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Summary
He wants to wreck Zhongli, wants to suffuse Zhongli with so much pleasure that he never considers another lover, that Childe is written into his soul beyond even death, until erosion takes him except for the memory of Childe touching him, tasting him, carving him into the shape of his love.
Levering himself up, he looks down at Zhongli, Zhongli who loves him, who cherishes him, who lets him touch with hands so grasping and hungry they’re almost cruel. He should be gentle. He knows he should be gentle, but, tonight, with permission, he cannot help himself. Cannot slow himself down—does not want to.
After rough play leaves Childe unsettled, Zhongli reassures him with his steadfast love.