Thread by @_Cavalierious_

[ A Mildly Threatening Confession ]

#ZhongChiLi Thread (threat) Fic. Silly shenanigans and idiots in love.
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It goes like this:

Childe is angry, annoyed, and frankly detestable at this point, which makes Ekaterina risk it all when she slaps him across the face.

“Figure it out,” she snaps, hand trembling. He won’t hurt her and she knows that. Childe just looks at her and sighs, rubbing his face. “Sooner, rather than later,” she adds as an afterthought.

Sooner is too soon, and Childe nearly runs when he finds himself in the presence of Zhongli. Things are different now; Zhongli is no longer just a prim funeral consultant with strange eccentricities, he’s Morax, Rex Lapis, a multitude of other fancy titles that must exist.

Childe hates them all, as flimsy as it feels the moment it worms its way through his brain. The pull towards Zhongli is undeniable, even now. Perhaps even more so. Childe is drunk on the thought of power, of testing this once god in a match of pure brawn.

Zhongli would never agree, so Childe doesn’t press the issue.
“Let it be known that this wasn’t my idea.” It is the first thing that Childe says in weeks, and it makes a soft little wrinkle furrow Zhongli’s brow.

“I wouldn’t be here if I had my choice, I’d be on a boat headed back home instead," continues Childe. He still checks the sea charts daily even if he hasn’t yet been reassigned.

Zhongli reaches out impulsively, the cold leather of his glove cupping Childe’s face. Childe doesn’t move, frozen in surprise, fear, trepidation—Celestia above, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s nailed to the spot, nostrils flaring as he waits

“A bruise,” says Zhongli softly, sweeping the pad of his thumb across his cheek with a strange gentleness that settles deep in Childe’s gut.

𝘖𝘩, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘳.

“Katya slapped me. She’s lucky I love her because I’ve killed others for less.”

“So you don’t kill those you care for? Good to know.”

Childe’s gaze narrows suspiciously. His mouth parts and he licks at his lips. Rage simmers just underneath his skin. The hatred is so easy, but what’s less so is the way that his heart beats so loudly. He hears his pulse in his throat. Feels the tingle of Zhongli’s touch.

“Your hand,” he finally says, and Zhongli pulls away quickly.

“Apologies.”

There is a moment of tense silence where Childe wrestles with the wild tangle of his thoughts. So many things to say. He settles on, “I should crack your head open, you know. Just like all the others.”

Zhongli’s express turns amused. “Oh? You might find that difficult. I do believe you’ll find me a little out of your league.”

“Now listen here,” snaps Childe, pressing a finger against his chest. “I don’t care who you are, but consider this a threat—𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺. Maybe not now, but one day, you’ll regret what you’ve done.”

“Which is?” Zhongli asks calmly. He stands there so patiently, like the silken Glaze Lilies that he tends to in his little garden. “You seem to have taken this entire affair rather personally.”

“I—𝘠𝘰𝘶—” Childe heaves a frustrated grunt, dragging a hand through his hair as he tries to sort out his next words. “Gods, you’re insufferable. I’m trying to be the bad guy here. I’m a Harbinger, you know. Chaos and doom, and all that—”

Zhongli kisses him.

He leans forward and slots his mouth against Childe’s confidently, hand curling into his shirt to pull him closer.

Childe goes. Childe cannot stop himself, utterly enthralled by this inhuman man before him, whether he wants to be or not, and so he falls into the kiss. And falls and falls and falls, lips soft against each other, tongues seeking out wet warmth.

When Zhongli pulls away, Childe slaps him. Strangely reminiscent of exactly what Ekaterina did to him when she got fed up. She’d be proud. Childe’s chest heaves, his face is flush, and he stands there, hand raised, ready to do it again.

“What’s with that look?” he asks when Zhongli has the gall to look confused.

“An argument,” he says, pressing a hand against his jaw. “Isn’t this a proper method of making up when a couple is having an argument?”

𝘈 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘱𝘭𝘦, said Zhongli. They are not a couple, they are only friends, and barely that considering the fact that Zhongli has kept some wild skeletons firmly nestled in his closet.

"𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵?"

“I’ve read books,” murmurs Zhongli as he considers. “I even asked Miss Xiangling for help, but—”

“What do you mean 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘱𝘭𝘦?”

Zhongli does not immediately respond. “I—” He makes the strangest face. “Perhaps we never hashed out the deals, but with all of our dates I felt it was abundantly clear.”

“Dates,” repeats Childe, deadpan. The lunches, the dinners, the late-night teas—

The picnics. Days where Zhongli would show him around, hand pressed to the small of Childe’s back as he shared the wonders of Liyue. The opera, the books, the afternoons nestled in his old teapot, Nubby teasing them.

Those softer moments, full of stories of Morax, where Zhongli was apparently sharing parts of himself that Childe never realized he was.

“You… wait, do you love me?” asks Childe, his voice cracking.

“I felt it was obvious.” Zhongli sighs. “I have never been good with words, or the wiles of mortals. I am new to this, just as you are. I’ve wanted to apologize, but all you’ve done is turn me away—”

Childe laughs, a bitter-sounding thing as he brushes back his bangs. It’s not entirely his fault, at least. It looks as though they are both fucking idiots.

Zhongli reaches out once more and takes his hand, which Childe does not pull away from. “What are you thinking?”

“Gods, we’re stupid. You’re stupid and I’m stupid.”

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

Childe hisses at the thought. “No.”

𝘖𝘩, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴. Childe likely forgave him before he ever realized it, because that’s how these types of things always seem to sort themselves out.

“I’m willing to talk it out,” says Childe in a moment of weakness.

Zhongli’s hand finds his face again, caressing his bruised cheekbone. And then the swell of Childe’s bottom lip. “I’d rather kiss you again.”

“What would you call that? An unorthodox approach?”

“There is nothing orthodox about either of us, which is where I find the appeal.”

They’re doing this backwards. This is not how things are supposed to go. Childe came here for retribution, not to be reduced to a pile of feelings.

They should really, really talk about this, but all that Childe can think about is the soft press of Zhongli’s lips, and how he apparently loves him. How he’s been trying to make things right this entire time.

Childe’s gaze dips back to Zhongli’s mouth and lingers. “There is… uh, appeal,” he agrees. “And maybe a threat, if you don’t—” Childe gestures vaguely.

This time, when Zhongli kisses him, Childe is more prepared. This time, when they kiss, Childe lets himself indulge, sinking into the feel of it, fingers curling against Zhongli’s biceps.

Childe thinks that Ekaterina might slap them both if she saw. When they part, Childe’s gaze narrows and he says coolly, “Don’t think you’ve kissed your way out of this.”

“Then, clearly, I should practice more if I haven’t unsettled you thusly.” Zhongli holds his chin gently between a thumb and forefinger. He watches Childe’s face for any signs of trepidation. “You haven’t said it back, you know.”

His voice is quiet, perhaps a little afraid. Hesitant for what Childe might reply, despite the fact that he’s hungrily kissed him back. As if Childe might not love him back.

𝘖𝘩, 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵? Wouldn’t that make it easier?

“You haven’t earned it yet,” says Childe cheekily, to which Zhongli offers him a mildly feral smile.

[ THE END... for now? ]