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A sandalwood aroma enveloped Tartaglia, flurrying from the man behind holding him at the waist. Zhongli’s eyelashes were like landed butterflies upon his eyes. He fluttered them open, and a primal warning call screamed out inside Tartaglia’s head. But no matter how loud the alarm bells rung, Tartaglia never fleed from battle.
“Are you not tired yet?” Zhongli asked. His low, unshakable voice carried the undertone of something simmering. It forced a shiver down Tartaglia’s spine.
“I need to go,” Tartaglia explained. “I’ve put off my mission long enough.”
“It can wait. Sleep.”
“Zhongli…” Tartaglia looked askance. “The Tsaritsa is counting on me.”
“She can wait,” Zhongli restated. The intensity of his golden eyes scanning Tartaglia’s back up and down burned like the Sun. “I exhausted you enough for one day, now rest.”
Tartaglia’s ass twitched with memory of a few minutes’ prior. Taking one cock as large as Zhongli’s should be painful on its own, but two? And yet, it didn’t hurt at all. Zhongli had applied the lube so carefully, and teased Tartaglia out finger by finger and toy by toy until he could take one of Zhongli’s geo pillars if he needed to. That didn’t mean the hours of pleasure didn’t shatter his energy to dust, though.
Right now, Tartaglia would love nothing more than to sleep away his exhaustion in the powerful arms of his fuck buddy, but he only came to Liyue to complete a mission. Spending the morning with Zhongli was nothing more than a pleasant detour. He had work to do.
Tartaglia freed himself from Zhongli’s arms and rolled out of bed. “I’ll see you again soon.”
Zhongli hummed an acknowledgement and said nothing more. His intent gaze didn’t drop to blink even once as Tartaglia approached the door.
“I’d have stayed if I could.” Tartaglia reached for the door handle. “Don’t hold it against me.”
He pressed the handle down, and opened the door. With the way Zhongli was acting, he almost thought it would be locked. Ah, if only.
Alarm bells weren’t the only things screaming at him anymore. Tartaglia’s hand did too. A dozen pricks of something sharp shot up from the door handle into his hand all at once. Instinctively, he pulled back and saw them: needles.
“Zhong… Zho…” Tartaglia tried. “Zh…”
“Shh, it’s okay.” Zhongli caught him as he collapsed. “I’ve got you.”
***
Tartaglia awakened to the darkness of black silk over his eyes. He had no clock to tell him how long he was unconscious for, but his ass was much tighter than before, so it must have been a while. He couldn’t move either. Must have been the ropes chafing his wrists far above his head.
“Did you sleep well?” A familiar, deep voice purred in his ear.
Tartaglia tried to respond, but only moans came out.
“Hush, don’t try to talk. Only your consciousness has returned,” Zhongli reassured. “You won’t be able to control your body again.”
Tartaglia shivered internally. His actual body didn’t move an inch.
“There we go, that’s it.” Dress shoes clacked against stone around Tartaglia. A gloved hand steadied his bare asscheek, as the other slicked something up. “Hold still for me.”
Like Tartaglia had a choice! The cold bite of a large metal orb tapped the rim of his ass. Zhongli applied pressure upon it.
“Don’t resist.” Zhongli tried it harder against Tartaglia’s tight ass, and for the first time since they became fuck buddies, it hurt.
Tartaglia groaned out in pain.
Zhongli didn’t hesitate. Tartaglia’s ass was forced to take a third of the orb. He pushed harder. With the first half taken, the second half slipped in by itself.
Tartaglia was practically fisted by unrelenting metal, helpless to take it out. His only solace was that it was all in already.
Zhongli pushed it deeper. A long metal arch, thinner than the orb but still very much a part of whatever metal wand it was, glided over Tartaglia’s walls and kept them open. Tartaglia moaned hard as the orb reached the most sensitive part of him.
Zhongli hummed. “You’re usually better at keeping yourself under control than this, Childe.”
He rocked the wand against Tartaglia’s prostate, battering him with pleasure. Tartaglia’s mind blanked with every hit. He altered between fear and pleasure like a metronome.
“Is this what you needed, after all?” Zhongli murmured into his ear directly. His cool breath made it all the more tingle-inducing. “You want someone to treat you harshly, don’t you? No wonder you’re so loyal to the Fatui.”
The ropes binding Tartaglia’s wrists suddenly jumped higher. The metal wand inside him jerked up too. He was forced to the tips of his toes, barely escaping the pain of being ripped apart. The clacks of Zhongli’s boots stepped away. Nothing rocked the metal wand against Tartaglia’s prostate anymore except his own body swaying like a wind chime.
