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Hands laced in front of him, Ajax stares off into the distance. The people passing him twitch with discomfort, but he pays it little mind, lost in his thoughts. The coffee he ordered has long since got cold, sunlight filtering the rustic whites of the cafe orange and burnt. He’s been here since lunch, long enough for the incessant chiming of the door to threaten a headache.
That, too, he doesn’t bother himself with. No, his thinking face—a glare, furrowed brows, downturned lips—remain fixated on the paintings splattered across the back wall. The chaotic at first glance scenes flow into one another like watercolor, forming a whole so fleeting it keeps eluding Ajax’ grasp.
He knows who made this, of course. He’s seen the very same style in his office, brought it into his flat, discovered them in the villa Anastasya left him. The ballroom doesn’t sport a single frame; it’s all a giant artwork like Micheal Angelo himself came down from the chapels to bless the woman.
The watch on his wrist weighs heavy—heavier the more free time Ajax has, unused to the candid serenity of Sumeru. It’s too different to the bursting streets of Mondstadt, of Liyue Harbor, too different still from the glacier-still villages of home. How does a city this large remain so quaint, he can’t tell. Can’t tell if he likes it, either.
“A date stood you up?” asks the barista, leaning her cheek on the tip of her mop. She’s a tall, muscular woman that’d fit in more in a fighting ring than a semi-decent coffee shop. With her wild mane of hair, she certainly wouldn’t get hired nowhere near food in any other place he’s visited.
But what does he care.
Ajax hums, picking his cup at last. He knows where Zhongli is: visiting another orphanage. They had no plans today, he just needed to think. The coffee sloshes dangerously close to the rim still—and he recoils just as bad as he did at the first sip he took. The barista—Dehya, her nametag says—throws her head back, laughing at him unabashedly.
“Told ya not to take it black,” she wheezes.
“Fuck you,” he scoffs, throwing the coffee back like a shot. The evil amalgamation sends shivers through him, makes him retch. Ajax bangs his fist on the table to let out the urge to break something.
Dehya laughs harder. So hard, in fact, that the mop skitters away from her grasp, hitting the floor with a loud crash and a wet smack. She whelps, jumping away, hands rising into a guard before she catches herself; then she scoffs, kicking the mop to the side as she strides over to Ajax’ table in two long steps. Shamelessly, she throws herself across from him, grin wider than her biceps.
And those are some biceps.
Okay, fine, he likes her.
His own grin is sharper, less curious and more ferine.
“Nah,” he drawls, waving his hand idly. The glove he’s wearing—a present—is newness-stiff between his fingers. “The opposite, really.”
Dehya’s eyebrows ride up into her hairline, her smile morphing into poorly disguised disgust. Like she only just remembered she needs to be civil with the customers at the last seconds.
“You… ran away from a date?” she ventures, forced casual and stilted.
Ajax can’t even blame her; he has a rather poor opinion of people who’d do that to others himself.
A laugh tumbles from his mouth, airy, some of the tension he’d been carrying going with it.
“No, no. I think I found my soulmate, so I was analyzing the clues.”
“Ah! Damn, lucky bastard.” She slams the table with a huff. “What’s up, then, pretty boy? Having second thoughts?”
“Nah, just, y’know, making sure. Also, no idea if I should bring it up.”
Not because he’s unsure whether Zhongli is into him—he can read the signs alright, even with how closed off the man can be; or at least he likes to think so. Rather, because of the way he is, Ajax has a sneaking suspicion that Zhongli has long figured it out and will propose the moment Ajax acknowledge it.
But at the same time… Would that really be so bad? Ajax is a rover and though Zhongli would not keep him, it would be the first time he has a place to belong.
“The hell! Why not? If I had a soulmate I would be on my knees so fast!”
And that’s just the thing, isn’t it? Ajax’s life has always been scripted; his childhood, then his work, he always had to adhere to certain standards, regulations, fit into whatever presumptions others had about him. Now that he’s free—freer, at least—he kind of wants to drag it out just for spite.
But who is he spiting if not himself then? Anyone else who’d be hurt by his independence or reluctance is already dead.
“Yeah,” he hums, cup pressed to his lips as he considers. “Why not?”
