameless view as he moves to climb into the tub. There's no sense in postponing this part of the process, and honestly... his body aches fiercely. Getting clean and seeing the actual extent of his injuries will be a boon itself.

He pays no mind, then, to the bloom of red that immediately snakes over the water's surface, long-dried blood warming to be wicked away.]

[ Childe's gaze remains fixated on the other's pert backside up until he loosens his hair and steps into the tub, during which point he shifts his eyes to watch the way brown locks spill over his shoulders and tumble down the middle of his back to obscure his vision. Well, there would always be other times.

As the beautiful foreigner settles in the tub, Childe makes himself at home seated right beside him, dipping his fingers in the water and swirling the thin tendrils of blood around into misshapen patterns.

He takes note of the cor lapis jewel set into the hair clasp - at least, what he thinks is cor lapis, he's never been one for precious stones - and the humble-looking earring. It's plain enough that it suits him, working to emphasize the foreigner's beauty instead of clashing with it.

Still, Childe makes a note to find some precious gemstones and gold chains to drape over his new plaything. ]

I should hope you wouldn't think of me like a child. It will make things awkward overall. [ He doesn't acknowledge the other truth to the brunet's words and, instead, reaches for one of the nearby bottles to start pouring some liquid into his palm. ]

If you wet your hair, I'll wash it for you.

If you act like a child, it is only natural that you will be treated as one. Perhaps you should have considered that before.

[Zhongli is remarkably still, despite the closeness of the harbinger. It's all concentration of course, and his gaze falls to the twisting swirl of blood, their patterns all but indescribable.

In another circumstance, he would enjoy this. Would soak until his wounds had become soft and easily ignored, and then take a long rest. Like this... he'd honestly like to get out of here as soon as possible, find a place to sit and brood alone for a while. And then, of course, Childe is pouring something into his hand - some sort of soap, he can only assume. He can't tell by scent, not immediately amid the plethora of them in the room.]

I do not require your assistance to wash my hair, nor have I requested thus. Your false concern is unnecessary.

[He'll still sink into the tub more though, making it easy to wet his hair after a moment. After all, he really does want to be out of here. If he has to half-lose to do so, it's worth it.]

[ It feels, to an extent, like he's dealing with a very prideful house cat. Not that Childe has ever had any inklings towards cats, but given that he'd been adamant about referring to the foreigner as his "pet" he supposed the comparison to be expected.

When the foreigner sinks down into the water enough to get his hair wet, Childe only smiles and re-situates himself into a more comfortable position to be able to do so. A bowl is procured from the side and he uses it to gently scoop clean water over the brunet's head one-handedly, ensuring that he got it thoroughly damp before he comes in with the handful of soap to start lathering it through his hair.

Childe's ministrations are gentle, deceptively so. He pays specific attention to work him up into suds, fingers massaging at scalp and head to work up a nice soapy lather.

If this were any other person, any other situation, doubtless this entire encounter would be romantic. Maybe.

Perhaps if they'd met under different circumstances, if Childe had been sent here on a diplomatic mission and met the Millelith guard while on duty... maybe he would have charmed him. Plied him with sweet words and pretty trinkets. A bouquet of flowers, walks around the city he strove so hard to protect... Childe couldn't recall ever seeing him before (and he most definitely would have noticed a man like this), but he would have found him eventually.

Would his Zolotse blush when Childe made his intentions of taking him to bed known? Or would he react like he did now, cold and without any emotion?

He imagines it wouldn't have been nearly as satisfying as it was now. ]

I wouldn't call it false if I wish not to have you bleed out all over my floors. Are you so unused to being taken care of? I can provide you with all of that and more, you know, if you ask.

[It's a strange question - not in that Childe asks, but in that the answer is somewhat twisted and secretive. At one time, long ago, he had perhaps been taken care of this way. It was a different land then, though. Moreover, it's a story he cannot, and will not, share.

Still, it shows in little ways. Tiny, nearly microscopic little moments of relaxation happen naturally as Childe's fingers work in slow, gentle actions to wash his hair. Struggling to hide them all takes too much concentration when it's already at a premium. If he's not paying complete attention though, it would be easy to ignore.

