[ Ajax blinks down at the board for one long moment. However, it is not at any particular piece nor with the concentration of formulating his next strategy. No. Instead he looks at just the spot where if the chessboard and table were not in his way, he could see the leather sole of Zhongli's dress shoe press against his thigh, almost slick against the denim of his jeans. He could see how his fingers draw the garter down farther in indulgence or retaliation (perhaps a little bit of column A and a dash of column B) just far enough so his thumb could stroke the now bared skin of Zhongli's anklebone.
But he can "see" neither of these things, only relish in the caress of Zhongli's delicate skin under his fingertips and tense his thighs in restraint to keep himself from doing something he would not regret, but Zhongli might.
Oh, the things he would do if they were not in public. How he might slip under the table and award Zhongli for his boldness. To watch his back arch in pleasure and draw all sorts of wonderful sounds from him while not stripping him of a single article of clothing. Or perhaps he might shove the chessboard to the side and pull the consultant to him across the table, capturing with enthusiasm that mouth that he couldn't keep his eyes off of.
And oh, the things he would do if he did not want to win so very very badly. (Disturbing the chessboard was off the table entirely no matter how much the warmth in his gut wanted to do the thinking for him.)
They are fast approaching end game with enough blood in the water for two sharks to circle without knowing what their true target is. What Zhongli offers is both a trap and an offering, Tartaglia knows this. Zhongli plays with the strategies of someone who wields the inevitability of time as just another weapon in their arsenal. Under normal circumstances, Tartaglia would find such (dare he say) long-term planning to be incredibly tedious and borderline boring, just like listening to the Fatui and the Syndicate prattle on about their contract loopholes.
But Tartaglia also sees the way Zhongli invites his recklessness. Beckons him to press the Vanguard's knife against his throat, a hunter's trap waiting to ensnare. But ah, is there really any thrill greater than pulling a victory from the jaws of defeat— its teeth already dug into one's flesh. And watching the look of triumph in your opponent's eyes change to shock. Change to horror.
Or as Ajax knew (or wanted with a longing he could not explain) to watch Zhongli's expression sharpen to admiration. That Ajax had done well. That he had rightfully earned that praising look from Zhongli.
Work for it indeed. ]
How fortunate for both of us then.
[ Ajax's queen steps in front of the queen, obscuring the rook from its intended target. ]
That I also enjoy the thrill of the chase.
[ Two turns. ]
I hope you find it to your standards, xiansheng.
[ If his king could evade Zhongli's onslaught for just two turns— ]
no subject
But he can "see" neither of these things, only relish in the caress of Zhongli's delicate skin under his fingertips and tense his thighs in restraint to keep himself from doing something he would not regret, but Zhongli might.
Oh, the things he would do if they were not in public. How he might slip under the table and award Zhongli for his boldness. To watch his back arch in pleasure and draw all sorts of wonderful sounds from him while not stripping him of a single article of clothing. Or perhaps he might shove the chessboard to the side and pull the consultant to him across the table, capturing with enthusiasm that mouth that he couldn't keep his eyes off of.
And oh, the things he would do if he did not want to win so very very badly. (Disturbing the chessboard was off the table entirely no matter how much the warmth in his gut wanted to do the thinking for him.)
They are fast approaching end game with enough blood in the water for two sharks to circle without knowing what their true target is. What Zhongli offers is both a trap and an offering, Tartaglia knows this. Zhongli plays with the strategies of someone who wields the inevitability of time as just another weapon in their arsenal. Under normal circumstances, Tartaglia would find such (dare he say) long-term planning to be incredibly tedious and borderline boring, just like listening to the Fatui and the Syndicate prattle on about their contract loopholes.
But Tartaglia also sees the way Zhongli invites his recklessness. Beckons him to press the Vanguard's knife against his throat, a hunter's trap waiting to ensnare. But ah, is there really any thrill greater than pulling a victory from the jaws of defeat— its teeth already dug into one's flesh. And watching the look of triumph in your opponent's eyes change to shock. Change to horror.
Or as Ajax knew (or wanted with a longing he could not explain) to watch Zhongli's expression sharpen to admiration. That Ajax had done well. That he had rightfully earned that praising look from Zhongli.
Work for it indeed. ]
How fortunate for both of us then.
[ Ajax's queen steps in front of the queen, obscuring the rook from its intended target. ]
That I also enjoy the thrill of the chase.
[ Two turns. ]
I hope you find it to your standards, xiansheng.
[ If his king could evade Zhongli's onslaught for just two turns— ]