Black liquid of death and despair sloshes into his mouth. Ajax coughs, just barely stopping himself from smashing the cup against the wall. He settles for pouring it into Dehya’s obnoxiously laughful piehole.
***
Zhongli is standing in the gardens when Ajax makes it home, elegant in his long coat even as he scrolls idly on his beat-up phone. Ajax feels his mouth stretch, his heart flutter. They don’t talk about this—but yeah, he’s pretty sure.
“Have you been waiting long, handsome?” he calls, still a bits away, watching Zhongli’s eyes lift to him. They soften at the edges, crinkling around his crimson eyeliner, and Zhongli locks and pockets his phone in one smooth motion. Ajax’s pulse stutters. How can something so simple be so stunning?
“Ajax,” Zhongli says, voice like honey, like amber, like liquid gold and everything in between. It makes Ajax sway, makes him want to drop to his knees where he stands. Oh, he’s so gone. And he can’t even complain about it because he loves it. Loves Zhongli. Loves this stupidly smart, ridiculous man whom celebrities battle to commission, and who paints random coffee shops and libraries for free instead.
“Morax,” Ajax cheeks, delighting in the amusement huffing through Zhongli’s breath at the use of his art name.
Unable to wait any longer, Ajax crosses the remaining distance in a few long strides, arms reaching out to bypass Zhongli’s chocolate scarf and wrap around his face instead. Fuck waiting. Fuck decorum and expectations, even his own, Ajax knows.
Zhongli’s cheeks are cold under his palms, pale. That alone is answer enough; Ajax has no doubt that Zhongli’s been waiting an hour at least, never intending to let him know he’s arrived because he respects everyone’s time but his own.
“Aja—?” Zhongli starts. And then their bodies are pressed together, Ajax’s hands in his hair, their lips stealing breath from one another. Zhongli’s surprised sound is swallowed, buried deep with all of Ajax’s fantasies. Still, he keeps the kiss light, nothing more than a lingering press of lips. Because if he doesn't, he’ll demand Zhongli take him right here, and that’s not how he wants to desecrate Anastasya’s memory.
No, that’s gotta be her precious antique desk, as soon as he figures out which of the dozen damn oldies it is. Who even needs so many desks?
(The damned things are the very reason Zhongli is here today.)
“Mm,” Zhongli hums, his arms wrapping around Ajax’s middle. Gods, he’s beautiful, ruffled against the blue and white backdrop of exotic vines snaking up the manor’s walls. Ajax has never thought this garden pretty until Zhongli stepped in it. It’s too carefully arranged, too impersonal, too proper. Ajax prefers the wildness and chaos of unbound nature, would take weeds and moles over the sophisticated gravel paths. Having plans for a garden is one thing, placing each stone with a ruler is another. Ajax needs a little bite.
Like Zhongli. He might look prim, and enjoy the gentlemanly behavior, but he’s real. He has flaws, and ambitions, a furnace burning within him that Ajax can’t wait to know as his own.
He pulls back, licking his lips with a pleased sound. Zhongli tastes of mooncakes, and Ajax is severely tempted to dive right back in. They take each other in, eyes bright, Zhongli’s breath already shallow to match his.
An up-tick of the mouth, “I’ll take it as a yes?”
“You haven’t asked me yet,” Ajax counters, and gives in.
Heat builds up as they move against each other. Shamelessly, Ajax licks into Zhongli’s mouth, chasing the taste of him. Slim fingers slip under his jacket, tickle the sensitive spot down his spine. They arch into the kiss, as if any inch of space between them is blasphemy.
Zhongli is the one to pull back this time, his sharp inhale cutting through the pounding of Ajax’s heart. “Marry me,” he gasps.
Ha, knew it.
“Convince me,” Ajax answers, because he’ll die if he’s not a little shit at least once a day.
Zhongli picks him up effortlessly; he’s only a little bit taller, so Ajax’s toes bump against his shoes as he walks them over to the entrance, sending Ajax into a fit of laughter.
“What’cha gonna do now, huh?” he wheezes, patting Zhongli’s shoulder in mock consolidation.
“Shake you down until the keys fall out, of course,” the man replies, one perfect eyebrow lifting. “Unless you’ve got a better idea?”
“Sweet archons. Come on, you know I know you’ve got a key too. No way she’d stay watching you the whole time. Those paintings must have taken months!”