Would he blush in another situation? It's difficult to say. As it stands now, he just exhales an irritated noise at the words.]

That you have so little faith in my ability to take care of myself despite your minions is equally infuriating. I am a soldier, I have a job to do. Being taken care of isn't a factor, and I do not want it. Less still do I have any interest in receiving it from someone who has no more concern for a child as an adult, fit to protect oneself. Whatever you want, you may take, and there may be nothing I can do about it. That, I suppose, is the spoil of the victor, no matter how reprehensible.

[... He might really be fixating on the slaughter. It's probably no surprise, though - in some measure, he blames himself for it. If he were faster, if he had realised sooner, if he had more power - they're easy cycles to fall into. Liyue was his city, more than he thinks Childe will ever know.]

[ Childe continues his ministrations through the foreigner's words, pausing only to scoop up some suds from where they've dribbled down over the man's bare ear. He gently rakes his nails over his scalp as he scrubs and works, and it's only after a lengthy pause does he deign to speak, voice a bit softer than before. ]

If I had my way, I would have taken the children out of the city. It's an adult's job to protect the dreams and the well-being of the innocent. In time, maybe you'll come to understand the way of things around here.

[ But that's all he'll say on that matter. He's done lathering up the other's hair, fingers running through to the ends, and he rinses off for a moment before reaching for the bowl to begin washing it away. ]

Close your eyes. The soap will sting something fierce if it gets into your eyes.

[ Bowl in one hand, he tilts the foreigner's head back with his other, first smoothing hair out of his face before settling that hand over the lovely column of his throat. There's a little dip in the floor so that even if the rinse gets out of the tub, the water will still drain. Childe will still get soaked in the process, however, but that's easy enough to manage. ]

Even thousands of miles from your homeland, you still retain that same fire, that same degree of fierceness that first captivated me. Can you hardly blame me for making you mine? You don't seem to realize just what kind of sway you have over me. I suppose that's a good thing, for me at least.

Is that supposed to appease me? You vastly underestimate my awareness of what it is to protect the whole of a country. I may be aware of the price paid in war, but there are always ways to mitigate the heaviness of them. Even here.

[There is, for a moment, a little bit of a disconnect there - Zhongli speaks like he knows more of Snezhnaya than he should, with a certainty he assuredly should not. It's easy to dismiss with his personality, though.

He's otherwise quiet as Childe works, gaze distant and cool. From time to time, it's like he's not here at all, and perhaps that's true. Perhaps he's just imagining the salt-laden shores of Liyue, the warmth of the sun and scent of flowers in the harbor. In moments, his expression is briefly almost soft even. It frosts again when Childe tells him to close his eyes.

Unsurprising, really, and it isn't until the last moment as the harbinger tilts his head back that he acquiesces, muscles coiled tight. He doesn't have to worry about dying here, but there are worse things than death. Still... it's fine. It will be fine, somehow. When he speaks, eyes still closed, his voice reverberates against Childe's fingers.]

That trait is one shared by many of Liyue's protectors. I would not wish them in this position in my stead, but of course it isn't sensible. This is the act of someone intent on breaking something, with little positive intent behind them.

[It's unkind, he's aware. But... well, he was brutalised and kept weakened on a ship, taken to Snezhnaya under the express insistence that he was some kind of pet. It's only natural to be unkind in that situation.]

[ If Childe is at all hurt by those words, he doesn't show it - and really, it would be laughable to even think so. They're both soldiers, they both know what this is. They both know that the brunet is meant to be a plaything of a Harbinger, and to that end what that entails.

The only real wonder is why Childe hasn't taken him to bed yet, but perhaps the fact that the foreigner has yet to give in is reason enough.

Once he's finished rinsing off all the suds, working his fingers through what he'd previously lathered, he sets the bowl off to the side and shifts in his seat. For a moment he examines the other's face, the furrow of his brows, the set of his mouth and jaw. The urge to touch is there, to reach out and run his fingers over the foreigner's lips to see if he might bite him, or see how he tenses at a press against his throat. But he does none of that.

Instead, he shoves his hand into the water and grasps at his cock. ]

You're much sharper than you let on. I suppose there were less vain reasons to my attraction, even to myself.

