Chapter Text
Zhongli is usually quick to rouse himself when he wakes. Today, it’s a little more difficult. His knees ache; he seems more bleary-eyed than usual in the early gray light. He drags his feet to the washroom, splashing cold water across his face in his basin to cut through his grogginess. In the mirror, he assess the faint shadows under his eyes — they'll only get worse as the week goes on, probably — only to catch a glimpse of a mark on the side of his neck, nestled under the edge of his jaw.
It’s the weekend — no one should see it — so he tries to keep it out of sight, out of mind. Zhongli leaves his hair down to cover it, but the knowledge of its presence remains. In fact, it was constant. He finds himself involuntarily brushing a finger against the tender skin again and again, marveling at how it stung.
Later in the late morning, his phone buzzes just as he settles in to read a particularly tedious article. The name that pops up makes his chest flutter and blood run cold. Was something wrong? Did leave something behind? Why else would Ajax be calling so early?
Ajax asks how Zhongli feels, how’s he’s doing — an innocuous enough question.
"I’m fine. Why do you ask?"
"Ah, given last night — just wanted to check."
Zhongli stammers on the line, and he can hear Ajax laugh under his breath.
❖
It’s the last week before the winter holiday. Zhongli almost forgot. The end of the year is a rush of the entire semester catapulting into one final, rushed mess. Classes may be over, but there's still a healthy stack of items waiting on his to-do list.
By Monday, the mark stayed in full-bloom — a softer, pink blemish that graces his throat below his ear.
It eats away at him.
One moment, Zhongli will be at his desk, making dinner, walking across the campus. Then he remembers teeth nipping at his jaw, Ajax's hazy stare, fingertips grasping at the flesh of his hips — and Zhongli melts. He can’t go on like this. He should say something. He should ask… he should ask… but how… and for what?..
At first, Zhongli drafts emails. Formal propositions, paragraph after paragraph — but this isn't business related. The medium is not appropriate. He types out a text message but it doesn't sound right. Another one — and he's afraid it won't carry the right intonation, fails to convey what he really wants to say. In his office at work, his gaze wanders from his spreadsheets to stare at his handheld screen. The blinking line of the text cursor humbles him — surely, a simple text couldn’t be more difficult to write than a six-thousand word article or data review presentation?
The wretched phone even comes with him as he walks across campus and through the buildings.
“Zhongli? Glued to his phone?”
He pretends that he doesn’t hear Venti.
But from the corner of his eye, he catches Venti’s double take. Venti is next to him in the blink of an eye, wrenching Zhongli's head down with impressive strength for his small frame.
"What is this?!" he asks half incredulously. "No fucking way. Look at you! I might have mistaken you for one of the students!” he squeals in disbelief. Venti points below Zhongli's left ear.
“Is the mark too visible?” Zhongli asks, lowering his voice.
“Not really. But I’ve known you for a long time, and you looked like you had something to hide.”
Zhongli sets his mouth in a thin line.
“Who was it?” Venti presses on, swiping at Zhongli’s phone. Zhongli simply lifts his arm, leaving Venti to hop around him.
“Don’t tell me it was—”
“I need not tell you anything, my dear friend,” Zhongli says coolly. “Please refrain from pawing at me. You’re drawing unnecessary attention."
"You wouldn't be texting the person in question, now, would you?
Zhongli scowls.
"Oh, don't look at me like that. Tight-lipped and reserved as always. Out of the blue, carousing around exclusive little parties and making out with some mysterious figure on the weekends… What gives?"
Zhongli pauses.
"I… don't think there is much to say on the matter."
"Yeah, yeah. Sure. Look, if you're trying to be discreet about your sugar daddy or whatever—"
"Keep your voice down. And that — that's not what it's like."
"Oh? Are you dating then?"
"No—"
"Ooo-kay. Sure. How about this: you can tell me about it over lunch next week when things slow down."
"I— you know what? Fine. If that will stop you from harassing me in the hall."
Venti winks and cackles, practically skipping away down the hall. Zhongli states back at the empty message on his screen.
What even is there to say on the matter?
Good grief.
Zhongli gives up and slips his phone into his pocket, hoping the right words will somehow come to him later.
❖
The week crawls on, but the hours fly by, inconsiderate of Zhongli’s workload.
