Work Text:
Snow blew outside the glass stained windows alongside the wind, covering the paths and mountains usually viewable outside. It was an average sight in Snezhnaya. Tartaglia smiled at this visual of his homeland, and leaned up closer to the huge window.
He was in his personal room he had at Zapolyarny Palace, sitting on one of large, crimson cushions attached to the window sill. The fire in the fireplace burned brightly, warming up the cold room and giving it light. He loved the feeling of nights like these.
However, while he looked out the window at the mountains that hid his home, he felt a small pang in his chest, reminding himself how close yet far away his family was to him, he let out a small sigh. It’ll all be okay, he’ll return to them eventually.
Shifting his attention to the small table next to him, he grabbed his bottle of firewater and popped back open the lid. Taking a gulp of it, the liquid slid down his throat with a familiar burn. Then, he looked back outside. Tartaglia couldn’t see much of the ground in front of the Palace because of the floor his room was located on, but he could see beyond that.
Merchants in carts going in and out of the gates, likely seeking an audience with a higher ranking Fatui member. Tartaglia could only hope that he wasn’t the one they were looking for.
The day he had was good. He fought well, and no lousy aristocrat tried to speak with him. He even managed to send a letter to his family.
With one more wing of firewater and a smile still lingering on his lips, he got off the window to smoke before bed. He knows he really doesn’t need to because of how stress free the day was, but he feels like maybe it would just make the day even better; he already has a warm feeling in his stomach, why not try and make it warmer?
Tartaglia placed down the bottle back on the table with a thud, and pulled out a pack of his favorite brand of cigarettes and a lighter then headed out his room door.
Smoking and drinking was definitely common in the fatui. If you went out into the training grounds a mile outside of Zapolyarny Palace, you would see recruits passing along cigarettes and bottles of liquor behind their commander’s back. Bootcamp was also where Tartaglia picked up both habits, at the ripe age of 16!
Now that he’s of age, there’s a little less sense of thrill to it, but now he smokes for other reasons.
His boots clinked along the Palace floors, which were pristine, and always perfect, and his uniform coat flowed behind him. The other harbinger’s rooms were along this hallway, but most of the time none of them even use it, so he doesn’t think he needs to worry about waking up The Doctor and him running after him with a syringe and a couple of clones.
Tartaglia made his way down the stairs, and then outside the door, where a lonesome young Fatui guard saluted him despite his probable lack of sleep. “Have a goodnight, Lord Tartaglia,” the boy said.
“You too, comrade! I hope you end up getting some sleep after your shift!” He called out, giving him a smile before making his way around the large building. But first, he looked up.
The palace was beautiful, inside and out. The stars hung above Zapolyarny palace while the snow blew gently. He was glad to have such a place to rest while being away from his village.
The ginger boy leaned up against the brick of the palace with one boot against the wall and one in the snow, plucked a cigarette from his box and got out his zippo lighter. Once he put the cigarette in his mouth, he noticed something of the corner of his eye, a tall humanoid figure adorned in all black. His heart must’ve started beating out of his chest because adrenaline and anxiety shot into his blood at a fast rate.
‘Am I about to get attacked?’
His eyes widened and he turned his head to the right, where he saw The Captain standing, staring at him. He felt an anxiety in his chest go away once he realized it wasn’t an enemy and then immediately come back again when he realized that was The Captain.
“What are you doing here at this hour smoking, little soldier?” His deep voice rumbled in the blowing wind, whooshing around him along with the snow like a tight grasp.
Before he could take the cigarette out of his mouth to respond, Capitano took the lighter from his hand, moved a few steps closer to him and lit the cigarette for him.
He swears to the almighty and beautiful Tsaritsa that he has never been this close to a person before, he could even slightly feel his body warmth like this. While Capitano didn’t tower over him, he still had to bend his neck up to properly look at him, which was extremely rare for Tartaglia, considering he’s over six feet tall. He almost felt trapped.
While looking up at Capitano, he breathed in the smoke of the cigarette and let it warmly fill his lungs, plucked it out between two fingers and blew it out downwards.
“What are you doing here at this hour lighting up my cigarette, Captain?” He pushed back, holding out his gloved hand for Capitano to drop his metal lighter into, then he pocketed it.
Capitano backed a step away from him. “I was tending to the Tsaritsa’s rose garden. I find it beautiful at this time of year, when they just start to frost over.”
Tartaglia nodded at that, taking a drag of his cigarette. “I’ve seen it before, it has to be the second best garden I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Second?”
He grinned, “The first is my mother’s. She had this wonderful garden when I was a kid, full of vegetables and flowers and stepping stones.” Tartaglia took a drag of his cigarette and looked away towards the mountains, where his village was behind.
“Ah, I understand that. Do you miss your home?”
“Yes,” he looked back to Capitano, who stood patiently. “However I am loyal to the Tsaritsa, and I believe in her vision for a new world. So, duty calls. Are you close to her?”
“To who?”
“Her majesty.”
Capitano tilted his head, “Not nearly as close as The Jester is.”
Tartaglia barked out a laugh at that, “Hah! No one is!”
A comfortable silence fell over them. Tartaglia didn’t ever think he would be able to achieve such a warm and friendly atmosphere with The Captain. Everyone says he’s the nicest harbinger to his men, but Tartaglia didn’t know just how nice, since the bar is pretty low for harbingers.
Capitano was still looking at him, and Tartaglia had no idea why, so once he got the final drag out of his cigarette, he flicked it out into the snow and got close into The Captain’s personal space. “Despite having such a good day, when I gazed out into the blizzard, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit alone.”
“Why are you lonely, little soldier?” His voice practically rumbled, vibrating the eleventh harbinger’s very core.
“I’m not so sure, honestly.”
“Hm. Your cheeks are very flushed in the cold, it compliments you nicely.” The Captain brought his armored hand up to Tartaglia’s face, and he felt a shiver go down his spine from the contact. “Since you feel lonely, would you want me to walk you to your room tonight?”
Tartaglia gulped, the heat from Capitano’s body and the cold from the snow clashing in a wonderful dance of glory. The clawed armor of Capitano’s thumb was sharp, and if he pressed just a bit harder to his flesh, he was sure it would picture and bleed.
“Of course I would, Captain,” he nearly whispered.
“Alright then, let us indulge in each other’s company, if only for a night.” His hand dropped and then he motioned for Tartaglia to take the lead. Once he turned, The Captain put his hand on Tartaglia’s back.
The pair walked through the whirling snow that hit each other’s clothes and hair, shoes crunching upon hitting snow. Once they reached the door to Zapolyarny palace, and Tartaglia saw that the night guard from before had taken his words in stride and decided to get his sleep on the stone of the building, he paused.
His gloved hand reached up and caressed The Captain’s helmet. Immediately after, Capitano quickly dipped down and his lips met Tartaglia’s. Capitano’s hand reached inside Tartaglia’s coat and he wrapped his arm around his waist pulling him in and pressing against him perfectly.
Tartaglia gasped into his lips, his heartbeat quickening and beating loudly in his ears. Surely, if Her Majesty were to look out her frosted window at the very top of the palace, she would see her first and last harbingers kissing outside of her symbol, would she not?
He reached for the back of Capitano’s neck with his other hand, and pushed back, licking along the insides of his mouth.
But, oh, Her Majesty is the goddess of love. So surely, since they were under her watch, this moment was fate?
He pulled away in a daze, huffing out a breath of hot hair.
“You taste like smoke, little soldier.”