If there is no Liyue left for you to protect, what does that make you, my dear Zolotse? Not one of her protectors... and one might even be so cruel as to say you failed miserably in that regard, given how I'm sure it burns to embers even now. And you, thousands of miles away on a distant shore... can you really call yourself one of her protectors then?

[Ah. Childe reaches down, and he's given his first little triumph. His prize flinches at the grasp, caught in the inevitable loop of 'what do I do?' The answer is just to harden his expression, staying still as possible.

It's just another manipulation tactic. Another play at dominance and trying to wear him down. He has to be careful, in turn.]

... you think Liyue is gone, just like that? [He could laugh if it wasn't so frustrating.] The country has survived worse in its time, and it will survive worse in future.

Whether or not I have a place protecting her then is irrelevant. But I have no reason to believe she will fall, so even in this situation... is this really your best attempt at breaking me? To insult my intent? Perhaps I misjudged you.

You're better off trying to break my body than my pride.

[It's a dangerous prospect, but it's true. Zhongli has worlds of guilt, but they're facts that spur him on rather than drag him down.]

You think I wouldn't enjoy breaking your body, too? It's simply a means to an end.

[ Childe definitely knows what he's doing; it shows in the way his grip slackens, fingers curling loosely around the limp flesh as though cradling something precious in hand. Fingertips trace him from base to tip, then go back to coiling around his shift like the amorous embrace of a snake.

As he speaks, he starts pumping him, the friction perhaps unwanted but still given nonetheless. ]

I will break you open on my cock, if need be. It's only the first step, my Zolotse... for what use is gold if not be melded down, formed into something much more precious? Gold on its own, unrefined, has value, but not nearly as treasured as what it could be molded into.

[ Fingers curve as Childe reaches, cupping at his balls for a moment and squeezing them affectionately. ]

You have a warrior's spirit, and my greatest thrills have only ever been felt on the battlefield. I hope that you will fight me every step of the way. Nothing would give me greater joy.

I would simply prefer that to these feeble attempts at manipulating some measure of guilt, as though I didn't give everything for my country.

[His voice is notably strained when he responds, and there's no real surprise there. Not with Childe teasing his cock just so, eking out small reactions despite everything.]

... is that how you want it? [A ragged edge slips into his tone as fingers curl and squeeze, and he finally reaches out to grip the harbinger's wrist and try to pull it away from his groin.] So much for your sweet words wondering who I really am. Worry not, harbinger. I will fight you until I've nothing left, and still then.

[His gaze is sharp and angry when he speaks, weight shifting with the intent to stand and perhaps put even a little space between them. It won't do him much good, but still.]

[ Childe will relinquish his grip, but only so he can play with the ends of his hair as he goes. Admiration floods his gaze when he looks at the pretty foreigner, the tips of his lips curling into a fond smile.

It's not a complete lie, wanting to know the man behind the scowl. Childe is still curious, still enamored with the fire and hatred he'd glimpsed behind golden eyes. He's still wondering over who this man was that he'd been able to dispatch with his grunts so easily and had to face off against a squadron of Childe's own Fatui elite in order to be captured without incident.

But he'll let the man have his space; that's fine. Childe notes the way he stands with full intent to put some distance between them and he gets to his own feet, stepping off to the side to retrieve a towel which he holds open for the man to step into. ]

I look forward to it. Anything less would be a disappointment.

[ While it's true he'd much rather see the other spread out under him, long legs bearing marks of passion, stomach taut with pleasure and eyes filled with unshed tears, the path to achieve such a sight is one that he's more than willing to walk. And besides that - Dottore has a myriad of different elixirs that could be used, should Childe get desperate enough. ]

[Every movement Childe makes here is boggling to the warrior. Fingers toy with his hair and he struggles not to squirm again; the very thought is hesitant, as though the thought alone could have been brought about by the harbinger somehow.

It's easily as baffling as how he moves away, leaves skin somewhat lost without its touch. He ignores that, of course.]

... and we simply can't have that, can we?