He’s used to staying up late, but this week, he’s hardly letting himself sleep at all. One moment, it’s only a little past seven, the next time he looks at the clock it’s almost two in the morning. So it goes. It's one of the less appealing aspects of the job, but he generally loves his work, and it won't get done any faster if he mills about.
One night, he remembers to set himself a break. The soft buzzing of an alarm goes off, and he pulls himself away from entering grades, thinking about making another full pot of coffee. When he turns off the alarm, he sees a missed message from almost two hours ago — it’s a set of texts from Ajax. Some plans had changed earlier in the evening, and he wanted to know if Zhongli would like to meet for a drink.
I'm sorry for missing your message, Zhongli types. Unfortunately, I've been busy with work since it's the last week before the winter holiday.
What else? But I want to see you. No, he deletes that… Too forthcoming? If you don’t mind, we can make it up sometime later this week. No, that sounds worse; presumptuous, too suggestive.
It’s silly how long he goes back and forth. When the phone rings, it startles him. Zhongli fumbles his phone, catching it from dropping to the ground.
"I’m terribly lucky to have been graced with a moment of your time," Ajax chuckles.
“I’m not too busy to say hello. I feel badly that I missed your message.”
“It’s the end of the year for you, isn’t it?”
“I’ve quite a bit of work to catch up on. But yes, this is the last week of work for me,” Zhongli says. “Why are you calling at the late hour?
“I had a feeling you might still be awake."
"What gave you that idea?"
"Just a hunch, at first," Ajax says. But you know, I can see when you're typing a message."
Zhongli lets the realization settle in — how long did Ajax watch as he struggled to formulate a response? Ajax graces him with a moment of silence before he laughs again.
"When’s the last chance you’ve given yourself a break? Have you even eaten? From what I know of you, you’ve probably worked through the night. Running on coffee, getting lost in your work.”
“Your inferences are correct,” Zhongli says quietly.
“Well, I won’t take you away from your duties any longer. But you should think about getting some sleep, Professor.”
"I shall certainly try."
"Perhaps you'll be free at the end of this week, then?"
"Yes. Do you have something in mind?"
It's quiet over the line for a moment.
"Dinner again? Friday night?"
❖
Less than an hour later, Zhongli receives yet another call. Waiting at the front of his building, someone sent a deliveryman with a large, paper bag full of food to go.
❖
On Friday, the faculty bid each other good-bye and exchange well-wishes for the holidays. Though he’ll miss his office, the chaos of the week reminds him that a break is well-deserved and very necessary. He gathers the last of his books, turns off his computer, and hurries home because there’s still one last thing the day has to offer.
He’s the first one to arrive to dinner for once. A bit strange, since Ajax is usually already there, waiting for him. He’s seated in a dark, private partition of the dining floor, sectioned off with long, gauzy white curtains that reach from the tall ceiling to the carpet. The place is quite posh, extravagant even for Ajax’s taste. A server comes by to silently offer him red wine. Minutes pass; Zhongli loosens his tie and lets the tension resting in his shoulder from the last week slowly melt away from his shoulders.
It’s replaced by a certain anticipation, different from anything he’d felt before — difficult to identify. Something tinged with not quite dread, more akin to some sort of adrenaline-fueled anxiety. He wanted to see Ajax. He was excited to see him again. Maybe a little too excited to see where the night would take them…
Somehow, he misses the sound of approaching footsteps.
Zhongli almost chokes on his drink when he feels a small, sharp tug at the end of his hair.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Ajax laughs. He couldn’t sound less apologetic. “Did I keep you waiting long?”
Zhongli clears his throat and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. He can feel Ajax’s eyes take in his flustered expression — he must have caught a glimpse of the fading mark that still lingers on his throat — practically glowing with smug self-satisfaction. It’s a blessing he doesn’t mention it.
Ajax pours himself some wine, making his way over to the other side of the table. But normal conversation resumes. Neither of them mention what transpired the previous week, not the way Ajax snaked his cool hands over Zhongli’s waist, not the way Zhongli asked for more, not the blemish that served as proof of that night…
Ajax absentmindedly toys with an hors d'oeuvre, asking Zhongli about work, sharing anecdotes from his day. The entire time, his keeps his eyes at Zhongli with a dark, steady gaze. Zhongli shuffles in the seat across from him, taking a sip of cold water, praying it staves off the warmth in his face.
