my rock, my shield

sharing the sea

Tartaglia takes Morax fishing.

--

Morax has yet to see the appeal of fishing.

Tartaglia, who is usually so animated, lazes about in the boat, a fishing pole between his hands. He barely looks at the water, instead taking in the sight of Liyue Harbor in the distance. "I can see you squirming," he finally says, shooting Morax a grin. "I thought this would be something you'd enjoy. It's quiet. Gives you time with your thoughts."

"I find myself struggling to... think." Mostly attributed to Tartaglia by his side. He's particularly distracting today, dressed down from his usual knight-like finery, in only trousers and a linen shirt. Morax isn't even sure that he brushed his hair. It curls about Tartaglia's forehead and neck, unruly and slightly tangled.

Handsome. Woefully so. Tartaglia always looks good but there's something about his ease this day that seems to draw Morax in. Tartaglia always carries a scent of wariness due to being on high alert, but today he smells free. Calm and quiet, like the ocean sea breeze that wafts over them.

Tartaglia laughs. "Then don't think!" He fiddles with his fishing line, adjusting it. "Did you bring a book?"

Morax did. It's stowed away in the bottom of his takeaway bag. Tartaglia sees the way his face twists in mild embarrassment. "I... that is to say, that I brought one—"

"Zhongli, it's fine." Oh, the way he says his name. Tartaglia hasn't mastered the Liyue dialect so his lips curl around it awkwardly. But he tries. Cute. "Knowing you, I expected it. Besides, see this notch in the boat? It's to do this—" Tartagalia leans over, pressing the butt end of the fishing rod into the notch to secure it. He tests the slack of the line and lets it sit. "The entire point is to relax. You set out your line and let it do the work for you. As you wait for it to hook, you just... enjoy life, I guess."

Morax hums softly. "You do not seem the type to sit still and ponder." He doesn't mean it unkindly, it is just that Tartaglia is a man always on the move.

Tartaglia sighs and shifts closer. "Even I get tired and need to recharge."

"Hard to imagine."

"Do you know what helps?"

Morax looks at him. Tartagalia grins, wide and sincere, bright like the sun above. Thank the gods they are on a covered skiff. "I cannot begin to fathom."

"A kiss."

Heat curls in Zhongli's stomach. Tartaglia never takes, he always waits for permission. Military training, honed like a knife, ready to strike only on command. Affection curls onto Morax's face, bleeding through his entire being. He closes the distance and kisses him sweetly, just a gentle peck of his lips. Short. Light. Tartaglia loves it regardless.

"Will you read to me?" asks Tartaglia then.

"I'm afraid that you'll find this book particularly boring," is Morax's dry reply.

"Humor me."

And so Morax does. He settles into a pile of cushions, laid about for a god to retire into. Tartaglia settles against him, head cradled by Morax's lap. They've kissed countless times, they've pushed each other against walls in the shadows, and shared heated words of love and praise, but they have never shared something so... quaint and domestic.

Tartaglia's head is a comforting weight in Morax's lap. He pets Tartaglia's hair, combing his fingers through it, and Tartaglia sighs, sinking into the touch.

"These are the writings of an old friend." Morax opens the book, holding it with one hand. The other remains firmly rooted against Tartaglia, nails scratching over his scalp. "In my years of observation among the plains, I have come to many conclusions. First and foremost, I propose the following commandments, the first of which is rather simple: To unite ambition is to be steadfast and immovable..."

Tartaglia falls asleep in his lap, snoring softly.

And Morax learns the appeal of fishing.