[Zhongli’s fingers remain loosely curled in Ajax’s grasp, the warmth of the younger man’s palms seeping into his skin, burning hotter than any flame he’s ever known. The pulse at his wrist thrums against Ajax’s touch, a steady, betraying rhythm—too fast, too eager. He had realized how swiftly the game had slipped from the board into the blood, into something darker, visceral, but he hadn't realized how it reflected into his body.
Checkmate.
(He doesn't adjust his garter)
Zhongli lets his lashes lower, gold eyes flickering to the boy—no, the man—before him. And he thinks, not for the first time, how fascinating it is, a simple toy salesman, Bright, eager, bold, too forward to be merely naive. Too sharp to be merely lucky. And yet, there is something wild about him, something that does not belong in the orderly, sunlit world of ordinary men. It thrives in the dark, in bladed ambition bloody and ruined loyalty, in the damp and dark and narrow cobblestones of Liyue, where dragons stir and kings fall and the underworld leaves a long-lasting, aching burn. Zhongli knows the weight of that mark all too well, and for a fleeting, aching second, he thinks: Ajax would have been a wonderful recruit.
He would have made a brilliant piece on the board, a knight without hesitation, a rook that struck without mercy, a queen if only given the chance to build his dominion. He has all the makings of someone who could rise; burning too hot and too fast, perhaps, but beautiful in how he would blaze.
But Zhongli also knows what happens to men like that once they are pulled into the riptide of his world down to the marrow of his bones: the bright ones burn quickest. The fierce ones drown the deepest. The eager ones are crushed under the very weight of the things they try to hold.
It is a shame and a blessing, Zhongli thinks quietly, wistfully, that this stranger-this charming, terribly dangerous stranger—may never know how close he has come to the edge. For all his reckless brilliance, for all his bold, flashing smiles and fierce pursuit, he is still free. Zhongli would not wish to take that from him. Not even if Ajax offered it up willingly.
Zhongli exhales slow and soft, a tendril of heat escaping his lips. Under the table, he lets the arch of his foot glide one last, slow stroke along Ajax’s thigh before withdrawing, leaving behind the ghost of a touch, a memory imprinted on denim and skin alike.]
I did. [He meets Ajax’s gaze, voice both low as it is warm, çole silk as it is taut between them.] And I still do.
As agreed, [a cant of his head, conceding. And yet, his pulse thrums like the wings of a hummingbird.] I am yours to claim.
no subject
Checkmate.
(He doesn't adjust his garter)
Zhongli lets his lashes lower, gold eyes flickering to the boy—no, the man—before him. And he thinks, not for the first time, how fascinating it is, a simple toy salesman, Bright, eager, bold, too forward to be merely naive. Too sharp to be merely lucky. And yet, there is something wild about him, something that does not belong in the orderly, sunlit world of ordinary men.
It thrives in the dark, in bladed ambition bloody and ruined loyalty, in the damp and dark and narrow cobblestones of Liyue, where dragons stir and kings fall and the underworld leaves a long-lasting, aching burn. Zhongli knows the weight of that mark all too well, and for a fleeting, aching second, he thinks: Ajax would have been a wonderful recruit.
He would have made a brilliant piece on the board, a knight without hesitation, a rook that struck without mercy, a queen if only given the chance to build his dominion. He has all the makings of someone who could rise; burning too hot and too fast, perhaps, but beautiful in how he would blaze.
But Zhongli also knows what happens to men like that once they are pulled into the riptide of his world down to the marrow of his bones: the bright ones burn quickest. The fierce ones drown the deepest. The eager ones are crushed under the very weight of the things they try to hold.
It is a shame and a blessing, Zhongli thinks quietly, wistfully, that this stranger-this charming, terribly dangerous stranger—may never know how close he has come to the edge. For all his reckless brilliance, for all his bold, flashing smiles and fierce pursuit, he is still free. Zhongli would not wish to take that from him. Not even if Ajax offered it up willingly.
Zhongli exhales slow and soft, a tendril of heat escaping his lips. Under the table, he lets the arch of his foot glide one last, slow stroke along Ajax’s thigh before withdrawing, leaving behind the ghost of a touch, a memory imprinted on denim and skin alike.]
I did. [He meets Ajax’s gaze, voice both low as it is warm, çole silk as it is taut between them.] And I still do.
As agreed, [a cant of his head, conceding. And yet, his pulse thrums like the wings of a hummingbird.] I am yours to claim.