“You’re always playing with your food,” he finally says.
“It’s a bad habit…” Ajax moves a spray of vegetables around his plate. “All these gourmet restaurants want to sell you on an experience, so you get these small plates with frivolous little bites. Pretty enough, but not filling.”
“Do you not enjoy it?”
“I do. But when you take someone out to dinner, sometimes it isn’t always just for the food."
"That's a rather transactional way to look at it."
"Make no mistake, I'm not so callous. Can I not enjoy some conversation over a nice meal?"
"And that’s why you continue to go on these outings with me?"
Ajax doesn’t answer; he simply sets his chin up on his hand with a content smile. Under the table, something brushes against Zhongli's ankle.
"Tell me: what ever happened to your original little research inquiry? How’s it going?"
"At this point, the department has all but dropped the original proposition in favor of a new topic.”
"So it goes. I'm sorry to hear that my knowledge didn’t end up being useful.”
“I'm not disappointed.” Zhongli keeps his words measured. “I’ve learned a lot. I haven’t lied when I said I enjoy spending time with you."
“You’re being too modest,” Ajax says, shaking his head.
“I mean it. I’m not just trying to be polite.”
Ajax looks at Zhongli long and hard, like he’s searching for something. Through the rest of the meal, the air grows heavy and tense, both of them dancing around each other with words. The game was coming to a close. It threatens a stalemate. Zhongli feels his throat tighten, wishing he’d made his mind up, that he’d been more forward.
When the plates are eventually cleared away — when the last of the wine sits at the bottom of the glasses — they lapse into silence. Ajax wordlessly sends a credit card away with the server. Zhongli’s done drinking, but he keeps his glass in a hand, thumbing at the stem.
“Well. You must be tired,” Ajax finally says, standing up and straightening out his suit coat. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come out after such a long week. That’s terribly rude of me. Would you like to go home?”
"Wait," Zhongli reaches out instinctively. Ajax stops and turns when Zhongli touches his sleeve. Zhongli's hand wavers — they freeze, staring at each other in the flickering candlelight.
"Are you busy tonight?"
"I had no other plans, save to see you," Ajax says, words careful, eyes narrowed.
"... I—I'm free for the rest of the night as well."
"What a coincidence." Ajax says. His expression melts into an unreadable smile. "Do you have something else in mind, then?"
❖
In the back of the car, Ajax keeps his voice low, murmuring the filthiest things Zhongli's ever heard into his ear. Once again, Zhongli finds his hands clasped in his lap, head down, face warm and flushed as Ajax offers a slew of options for the night ahead of them. All the way up the elevator, through the office, through the front door to Ajax's apartment, he defines a set of rules, tells Zhongli what he's going to do to him. It's embarrassing. Humiliating how his skin prickles, how his face burns, how his dick twitches in excitement. Zhongli simply nods his head, steeling himself though he knows he'll never fully be prepared. But that was part of the allure, wasn’t it? There was nothing else to study; no other prerequisites required of him. All Zhongli had to do was follow directions.
Ajax throws their coats to the side, leaving the lights off, reaching out his hand. He smiles like he's won a prize, like he's cheated the game. "Do you have any questions?” he asks.
A fresh wave of hot adrenaline seizes Zhongli’s chest. “No,” he says quietly, hesitantly reaching out to take Ajax’s hand. It feels strange, warm and lovely. Ajax's fingers wrap around Zhongli's hand, gently tugging him in the direction of the dark hallway.
Entering the room is like a bout of deja vu — eerily familiar, but still strange and foreign. Ajax flicks the dim lights on, shuts the door softly. The click of the lock sends another pang of adrenaline shooting through Zhongli’s body. He stands in the middle of the room taking it all in again — the scent of oiled leather, the array of equipment neatly packed along the walls, the peek of city lights through the shades of the wide windows…
He turns. Ajax stands before him, eyes shining with something dark, something excited. He's still. Silent. Almost terrifying. Arms crossed, watching Zhongli — maybe assessing his next move, calculating what he wants to do first. Even fully clothed, Zhongli feels completely vulnerable beneath Ajax’s gaze.
