my rock, my shield

dragon in a blanket

Morax fucks Tartaglia's tits.

CW: Contains Smut

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Tartaglia is a vision below him.

Morax's lips are quirked, pulled to the side in a devilish thing as he regards him. Golden eyes glow in the low lamplight of their room. "My darling knight," he murmurs, dragging a hand down the expanse of Tartaglia's chest, the tips of claws raising gooseflesh in their wake. "Look at you spread out underneath me. How shall I pick you apart tonight?"

Tartaglia groans, lifting his hips to grind against him. His cock is hard and aching, trapped underneath Morax's hot weight. He's already slick and stretched, too impatient to do anything other than open himself up on shaking fingers. He aches to be filled, to all but choke on Tartaglia's cock, but those breathy sounds from his mate have him rethinking his initial plans.

Morax grins, his eyes half-slitted with victory. So eager, so quick to respond. He'll never tire of it. "A needy thing," he says, teasing, voice thick with ruddy lust. "So desperate already."

"Zhongli—"

"Should I ride you?" Morax clicks his tongue as he considers it. He drags a palm down to rest right at the base of Tartaglia's cock. He drops his hips, a tease of friction, but nothing that will satisfy Tartaglia's wishes. A soft whine. Oh, what a sound. Morax loves to hear his mate wanton for his touch.

And riding him seems like a wonderful idea, Tartaglia's thick cock shoved effortlessly inside of him. Morax loves being full and fucked senseless, but more than that, he loves to be the reason that Tartaglia melts into the sheets. An old, well-practiced dance. Fingers tight around his waist, helping Morax rise and fall against him. Morax bites his lips and sighs at the thought, but—

"No, not tonight. Not yet, at least."

Tartaglia licks his lips. "Then—what?"

So patient. Morax's smirk shifts into something softer, curling with affection. The heat that coils in his stomach is slow-burning and lazy. Morax is in a mood to take his time. He'll reward Tartaglia later for being such a good boy but for now, he'll take what he wants.

"Your chest," he then says, dragging his fingers up to rest against Targtalia's pec. "Your tits. A crude but apt term."

"Zhongli—"

Morax dips closer, squeezing the wide expanse of Taraglia's chest between his hands. The line of his sternum shifts, cutting deeper, a soft valley that is perfectly cock-sized. "Should I fuck them?" asks Morax, meeting Tartaglia's gaze. "What do you think?"

"Yes."

Morax blinks at the immediate answer. A blush creeps onto Tartaglia's face and he does nothing to hide it. He just stares back, waiting, expectant. Morax laughs, tugging one of his hands to his mouth for a kiss. The press of his lips against Childe's knuckles before he nuzzles the length of his wrist. "Baobei," he murmurs, nipping at the jut of the bone there before dropping Tartaglia's hand.

He shuffles closer until he straddles Tartaglia's ribs. The click of the oil as the bottle is uncorked. A drizzle against Tartaglia's pecs, and a soft hiss at the stinging cold. Morax hushes him, smoothing the oil across his muscles, and soon Tartaglia is arched in the sheets instead, moaning softly as Morax thumbs across his nipples.

Oil pools in his sternum. Morax's mouth waters at the sight of Tartaglia's glistening skin. He parts his robes and reveals his cock, nestling it right into that soft spot between the swell of Tartaglia's tits.

They both groan. Morax squeezes Tartaglia's chest together, tightening his muscles around his cock. He thrusts, a languid, testing thing, and a sigh drips from his lips at the delicious friction. "Oh," he mutters, surprised at the pleasure that churns in his gut. "This..."

Morax only meant to tease him a little. Instead, he fucks into the tight space of Tartaglia's chest, nerves alight as arousal builds. Tartaglia watches him back, head tipped against the pillows, eyes full of lust. He loves watching Morax and bites at his lips, one hand curled into the sheets to ground himself.

"Zhongli." A quiet call of his name. "Can I touch myself?"

Morax pauses, his cock caught against his skin. Sweat drips from his brow, plopping against Tartaglia's collarbone. "Of course you can, darling."

"I just—"

"Wanted to ask? What a good boy, a good mate." Morax shifts his grip until his thumb clamps down against the top of his cock. He strokes the top of his length, a choked moan loosing, long and drawn out. Another thrust into the meat of his mate's chest. The drag of his thumb alongside the top in tandem. "Touch yourself," he says. "I want to hear it. I want to see you come as you fuck your hand, and I fuck your chest."

Tartaglia whines the moment his hand finds his cock. Morax can't see but he can feel the jerk of his forearm against the back of his thigh. Meanwhile, his thrusts speed up as he fucks Tartaglia's tits. His end is surprisingly close and Morax imagines the sight of Tartaglia painted in his come.

His ass clenches, begging to be filled. Later, he thinks. Tartaglia's been so good for him and he'll ride him into the sheets until they're both messes. Tartaglia grunts, his legs tensing as he wriggles in the sheets. He must be close too, those thick, calloused palms bringing about his end.

Morax slides into that soft valley of his pecs roughly and comes, spilling himself all over Tartaglia with a groan. Pearly white spend pools in the dip of his collarbone before trickling to the sign. Morax watches it like a hawk, licking his lips, tasting the salty tang of it on his tongue just from memory.

Tartaglia groans—the sort of groan that speaks volumes. Morax is quick, reaching behind him to squeeze the base of Tartaglia's cock tightly. A pained yelp. "Wait—"

"I know I said I wanted to see you come like this but wouldn't you rather wait?"

"Zhongli."

"Ajax," purrs Morax in return. "Wouldn't you rather come inside me?"

Tartaglia's throat bobs. "Fuck," he curses. "Yes, yes, just—"

"A moment, then." Morax gives his cock one last squeeze before letting go. He moves, dipping down to clean up his mess from Tartaglia's skin. Tart. Sour. Delicious. And Tartaglia is so patient as Morax traces every scar, every freckle, every glob of his semen with his tongue.

A sweet kiss against Tartaglia's chest, right where his heart beats. "I love you." Their moments slow as Morax shuffles back, Tartaglia's cock hard and heavy against his ass. "Darling," he continues, taking in the sight of his mate. "Ajax."

"You know I'm going to come the moment I'm inside you, right?"

The moment breaks as Morax laughs. And then he smirks. "I've all but demanded it, haven't I? Go on, Ajax. You've been so good for me. Take your reward."

Tartaglia's expression is heated. Debauched. Oh, so gone. But Morax forgets all about that the moment his cock sinks inside.