Zhongli lets him own with a gentle huff, watching him as Ajax rediscovers the context of his pockets. Oh, that’s the coin he wanted to send to Teucer, he’ll have to remember about that.
“And yet she has,” Zhongli says after a moment, nostalgia coloring his words in ocean tones. He places his hand on the small of Ajax’s back, just a small touch sending shivers through him. “She’d sit and watch me for hours, wake up with the sun to let me in and stay past midnight to see me out.”
“She has?” distracted, Ajax fumbles with the bundle of keys at the door. He could swear they change shape every time he touches them. “She didn’t strike me as a people person.”
A hum, low and long and rumbling against Ajax’s very bones. “She wasn’t. In fact, she hasn’t spoken once the entire time. From the moment she handed me the contract until she died, not a sound. Like a statue, that one.”
“Yeah, you could say that again,” Ajax mumbles, finally pushing the door open.
The entrance hall stretches before them in all the glory of lackluster tile and dust overing the railings. The chandeliers hang over the emptiness like the sword of Damocles, like, if they just tried hard enough, they could crush Ajax with the air pressure alone.
In other words, just as homey as it was the last time he’s seen it.
He trots along the scuffed path he left in the grime, leading Zhongli to the little—comparatively—room he took as his residence for now. The man, of course, drags his feet, stopping every two steps to look at whatever fancy people look at when a place has been stripped of most of its furniture.
“Sorry it’s a mess,” he says distractedly. “I’m starting cleaning from upstairs.”
“No bother,” is the easy answer, Zhongli reaching out to rejoin their hands. “I thought you’d hired a crew for this?”
“I did. They arrive next week. Here, come in.”
The room must have served as a front-desk of sorts to the big office the other door—currently barricaded by a wardrobe Ajax toppled over mostly on accident. This one has only two desks, not over a dozen. The ancient bookshelves are full of even more ancient tomes, thick and brittle.
“What did she even do in here?” Ajax finds himself mumbling, the question repeating in his mind since he came.
“Underground dealings, mostly,” Zhongli offers shamelessly, turning in a circle. “Have you been sleeping on the sofa?”
“Yeah!” Ajax calls, plopping down onto it to illustrate his point. They should get to work, but…
Well, Ajax certainly isn’t going to complain about the way Zhongli leans over him, much less refuse the kiss that comes with it. Zhongli’s fingers bury into his hair, angling Ajax’s head to deepen their connection. Warmth spreads through him; not the blazing thrill of adrenaline, but a steady, building heat of a forge. He doesn’t know how long they sit there, exchanging air and licking into each other. At some point, Zhongli climbs into his lap, thighs bracketing Ajax’s hips like a vice. They rock against each other, Zhongli’s hardness pressing into his, pulling Ajax into a mindscape where nothing but pleasure exists.
The heat of it ebbs and flows like the tides, calming as Ajax mouths at Zhongli’s neck, rising when Zhongli’s teeth tug at his ear. They don’t rush, content to drink each other in, their gentle rutting interspaced with an occasional “Marry me, Ajax” from Zhongli.
His agreement comes with the first ray of moonlight sneaking into the room, casting a halo over Zhongli’s hair. He’s beautiful. He’s everything.
“Marry me first,” he huffs, twisting to press Zhongli into the cushions.
***
“I think I should tell you,” Zhongli tells him in the early dawn, the mess of Ajax’s hair tucked into his shoulder.
Ruffled from sleep, Ajax only stretches. “Mm?”
“I’ve decided on which child I’m adopting,” Zhongli says like it’s nothing more pressing than the weather, petting over Ajax’s bare arm. “The process will start next week.”
Sleep-heavy, Ajax only burrows deeper into the embrace. The sofa, no matter how comfortable, was not meant for two grown men to sleep in. “Mm, okay.”
….
…….
……….
Wait.
Next week?! He knew Zhongli was looking to foster but he didn’t imagine… Ajax wasn’t planning on becoming a parent any time soon—or ever. The thought hasn’t really crossed his mind, to be perfectly candid.
Laughter rushes out of him in a surge, as if some dam broke inside him. He presses into Zhongli’s chest, bubbly with it.
“What the hell, sure.”