It’s alarming how quickly his expression melts into something else. Ajax moves closer, moving his hand slowly to brush a piece of hair away from Zhongli’s face. A finger moves down, tracing the side of his jaw, tracing its way to that fading mark along Zhongli’s neck.
Zhongli shivers.
"I want to know — did you think of me? Whenever you saw this?" Ajax asks.
"I-I did."
It seems to be a satisfactory enough answer. Ajax smiles, soft and warm, before rolling up his sleeves.
"I’m going to fuck you, Professor. Strip down."
His tone isn't mean nor cold, but unmistakably a command. And just like that, Ajax has walked away, leaving Zhongli blinking fast, flustered and unsure what to do with himself. Maybe he expected there would be more of a preamble before being asked to take his clothes off.
Slowly, Zhongli unbuttons his shirt, unfastens his belt, unties his shoes until there is nothing else. The air is cool. Gooseflesh crawls up his skin. With no further direction, he nearly folds each garment, stacking them on the floor next to a foot of the couch.
He thought it'd be strange coming back again. He sits and waits, hands folded — he doesn't want to come across as impatient. The sofa faces away from wherever Ajax is. Zhongli's imagination runs wild trying to identify the sounds: drawers sliding open and closed, a thud of soft rope, clinks of metal.
"How polite." Ajax startles Zhongli, coming up behind him, speaking lowly into his ear. "Shall we stay here on the sofa?"
Zhongli doesn't know the appropriate answer. He swallows hard, casting his eyes low to the side.
"I don't mind — wherever you want," Ajax lilts.
Zhongli’s voice comes out small and quiet. "Right here is fine."
Ajax hums low in agreement, and Zhongli feels him gently play with Zhongli's hair. Ajax twirls the ends around his fingertips, moving up to loosen the tie binding it together, pulling the tie off. Zhongli closes his eyes: now there was absolutely nothing left on his person.
The strands fan across the back of his shoulders, and Ajax continues to let his fingers run through Zhongli's hair, making their way up until they graze across his scalp. All things considered — their history, what they'd done — this felt almost too intimate. Zhongli doesn't want to know if he's blushing — as if that's what he should feel shy about, sitting here naked. Zhongli has half the mind to beg Ajax to keep going and just do this. He realizes he's been holding his breath — when he exhales, it trembles a little. Ajax continues to let his hands roam, combing through Zhongli's hair until Zhongli melts into the sofa.
Then Ajax gathers all the strands, pulling Zhongli's head back. Zhongli's eyes flutter open; Ajax hovers to his side, so close Zhongli can feel the warmth radiating from Ajax's skin. Then Ajax lets his lips fall to the corner of his jaw, barely touching him. But like brimstone and fire, it burns — this is what feels like should leave a mark —
It's barely a kiss. Not enough. Ajax lets the back of his fingers slide down Zhongli’s collarbones, over his chest, a fingernail barely touching a nipple. They roam over the sensitive skin of his ribs until a tingle shoots down Zhongli’s spine. He bristles, arching his back. Ajax smirks, taking his time, letting his fingers wander leisurely, tracing paths along Zhongli’s anatomy.
Then Ajax kisses him slowly, along the side of his face until his lips rest over Zhongli’s mouth. He lingers above Zhongli until Zhongli tilts his chin up. Their lips find each other again, fall back into a cadence they’d practiced: eager, steady, driven by hunger. Zhongli waits for Ajax to go faster, move more insistently, pick up the pace. But he doesn’t. He kisses Zhongli like he savors every moment, a little too sweetly, running the tip of his tongue along Zhongli’s lips. Warm, calloused hands glide across Zhongli’s skin. It leaves Zhongli panting for breaths between their mouths, his cock hardening at the anticipation.
A fine strand of spit shines in the low light when Ajax pulls away. He breaks it with a finger, a sinister grin spreading across his face.
“On your knees,” he says quietly, his voice hardened into a demand.
It’s like whiplash. Zhongli freezes for a second, letting his mind catch up. He moves with uncertainty, pulling his feet up, adjusting to sit back on his heels. "A-alright. Is this — ?"