Zhongli rubbed a cold alcohol wipe over his abdomen. “Rest assured, this won’t hurt more than you can handle.”
A sharp prick penetrated a few inches below Tartaglia’s navel. It dug in deeper and deeper, past skin and muscle to an organ buried what should have been safely inside. Tartaglia could feel every spurt of fluid being ejaculated fast inside him, and there was a lot. His organ was made to guzzle pints of icy cold fluid without mercy.
“Hm, you’re thirstier than expected.” Zhongli retracted the needle, to Tartaglia’s brief release, before pressing a second in. “Perhaps this will satiate you.”
Tartaglia longed to rub his thighs together as another endless helping of fluid rushed into him. His bladder inflated to fullness, and yet still Zhongli didn’t relent. He could after all, technically, take a few more drops. Then a few more. How long until it would burst? Would Zhongli know his limit?
Only when Tartaglia had what he thought was his limit surpassed three times over, did Zhongli stop. “Good.”
Tartaglia couldn’t hold it. It was too much. His tip started to leak.
Zhongli pressed his thumb over it. “No, not yet.” He injected another few drops into Tartaglia, checked the tip wasn’t leaking again, and at last said, “Do you want me to let you go?”
Tartaglia affirmatively moaned. The quicker he responded, the quicker this situation, for which discomfort was as apt a word to describe it as ‘papercut’ would be for seppuku, would be over.
“Very well,” Zhongli acknowledged.
Tartaglia’s heart thudded. Soon. Soon it would be over.
“All you have to do is hold it in—” Zhongli slipped the blindfold from Tartaglia’s eyes. For the first time, he could see the large clock that had been opposite him the whole time: 11:49. “—Until that clock strikes twelve. Succeed, and I’ll let you go. And if you fail, I take it you’ll have no qualms with being mine to do with as I please for the rest of your life?”
11 minutes. Adrenaline coursed through his body. Tartaglia was under no illusion this would be easy, but impossible challenges were what he lived for. He moaned affirmatively.
Zhongli softened his eyes. “You never disappoint me, Childe.”
For the first minute, Zhongli did nothing. Tartaglia burned hot under his watch, straining to keep himself under control even as the rest of his body was deaf to his commands. His stomach bulged with the hard bump of his full, needy bladder.
When the clock ticked to 11:50, Zhongli cast a geo pillar a little way’s away. Tartaglia couldn’t tell why. Not until it pulsed. The ground below his toes pulsed too — or rather, vibrated.
Tartaglia startled a moan.
Zhongli curled his lips. “It’s nothing you can’t handle.”
The vibrations grew in intensity, and tickled just as hard. Tartaglia couldn’t move regardless, but even if his body wasn’t paralysed, he’d be stuck between jumping away from the vibrations, only to suffer the rip of the massive anal hook on the way back down while his wrists stretched out on the ropes, or taking everything Zhongli gave him, just as he had no choice but to do now.
Tartaglia barely adjusted to the ruthless tickles at his feet before the ground changed shape and made it that much worse. Solid rock metamorphosed into tongues, licking the gaps of his toes, and rising to taste the arches of his feet.
“Mnghh! Nghhh!” Tartaglia pleaded moans.
“Is it that pleasurable, Childe?” Zhongli planted a gloved hand over the bulge of Tartaglia’s bladder. Tartaglia’s heart raced like a hummingbird, but he had no way to stop what was coming. “To think I treated you gently all these years, when this is what you truly desired.”
Zhongli pushed. Hard. Tartaglia’s feet found relief in the air as he swung like a pendulum. The fist-sized metal orb rammed into him without mercy, gyrating over his helpless prostate as pleasure and agony intertwined. His mind blanked and half-returned with every thrust.
Tartaglia clenched his lower regions with all his will to stop the fluid gushing out. 11:52. Just eight minutes. He had to hold it. He had to. The Tsaritsa was counting on him.
At least the stone tongues and vibrations were gone. He had to cling to that. Whatever improvement he could get, it was the briefest glimpse of Snezhnaya’s snow amidst the depths of the abyss.
Then, Zhongli slid his fingers into Tartaglia’s exposed armpits, and rubbed them. Tartaglia scream-moaned.
It was so much. Too much. His mind was blank. He couldn’t think. What was he trying to do?
“Let it go,” Zhongli murmured. “Give in for me.”
No! No! Tartaglia gritted his teeth. 11:53. He had to bear it. Seven minutes. Seven! Just a little longer.