[It's a sarcastic mutter as he moves. The intent is obvious - his relaxation and the warmth of the water are over and gone. Childe holding out a towel for him is just another factor. It's more fabric than the entirety of what he's been told he'll wear... and it reminds him of that somehow, as though he could ever forget. What is this man, even?]

... you're really planning on putting me in those scraps, after all this.

[He feels tired, bringing it up. Of course he will, because Zhongli is his pet. Even so, when he rises to step toward the man, he does so with head held high and the same disgust in his expression. His silence is fairly telling, too - he could snap his jaws like an angry pup, but he won't. His ire will exist in the silence between them, curling into his words only when he has to respond. It's all he intend to give the young man, of course.]

Naturally. Don't be so quick to judge my taste, I think it'll look quite fetching on you.

[ Once he's wrapped his little pet in the towel to keep warm, Childe will leave the man alone to dry his hair. He makes his way back to the larger area of his chambers, moving over to where he'd laid out the scraps of fabric and other embellishments and unfolding them so that the foreigner can get a good look at the outfit he'll be wearing.

It is, essentially, several assortments of very thin cloth pieced together just enough to cover the extremities - on a woman. For a man there might be some bulging, but it's generous and stretchable enough that one would be able to hide everything if they really strained not to move.

Childe presents this to the foreigner whenever he deigns to come out of the bathroom, a pleased smile spreading across his face. Behind him the cold, angry winds of the Snezhnayan climate continues on, but the sky seems to darken with the onset of night. ]

If you're feeling particularly shy, my lovely Zolotse, don't worry; I don't plan on having you leave my chambers any time soon.

How it looks could not be further from my considerations...

[Left to his own devices for a moment, Zhongli finally allows himself a brief reprise to really think about what's happened here. Fingers work to dry his hair, mind wandering back into some brooding space.

This... really is what he's become. Hands rest on the counter as it dawns, and his facade crumbles for a time. Here, with only any mirror to catch it, his body trembles, head bowed low.

The very thought is repulsive. A proud warrior, brought low and suffering the frustration of defeat, the agonising effort of traveling to Snezhnaya. Brought to a singular room and then furnished with little more than glorified scraps and jewels to wear.

He doesn't allow himself the shimmer of tears and the telltale puffy skin therein. He doesn't even allow himself the satisfaction of hitting something, instead forcing himself to grit his teeth and step back into the other half of the room, to be reminded of just what it is he'll be wearing. They'll cover him, but barely. Celestia help him if he does get hard, too.]

I suppose I should be relieved at that, but I'm also aware of what that means you're intending.

[It's all he has to say on the matter, and his nose wrinkles with the dawning realisation that he'll have to allow Childe to put the mess on. It's simply too little fabric with too many clasps and little details.]

Fine. Let's get this over with.

[ Regardless of the implications behind his smile, Childe's beaming is beatific in its own way, bright like the sun that rarely graces Snezhnaya with its warmth. Despite the maliciousness behind getting the foreigner to wear such an outfit, it would be safe to say that Childe's pleasure is genuine, and that the Liyuen beauty is only doing him a great service by wearing it.

Truly, the man has no idea of the power he holds over the Harbinger. Perhaps that's for the best, for now.

To the comment about his intentions he doesn't respond, not right away, at least. He starts with the bottom first, which is the simplest to work up, lifting up first one slim leg onto his shoulder to snake the thin fabric up his calf, setting that leg down and then pulling up the other to do the same. The thin slip is pulled up lithe thighs to sit on hips that fit quite nicely in his hands, which he spends a few moments admiring before the brunet has a chance to slap his touch away.

Dressing his Zolotse is done with the same air that one would dress a doll, and it isn't long before Childe has gotten a bulk of the fabric slung provocatively over his form that just barely covers the other's privates and extremities. It's quite fetching, he thinks, stepping back to admire his work with a nod. ]

I only mean that given the current climate and what you're wearing, it would be to your benefit to spend your day in my bed. That's all. [ He comments, as though there aren't implications behind those words, too. ]

[Zhongli would be lying to say there was no curiosity in him, watching Childe beam so. He doesn't really make any logical sense, slipping from cold and unerring, threatening in every way, to this warm, bright expression. It's something he hasn't seen, and it's enough to stump him utterly for a time.