Ajax moves in front of him, taking Zhongli's hands into his own. Zhongli studies the veins and flexing muscles of Ajax's arms as his own wrists are locked in a set of familiar cuffs. He stares at them, mind reeling — not with fear, but excitement —
Ajax pulls down on the chain between Zhongli's wrists, hard enough to waver and shift his balance. In a second, his hips are up, forearms resting to his side on the seat of the couch. He looks back at Ajax, wide-eyed, trying to adjust and steady himself.
Ajax runs his hand down Zhongli's spine in slow strokes, resting at the small of Zhongli's back when he settles.
"Much better."
There's no moment of reprieve. Ajax moves behind him, and Zhongli can't crank his neck around far enough to see. Something wraps around each of Zhongli's ankles, locking into place with a harsh, metallic sound. He tries to move, managing to slide onto his forearms. Zhongli can't see Ajax from his peripheral vision, but when he turns his head, he can see what's caught his legs:
A steel bar keeping his feet apart, knees spread wide, incredibly exposed with his ass thrust up in the open air.
When he tries to close his legs a bit more, the binds around his ankles bite into his flesh. Zhongli thinks about how humiliating this is, how never in his life he would have dreamed of this . Is it the blood rushing to his head? Did he drink too much wine? He thinks about relinquishing control — what it means — he thinks about how this was both utterly embarrassing and the most turned on he’d been in a long time. He’s already painfully hard, desperate to be touched more.
Ajax circles around him, tracing a line up Zhongli's thigh to the curve of his ass. It makes Zhongli gasp and arch his back, and Ajax lets out a soft laugh at that, mirroring his actions on the inside of Zhongli's legs, watching Zhongli writhe under his fingers.
"Do you like this, Professor?”
A fingertip drags itself dangerously close between Zhongli’s legs, into the delicate skin at the crease of his thighs. Zhongli holds his breath —
“Is this what you’ve been waiting for? All this time…”
When a thumb brushes over his entrance, a pathetic little sound slips from his throat. It brushes over his rim, lazy and light. Zhongli buries his face into the leather cushion beneath him, some semblance of hiding himself, some semblance of preserving his dignity. Yet his hips begin to sway in the air, seeking more pressure and stimulation.
Ajax lowers his head, a little closer. “So shameless…”
Something cold and wet falls to his skin — a thick glob of lube, slowly dripping from the top of his ass down to his perineum. Zhongli forces himself to keep his ass up, the restraints pulling against each other as Zhongli’s hands search for something to hold onto. His legs begin to ache. He can’t look up. He can’t face Ajax. Only the sound of his shaky exhales punctuate the silence, but that won’t last.
“Please… ” Zhongli starts. He’s dizzy. He feels a bit drunk. His tongue is thick, like it's coated in honey. “Will you— more, please —”
A finger presses more insistently against his rim. Zhongli sobs, trying to push his hips back. “Yes, yes. Please. I want— I want—”
“Don't move. Stay still for me. Just like that…" Ajax encourages. Zhongli obeys, chest heaving. The teasing finger finally slips inside him, patiently works its way deeper. Zhongli sighs, letting his shoulders relax. He's empty for a moment, and then he feels the exhilarating stretch of more. Two fingers slide in, gently curling until they reach a part that makes Zhongli release a long moan.
For all the discomfort, it makes each wave of pleasure feel better than the last. It starts in his gut, intense and warm, spreading through his core to the tips of his fingers. And Ajax knows how to read Zhongli's body, every sound he makes. He said it's what he enjoys. Zhongli wonders if Ajax is pleased with the fruits of his labor, the desire that he cultivated.
With this other hand, Ajax takes Zhongli’s face with a hand, turning Zhongli to look up at him.
“Does anyone else get to see you like this?"
"N-no—"
“Look at me. Do you do this for anyone else?"
Zhongli forces his eyes up. Ajax looks down on him with dark, wild eyes.
“No… no, Sir…” he says quietly. His face burns. "…only you…"
Ajax's fingers tighten around his jaw. He heaves a shaky breath, all the while pressing into Zhongli's prostate over and over, maddeningly faster, slower, harder. Zhongli grasps at the air, straining against the cuffs when Ajax spreads his fingers apart. A line of sweat gathers and runs down Zhongli's back, cooling against his skin.