Zhongli drifted his hand all over Tartaglia, teasing his neck, and littering it with the gentle kisses Tartaglia had grown so accustomed to. He squeezed over Tartaglia’s toned waist, met with a pleasured yelp. Zhongli didn’t linger anywhere. Tartaglia couldn’t adjust to the sensations, he was continually battered with new tickles and torments — the backs of his knees, the soles of his feet, his sensitive inner thighs.
Zhongli spread Tartaglia’s legs wide, and his image reflected in the glass of the clock opposite. Tartaglia burned hot with humiliation. He was a mess.
His entire body swung from the ceiling drenched in sweat; his pretty ginger tufts were tousled like he’d crawled through chicken-wire; his soft lips drooled over his bare chest, and worst of all was his cock: it stood straight up, bright red and pulsing.
“So beautiful,” Zhongli admired. “My beautiful masochist.”
If Tartaglia were capable of crying, maybe that would have been enough to make him. Even in such a terrible state, exposed and weak, Zhongli thought he was beautiful.
11:55. Zhongli took Tartaglia’s cock in hand, and started to slowly pump it, while his other hand continued its explorations around the rest of him. “Don’t think anymore, give in for me. This is what you need.”
The rock of the metal orb against Tartaglia’s prostate amplified the pleasure of Zhongli’s trained hands. He was so full, so desperate, something had to come out. It would be so easy.
Tartaglia was never going to win anyway. He knew that. Yet still he had to try.
11:56.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Zhongli reassured. “You can give in.”
11:57.
“Childe, you don’t have to prove yourself. Give in to who you are.”
11:58.
“Don’t resist. I know what’s good for you.”
11:59.
Zhongli’s hand grew more frantic by the second. The stone tongues leapt off the ground completely to take Tartaglia’s body. They sucked his nipples into the size of fingertips, burrowed into his mouth to stretch his throat out, and tickled every bare patch of skin. It was so much. Too much. But there were only a few seconds left.
“Ajax,” Zhongli whispered seductively. “Let go for me.”
Tartaglia had been so good already. He’d held back for so long. He…
The second hand ticked over.
Tartaglia won. He won! He…
The clock read 11:00.
“Ajax, this is why I can’t let you outside anymore.” Zhongli pet Tartaglia’s hair, like a puppy sedated. “The world will only take advantage of you.”
Tartaglia thought back to the initial deal: ‘All you have to do is hold it in until that clock strikes twelve.’
That clock. The clock which ticked back to 11:00 when it should have reached 12:00. Zhongli never planned to free Tartaglia from the start. He’d lost from the moment he agreed to the deal. No, from the moment they met — he never could have run from Zhongli.
Tartaglia’s heart dropped into his stomach. The last specks of light drained from his eyes, and all that remained was a vast emptiness.
Tartaglia would never be free again. He laughed. He tried to. His body wouldn’t move to his will. All he controlled was his bladder, and there was no point in doing so anymore.
“Let yourself go for me.” Zhongli caressed his cheek so gently it hurt. Everything hurt. Tartaglia didn’t want to suffer anymore. And so, he gave in.
A straw yellow drop of fluid, warmed by Tartaglia’s body heat, oozed onto Zhongli’s glove.
“There you go. Good boy.”
The drop turned to drops. Tartaglia’s cock dribbled pathetically over his owner’s hand. Zhongli guided him to watch his own reflection in the broken clock.
“Beautiful,” Zhongli purred.
Tartaglia relaxed into the ropes and anal hook, mindless to the pain, and at last, completely gave in.
The light stream turned into a geyser, showering his thighs and belly. Stray spurts splashed his hair and dripped down to his mouth. He was blindfolded when Zhongli was injecting his bladder with the stuff, but there was no mistaking it — this was actual urine. Extra-concentrated.
“I collected and stored it for the last six months,” Zhongli explained. “All for this moment: for you.”
Zhongli cut the ropes holding Tartaglia up, and he collapsed into the ever-growing puddle of Zhongli’s extra-concentrated piss. His entire body rank of Zhongli.
Eventually, the stream dwindled, and his bladder was satisfied. Zhongli pulled the anal hook from his ass, and untied his hands.
“Are you tired yet?” Zhongli asked. “Don’t worry, you can sleep. I don’t need you conscious for the next part.”
***
A long, long time later, whether by years or by decades, Tartaglia woke up once more to another agonisingly full bladder. Zhongli had stretched it out so well that anyone seeing him would think he was nine months pregnant. If anyone could see him that is.
No one except Zhongli ever laid eyes on Tartaglia again. No one would ever know his arms and legs had long been devoured by an archon suffering the psychological effects of corrosion. Tartaglia was nothing but a vessel to be pumped full and emptied, sustained solely by his captor’s fluids.
He had never been happier.