Childe really is lucky he doesn't understand how strong his draw is. Though, in this limited space, how much could he take advantage of it...?

Then again, he's not thinking about that at all. He's thinking about the way Childe is dressing him, hands warm and close. The slip of silk over his skin is enough to make him shiver, and for a moment, he's too distracted to slap hands away from his hips.

He's getting complacent. How... troublesome. There isn't much he can do about it though.]

... don't be coy. We both know where this is going. You have your pet, you may as well start acting like it. Stop treating me like I have any say in the matter.

[It would be easier, he thinks, than this strange back and forth.]

And here I thought you would enjoy a little playful banter.

[ Childe's fingers find themselves tangled in the long strands of the foreigner's hair, twirling one around his hand before lifting it to his lips for a kiss. It's still somewhat damp, but it's nothing that will exacerbate the chill in the room; the scraps of cloth he's wearing do more than enough on their own.

And, really, they could barely even be considered that. With the sheerness of the fabric leaving little to the imagination - Childe thinks his cock looks nice like this, tucked away into a silky sheath like an erotic jade parcel - it's a wonder that the brunet is not curling into himself with the cold. He can only think that that his stubbornness and pride is what keeps him upright, since he's pretty sure he can see goosebumps rising along the other's skin from where he's standing.

Childe drops the wet strands of hair he's got in his grasp in favor of taking his hand and leading him over towards where the bed is. ]

I'll give you your own chambers soon enough, don't worry. For now, though, I think it's best you spend the night with me.

[ It's large and spacious enough to house at least four people which would probably be a relief - if not for the fact that Childe seems to be exceedingly touchy feely and would doubtless drape over the Liyuen native the second the opportunity presents itself. ]

Playful banter.

[Zhongli scoffs, but leaves it at that. Fingers curl around strands of his hair and he allows it - for the moment, it's relatively harmless. It certainly isn't hurting his temperature having him relatively nearby.

On the subject of heat, Childe isn't entirely wrong. It's not the coldest place to be, even still damp as he is, but it's not pleasant. Goosebumps rise on skin and the last dregs of dampness cling to him like a jealous lover, in ways the sheer fabric nearly fails to do so.

His fingers are even cold to the touch when Childe grasps his hand, and he hesitates a moment on the way to the bed.]

I imagine you will quite graciously keep me warm, if I simply accept?

[He would, of course, rather not. Childe may have kept his hands to himself before, but over the night and onward? That's harder to say. If he's honest, he wishes the harbinger would just be overt about it - not knowing when to expect it leaves his already exhausted body still on high alert.

At first, at least, he's not willing to take the offered kindness at all, simply sitting at the edge of the bed. Maybe, he thinks, he'd rather use the chaise lounge. Anywhere but near this... man. Perhaps that's a little childish, but he's exhausted enough to be petty for once.]

Naturally. What better way to warm up than skin-to-skin contact?

[ Which really says all it needs to on that matter. Seeing the brunet seat himself on the edge of the bed pulls a little laugh from the Harbinger and a shake of his head, but he'll indulge the other - for now.

As much as the Liyuen probably wishes it to be otherwise, the fact of the matter remains that Snezhnayan frost is cold enough to permeate most things, including walls. The fact that Childe's floors were made of cold, icy marble did nothing except retain that coldness, so truthfully? The bed was probably the warmest place in the room. The scraps of clothing that the other was wearing would absolutely not help matters.

But that's fine. There's something more satisfying about bring a dog to heel by its own choice rather than by force. In time he will learn.

Childe himself strips down easily, shucking the fabric of his clothing off as though offended by them. He does this out of the brunet's sight so that he'd have to crane his head around to see him, but once he's done he wastes no time in sliding under the covers and feeling his body warm quickly beneath the covers. ]

Keeping you warm is the least I'll do to you. Won't you come join me? It's much warmer in here than it is out there. Your pride won't do you any good if you freeze to death.

[He hasn't wished for his abilities so strongly in ages. This was never meant to be an easy task - letting go of his place as both guide and protector had been a reluctant necessity.