Then Ajax slips out of him, raking nails over the soft flesh of his ass, the tops of his thighs. Ajax kneels behind him, leaning over until he covers Zhongli's back. Zhongli can feel the buttons of Ajax’s shirt along his shoulder blades, Ajax’s dark voice coming up behind his ear.
"There… you look so good like this, you know…” Ajax trails off. His hips press into Zhongli, who freezes when he feels a bulge rut into him.
“I always wanted to know what you’d look like under me, tied up, desperate to get fucked.” Fingers snake through Zhongli’s hair, grabbing a fistful of hair at the base of his neck — this is how he turns Zhongli’s head, slowly but firmly.
“I want to see you when I fuck you. You're mine,” Ajax whispers. "Is that clear?"
"Yes, Sir," he manages. Zhongli’s hands fist into balls, a nail biting into the meat of his thumb. He must look like a mess.
And Ajax loves it. But he’s unhurried, unbuckling his belt at a leisurely pace. If he doesn’t hurry, Zhongli swears he’ll burn alive, desire eating away at him from the inside out.
When he feels the thick head of an erection press against him, desire wreaks through Zhongli’s body, enough to make his jaw ache and knees tremble. Ajax hisses above him, moving his shaft up and down, coating it with lube but not pushing inside yet. It makes wet, sticky sounds — loud, lewd, so terribly obscene.
When he slides the head of his cock in, Ajax rests his forehead against Zhongli’s temple. He grips Zhongli’s hair tighter, still watching carefully as Zhongli lets his face fall back down to the couch. And Zhongli savors it — the agonizing wait to be filled, the slight burn as he stretches even further. When Ajax’s hips fall flush to Zhongli’s ass, he whimpers high and his thighs shake.
“O-oh… I’m so full…” Zhongli whispers.
Ajax’s hand roams across Zhongli’s sides. “Don’t look away from me. I want to watch you,” he says, shifting his weight, getting ready to pull out and fuck back into Zhongli again.
Zhongli’s vision blurs, with each long, steady stroke. His wrists pull against each other, his legs ache. Ajax keeps an even pace at first, pulling out until only the tip of his dick was left inside. Without hesitation, he fully sheathed himself back in one fluid motion, groaning each time their hips grind against each other. It’s a slow and debilitating pace, but Zhongli begins to feel the telltale signs curling up in his belly. No one has ever fucked him like this. No one else could fuck him like this, make Zhongli feel this way, get him on his knees, submissive and on the brink of begging.
He yelps as his head is suddenly pulled back, hard enough for his chest up until he’s kneeling again. His shoulders bump against Ajax’s chest as he gets thrust into again. Zhongli throws his head back over Ajax’s shoulder and cries out — the new angle feels so good, Zhongli’s legs threaten to give out and topple him over.
And it makes sense now — where he can trace the thin, mercurial line between violence and pleasure.
"I’m going to— O-oh , I-I'm close," Zhongli gasps. Ajax only fucks him faster. Zhongli’s head rolls back and forth, moaning incoherently. "Please, please, please, I want to come,"
“Not yet,” Ajax says hoarsely, digging his fingers into Zhongli’s skin. “Just a little more. Can you wait for me, baby?"
“Please. I want you,” he gasps. His throat is sore. He can barely get the words out. "I want you. I want to come, Sir,” Zhongli mourns, and Ajax swears under his breath in response.
"Okay. Yeah," he says between pants, pulling Zhongli's head back even farther. "I want to see you come,"
But Zhongli is already there. He whines, high and pathetic; limbs, belly, lungs suspended in pleasure. Warmth resonates from his core, rocking through him like waves crashing against a shore, back and forth, over and over. Ajax’s fingers dig into Zhongli's hips as he fucks him through his orgasm. And Zhongli stays there — floating, breathless, riding out the pleasure, with only Ajax, his strong body holding onto Zhongli keeping him grounded.
Eventually, Ajax's hips roll and lurch to a halt. He stills and groans against Zhongli's shoulder, the inside of Zhongli's thighs sticky and warm.
