[He finds himself enamoured. Captivated. How curious, how terribly fascinating it is that a mere toy salesman should hold such fervor in his chest, such fire in his blood. This is not the ambition of a merchant seeking success, nor the calculated coolness of an investor taking risks. This is something raw. A kind of hunger, a drive he has seen in only the most determined of warriors, the most reckless of his own ranks.
He has encountered many like this before—those who charge into battle headfirst, seeking glory, victory, or something they cannot even place a name upon. He has often tempered them, guided them, and reshaped their reckless edges so they did not crumble under the weight of their own passion.
And yet, here, now, with Ajax, he does not want to. He finds himself wanting to watch him burn.
Perhaps that phoenix earring truly holds a meaning. He wants to see how much of this wildfire consumes them both.
Zhongli’s lips curl, amused and—— He watches as Ajax's knight plunges deeper into enemy territory, pressing close, so close. Reckless, desperate, bold. The man has ignored every looming threat, every carefully placed piece, just to force him into a moment of choice. Flee, or fight?
Such single-minded conviction.
Zhongli exhales, slow, measured, though the way he presses against Ajax’s firm grip on his leg betrays him. He can feel the strength in that hold, the rough drag of fingers curling against his calf. It is not a teasing brush now, but something steady, something sure. Ajax is testing, tasting the waters, indulging, taking.
And Zhongli—despite himself—is enjoying being taken.
The corners of his lips quirk as his fingers shift against the board. Not to his queen. Not yet.
But to a pawn.
A simple, unassuming pawn that stands right by the path his own King, a little to the side, waiting, unmoved all this time. And he merely taps on top of it, a note that he will fall into place before the lone knight, cutting off its charge in an almost underwhelming manner.
A sword, beaten by a pitchfork.
The most insignificant piece, and yet the most important.
His voice lowers, soft, indulgent, golden eyes half-lidded with pleasure as he watches Ajax process the warning.]
You are formidable. [But Zhongli's shield is stronger. And then, his fingers brush forward—graceful, precise—as he finally moves his king.
The piece slides one square to the side, the pawn ready to jump onto its place in case the knight is willing to still follow. And by doing so... The queen, beautiful, elegant, has room to cut into enemy territory, sweeping up the bishop that had been protecting Ajax’s king all this time. The real strike. The silent, waiting force that had only now chosen to move.
The true power, held in reserve until the right moment.
And beneath the table, his foot shifts—higher, just slightly, just enough. His calf moves with the drag of Ajax’s touch, and then oh—he feels it. His breath catches for just a moment, golden eyes lowering. Ajax’s fingers, bold and seeking, have found the garter at his knee.
The realization sends a flush creeping up his neck, a quiet thrill humming beneath his skin. He knew Ajax would find it eventually, the man is far too insatiably curious to resist the exploration. But to feel his fingers there, tracing just beneath the strap, pressing into the slight indent it leaves against his skin...
Zhongli does not flinch, but he does lower his gaze. Coy. Indulgent. He hums, a quiet, pleased sound, something almost sinful in its satisfaction, and lets his fingers linger against the edges of the board, as if savoring the moment, drawing it out.]
Your drive is commendable, Ajax. [And he means it. Truly. Ajax does not know the depths of what he has just exposed, of what he has unknowingly revealed. His willingness to fight, to take the impossible route simply because it excites him, because he wants to—how utterly intoxicating.
If only he knew.
If only he knew.
But for now, they are simply two men. Two men playing a game. Two men wanting each other for who they are in this moment.
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He has encountered many like this before—those who charge into battle headfirst, seeking glory, victory, or something they cannot even place a name upon. He has often tempered them, guided them, and reshaped their reckless edges so they did not crumble under the weight of their own passion.
And yet, here, now, with Ajax, he does not want to. He finds himself wanting to watch him burn.
Perhaps that phoenix earring truly holds a meaning. He wants to see how much of this wildfire consumes them both.
Zhongli’s lips curl, amused and—— He watches as Ajax's knight plunges deeper into enemy territory, pressing close, so close. Reckless, desperate, bold. The man has ignored every looming threat, every carefully placed piece, just to force him into a moment of choice. Flee, or fight?
Such single-minded conviction.
Zhongli exhales, slow, measured, though the way he presses against Ajax’s firm grip on his leg betrays him. He can feel the strength in that hold, the rough drag of fingers curling against his calf. It is not a teasing brush now, but something steady, something sure. Ajax is testing, tasting the waters, indulging, taking.
And Zhongli—despite himself—is enjoying being taken.
The corners of his lips quirk as his fingers shift against the board. Not to his queen. Not yet.
But to a pawn.
A simple, unassuming pawn that stands right by the path his own King, a little to the side, waiting, unmoved all this time. And he merely taps on top of it, a note that he will fall into place before the lone knight, cutting off its charge in an almost underwhelming manner.
A sword, beaten by a pitchfork.
The most insignificant piece, and yet the most important.
His voice lowers, soft, indulgent, golden eyes half-lidded with pleasure as he watches Ajax process the warning.]
You are formidable. [But Zhongli's shield is stronger. And then, his fingers brush forward—graceful, precise—as he finally moves his king.
The piece slides one square to the side, the pawn ready to jump onto its place in case the knight is willing to still follow. And by doing so... The queen, beautiful, elegant, has room to cut into enemy territory, sweeping up the bishop that had been protecting Ajax’s king all this time. The real strike. The silent, waiting force that had only now chosen to move.
The true power, held in reserve until the right moment.
And beneath the table, his foot shifts—higher, just slightly, just enough. His calf moves with the drag of Ajax’s touch, and then oh—he feels it. His breath catches for just a moment, golden eyes lowering. Ajax’s fingers, bold and seeking, have found the garter at his knee.
The realization sends a flush creeping up his neck, a quiet thrill humming beneath his skin. He knew Ajax would find it eventually, the man is far too insatiably curious to resist the exploration. But to feel his fingers there, tracing just beneath the strap, pressing into the slight indent it leaves against his skin...
Zhongli does not flinch, but he does lower his gaze. Coy. Indulgent. He hums, a quiet, pleased sound, something almost sinful in its satisfaction, and lets his fingers linger against the edges of the board, as if savoring the moment, drawing it out.]
Your drive is commendable, Ajax. [And he means it. Truly. Ajax does not know the depths of what he has just exposed, of what he has unknowingly revealed. His willingness to fight, to take the impossible route simply because it excites him, because he wants to—how utterly intoxicating.
If only he knew.
If only he knew.
But for now, they are simply two men. Two men playing a game. Two men wanting each other for who they are in this moment.
The outside world does not exist.
Not yet.]