That's largely unrelated, though. He sits, stubbornly, as the cold seeps into the relative comfort of the room, sinking into fingers and toes and turning his nipples into perky little bumps in his clothes. Even the jewelry seems bent on freezing him into the snake's embrace.]

I don't need your help. The blankets alone would be enough, and this bed is large. Even if I agreed to lie there, I'm not asking for more. My pride and I will be fine. I have survived worse.

[But... ultimately, after a while, he can't deny it any more. His gaze flicks to Childe with an expression of dismay, perhaps even disgust on his face, and he rises up to lift the blankets.]

Just... stay there.

[As if he's not the one being ordered around here.]

[ Childe can be patient. He's sat for hours with a line in the frigid Snezhnayan waters, waiting for a bite. He can lay here as long as it takes for the foreigner to break, and then some.

After all, he wasn't lying when he said it was warm and cozy beneath the blankets. His Zolotse is the only one putting himself through unnecessary suffering, all for the sake of his pride.

Childe understands, of course. To say that he himself hadn't been put through unneeded conflicts for the sake of his own stubbornness would be hypocrisy. Doubtless the Liyuen native will see for himself in the coming months the extent of the Harbinger's proud nature.

For now, he only smiles in that innocuous way of his and rubs a palm over the silken sheets. They're cool to the touch but warming up quickly beneath his skin. ]

I can warm you up much faster if you come into my arms, you know.

[He'd forgotten how fragile human bodies are. Even beneath the covers, his body settles itself into a notable, frustrating shiver. It's fine, he tells himself, the feeling will start coming back and the shuddering will subside.

Childe speaks and his gaze slides to the Snezhnayan, a gruff little exhale as his eyes close.]

You're still acting like I have a choice. If you decide you want something, that is your right as the victor, isn't it?

[He could probably stand to give Childe a small victory, but... ah. He doesn't want to. Not yet. The Harbinger has already proven that if he really wants, his hands will do as they like, regardless of Zhongli's thoughts on the matter.]

I ache. If that's all, I would like to rest.

[As he speaks, ignoring the chill of the blankets even against his skin, he turns away from Childe to settle himself in the space. He wasn't lying - he certainly aches, both from the cold and from the injuries (which, he suspects, will feel worse in the morning thanks to said cold on the myriad of bruises).]

[ Childe will allow the man to have his rest; for a little while, at least. The minutes pass to the tune of the winds howling angrily outside, rattling the loose embellishments on the palace itself while the sky dims with every passing moment. The heavy, draped furs and luxurious blankets provide a nice cocoon of warmth for the pair of them, the mattress beneath like sinking into a cloud. It's apparent no expense was spared to make the bed as comfortable as it could possibly be.

It's also apparent, from the way that a callused hand slides up the brunet's side to rest on his hip, that Childe has no intention of letting him rest any time soon.

The bed shifts and creaks beneath them when the Harbinger slides ever closer, and the way he fits his body along the length of the foreigner's own is equal parts a means to warm his chilled body and also to indulge in a bit of friction against his unattended cock - which quickly hardens at an almost alarming rate, nestling itself against the backs of the Liyuen's warriors thighs.

The hand on a his hips lifts to correct that little oversight, sliding down to take a slim leg and pull it up so he can slide his cock in between them with a content sigh. At least it's warm. ]

I hope you don't mind. [ He says when he sets the foreigner's leg down. ] I just sleep better this way.

[For one minute, two even, he thinks maybe he'll be able to rest. The heavy furs and soft mattress are almost enough to doze off in. It's a luxury he's really not used to.

... And then, there's the sound of movement over the howling of the winds and noise of the palace shifting in its anger. Sound turns to heat, and against his aching and cold body, it's almost, almost a salve. If it weren't the very man who advocated his current predicament, the gesture could almost be sweet.

Perhaps a bit less sweet, with how fast Childe's cock hardens between them, hot and thick against his skin for a moment before the harbinger slides down to lift his leg up. With little recourse, he just... allows it, not quite freezing and perhaps gritting his teeth as he speaks.]

... Ah. You have other pets you accost? Whores, perhaps, unable to refuse your whims? At least I won't be alone in this discomfort, then.

[His tone is cold, but he's much too worn for anything more than that. At least it's just that, for now.]

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