Zhongli can barely tell, lost to a flood of endorphins, trying to recover. He tests the feeling in his toes and fingertips, so fucked-out like he’s expended every ounce of energy his body could muster. From his peripheral vision, Zhongli can make out Ajax's hand loosening the binds on his wrists and ankles, tossing them to the ground. The skin that was under the cuffs feels cold and raw against the air. Zhongli sinks into the leather beneath him, the heavy comfort of another body on top of him lulling his eyes closed.
❖
They doze for a while.
Zhongli doesn't remember too much of what happens next — shaky knees, incoherent mumbling, Ajax insisting on carrying him through an unlit hall.
When Zhongli manages to cut through his delirium, he finds himself tucked under a thick comforter, surrounded by an assortment of pillows. It's dark and cool — a bedroom, where he lies, a massive poster-framed bed. The door is wide open, meticulously clean, almost sparse in tall ceilings of the space. His mind is still sluggish, his eyes strain to take in the surroundings, adjusting to the faint light of the city streaming through the shuttered windows.
Beyond the door, a light flickers off somewhere. Zhongli sits up and rubs his eyes as the tall shadow of a figure walks into the room.
Ajax doesn't have a shirt on anymore, just casual pants. Zhongli watches the way the muscles along his shoulders and chest ripple and flex as Ajax runs a hand through his disheveled hair.
"You're awake," Ajax says, setting down a tall glass on a nightstand. Zhongli nods, curling his legs to the side as Ajax sits down beside him.
"How are you feeling?"
Zhongli's voice comes out raspy and exhausted. "Oh — I'm alright."
"Here," Ajax moves the glass into Zhongli's hands. Zhongli obediently drinks — some kind of juice, tart and sweet — leaning into the warmth of Ajax's arms next to him. Their skin sticks to each other from dried sweat.
"Do you want anything else? Are out hungry?" Ajax asks, fussing with the bedding. "Or I can let you be if you want some sleep."
"You're warm. Stay here for a while," Zhongli mumbles.
Ajax pauses, eventually sliding under the comforter, wrapping an arm around behind Zhongli. Zhongli sighs and melts, letting his head rest on Ajax's shoulder. Even in his exhaustion, their skin pressing against each other has a bout of juvenile giddiness welling in his stomach.
Then Ajax runs his fingers up and down Zhongli's forearm, working their way up, slowly moving in long, soothing strokes. They comb through the tangled strands on Zhongli's hair. It makes Zhongli hum in contentment.
But before he gives in to sleep, he looks up, turning his head.
"Yes?" Ajax asks. His fingers still, resting on Zhongli's shoulder.
And once again, Zhongli finds himself at a loss for words — unsure of what he should say, what would be appropriate in this situation. But he’s tired, and he’s tired of wondering. Waiting. Speculating. So he leans up and presses his mouth against Ajax’s.
For half a second, he’s worried it’s unwelcome — a culmination of all his fears and desires. But Ajax kisses him back with twice the fervor, tightening his hands around Zhongli’s waist, pushing back to kiss him deeper, and that's enough. For now, that’s all Zhongli needs to say. He finally falls asleep with Ajax buried at his neck, kisses trailing along his collarbone.
❖
Venti made good on his word, making a reservation to meet with Zhongli for lunch the next week. Unfortunately, Zhongli had assumed Venti would be covering the meal, and Venti, vice-versa. They bicker at the table for longer than necessary; conveniently, Ajax was texting Zhongli at the time and told him to not worry about it.
"Whoa. That's awfully nice of your, uh, friend…" Venti says, ordering the third mimosa in a row before Zhongli can stop him. "They just took his credit card over the phone? It must be nice not having to pay for anything."
"That's not the case," Zhongli says firmly. "I work, just like you. I just happen to be more modest about indulging in wine on the weekends."
"Oh puh-lease. You're the one sampling bottles worth more than my paychecks on your little dates."
"You're being absurd. A fine vintage doesn't have to cost thousands of dollars — maybe a couple hundred."
Venti scowls and rolls his eyes. From his phone, he pulls up a price list from the first restaurant Ajax took Zhongli to.
They must look ridiculous, heads together, grimacing and gawking as they continue to scroll further.
"You have got to be kidding me…" Venti trails off.
"That… is more expensive than I would have guessed." Zhongli finally says.
"So, uhm — tell me. What your boyfriend does for a living again?"