my rock, my shield

A Matter of Need

Morax is hot and bothered, and he doesn't know why, only that he needs to be filled.

CW: Contains Smut

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Tartaglia is mostly asleep when Morax storms into his quarters.

"M'what—" Tartaglia cuts himself off at the red-faced and furious expression that mars Morax's face.

So rarely does Morax feel like this. He seethes, red-hot rage rippling over his form, the bitter-tinged words of his meeting still pulsing through his veins.

Tartaglia looks sleepy and unsure as he murmurs, "Zhongli?"

Morax drags a hand through his hair. "It's—" Where to even start? The meeting? The bad news? The passive-aggressive letters from the citizens of Liyue who are losing faith in their god? Morax has no idea why he's so fucking agitated because none of this is news, and yet, everything stings, searing through his veins.

"Ajax." The soft whine that drips from his lips is at odds with the aggressive way that he paces the room.

The air is thick with his anger, choked with the Geo that rolls off of him, unable to be contained. Morax looks at Tartaglia with a tired, golden-eyed gaze. "I apologize for barging in," he continues, and though calmer, there is still a rigidness to his shoulders that Tartaglia's gaze hones in on. "I should have... I would have seen you later, I just—"

"What is going on?"

"I don't want to think about it. I don't..." Morax swallows thickly, his throat bobbing. He kicks off his slippers and crosses the room on quiet feet. The mattress sinks underneath his weight. Tartaglia's hands immediately find purchase against Morax's waist as he settles over his lap. Instantly, Morax feels better. All it takes is a touch and the feel of his knight against him.

Tartaglia looks up at him without judgment. Insufferably patient with him. Not for the first time, Morax wonders what he did to receive such devotion. "Zhongli, are you alright?"

Morax eases at the sight of his handsomeness. He cups Tartaglia's face, some of that tension bleeding away as he strokes the soft skin of his cheek. "Distract me, please." Morax's grip on his face tightens—not in warning, but to tilt Tartaglia's face up, guiding their mouths together.

Tartaglia's breath is warm. Morax sighs against him, heat curling in his gut. "Anything to forget," murmurs Morax against his lips. "Ajax, oftentimes I make absurd requests but right now I need you."

Tartaglia kisses him slowly and without rhythm, still mulling about in his sleepy haze. Morax responds eagerly, licking into his mouth, his grip biting as he angles it for better reach. Tartaglia moans, a soft sound as their tongues meet.

"You can't just ignore my question," Tartaglia whispers when they part.

He knows that. Celestia above, Morax knows that especially when he is the one who barged into Tartaglia's private quarters, demanding his attention. Morax's hold on his chin loosens. He combs through Tartaglia's hair with one hand and presses their foreheads together. He inhales, nose tilted towards Tartaglia's temple, trying to ground himself in his scent; the ocean, citrus, Ajax.

"Later," he answers. He's hot. So very hot. Tartaglia is cool against his skin, so Morax plasters himself against the length of him to quell the heat that rages through him. "I will explain later."

Morax kisses Tartaglia again, cutting off whatever he's about to say. Tartaglia sighs, giving in, curling an arm around his waist. He's hard, deliciously so, easily wound up with Morax sitting across his lap. The kiss is biting. Morax nips at his lips with too-sharp fangs, his tongue diving into Tartaglia's mouth, wet and messy.