As it turns out, Zhongli's tail has a mind of its own.
--
Childe is cooking in the kitchen the first time it happens.
He tosses the skillet to flip an omelet before setting it back down over the open flame. In the oven below bake biscuits, soon to be perfectly fluffy and soft on the inside.
Zhongli shuffles in with a yawn, fangs openly on display. Antlers crown his head and he rubs his face blearily. "Mornin'," he mumbles, half-conscious.
"There's tea."
"Wonderful." Zhongli's tone indicates entirely the opposite.
Childe chuckles and elbows him gently. "Rude. Next time I'll leave it for you to brew."
"A wise choice, I would think." Zhongli is teasing, of course. He steps beside Childe and pours himself a cup. Swirls it slightly, inhales the steamy scent, and then takes a sip. And though his nose crinkles, he doesn't complain. He never will, he'll just drink the entire cup and then covertly empty the teapot to brew the next batch.
"Man, that bad?"
"At least you used the cast iron pot this time—which means that you listened."
Childe's expression cools. "Did I listen? Or was it because you keep swatting my wrist?"
Zhongli snorts. He reaches out and curls his hands around Childe's wrist. Tugs it to his mouth for a quick kiss. "My apologies, then."
Childe's face is red, mostly because those swats on the wrist sparked heat in his gut, and well. He is a predictable man, and so is Zhongli. "You can, uh, make another pot."
Zhongli thumbs his wrist bone before letting go. "Every day, I love you more."
"It's just tea."
Zhongli hums at that, lifting the cup to his lips for another sip. "Which you make for me every morning." His tone is so warm that Childe wants to crawl right into it. "In any case, decent or not, I'm more awake now." He leans close to rub his face against Childe's cheek, his fuzzed antlers gently knocking against Childe's temple.
It is somehow more intimate than a kiss, as if he's marking Childe with his very scent, willing it to seep right into his skin. The drag of his fangs, the press of his nose at the juncture of Childe's throat and jaw. Heat settles in Childe's gut.
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. I love you, too." Then he whines, looking at his pan. "Also, I've burned this omelet because of you."
"A sacrifice well worth it." Zhongli pulls back with a grin. "Make another. I'll keep my hands to myself."
And he does, turning to pour out the teapot and start a fresh one to brew.
Childe has just dropped a new egg into the pan when he feels the brush of something against his ankle. Soft. Fluffy. He looks down to find Zhongli's tail dragging across the joint casually, the tufted end tickling his foot.
Zhongli doesn't seem to notice, he just carries on, dropping tea leaves into the pot and adding water for a boil.
#
Zhongli's tail definitely has a mind of its own.
When tucked into the teapot, Zhongli is prone to shedding his mortal exterior, comfortable being himself in the company of Childe.
It's distracting—and really, Childe loves it; Zhongli is so handsome as he moves about, the floorboards creaking underneath his bare feet, ducking gently to avoid hitting his antlers on door frames.
But his tail. It twitches and wriggles. When Childe is within reach, it seeks him out. Slithers across his ankle or curls around a calf. The soft tuft at the end raises gooseflesh, tickling Childe's skin. An anchoring touch. Nothing untoward.
Zhongli seems entirely unaware. And when he notices, he always pulls away, apologizing for how his instincts are getting the better of him.
This day is no exception. Childe sits at the end of the couch and sharpens his razor. There is the striking of metal against a whetstone. Zhongli is at the opposite end with a book open in his lap. His tail lays between them, unfurled, stroking Childe's leg unconsciously. Zhongli turns a page.
Then Zhongli turns, his gaze dips down, and he says, "Oh, apologies. I—"
"Does it bother you?"
Zhongli blinks, surprised by the question. "I, er, what?"
Childe doesn't look up from the razor he's sharpening, still dragging it over the whetstone. "I mean, every time your tail just—" He waves between them with the knife. "—you seem embarrassed by it."
"I am," says Zhongli. His cheeks tint pink. "It's always been a bother and I don't want it bothering you—"
"But I like it." Childe finally looks at him. "These bits of yourself—it's cute. And I know you're just going to roll your eyes at me, but I love the fact that you're just... that comfortable. Like, you're so relaxed around me that even your tail wants in on the action because the instinctual draw is just so... so..." Childe waves again.
Zhongli sighs softly. He drags his fingers through his book, creasing the spine, something that he does when he's thinking. "It has been a long time since I've been able to indulge in this form, that is all. It's like going back in time. There is an adjustment period."
"Then adjust all you want." Childe deems the razor sharp enough to shave it and sets it aside. Then he glances back at Zhongli's tail which has slithered along the cushions to lay against the entire length of his leg. Childe reaches out to pet it, the first time he's tried.
Zhongli freezes, breath caught.
"Soft," mutters Childe, his fingers sliding through the tuft at the end. "Like really soft."
Zhongli rests his cheek against his hand and fails to read his book. But he smiles, a chuckle falling from his lips, and the worry in Childe's breast entirely eases.