hydrangeabloom | Mafia AU

Entry tags:

Mafia AU

[ A tale of two people leading double-lives and the inevitable misunderstandings that follow ]

[A whirlwind of playful need mixed with competitive spirit, the two collide in a way that sends a ripple of amusement through him. The younger man's open expression, unfiltered desires, the way he communicates so plainly with no hesitation or coyness; all bring about a certain kind of whiplash that Zhongli is still getting used to.

Zhongli watches as Ajax moves his piece across the board without a second glance, the action seemingly rushed, hasty—but upon further inspection, it's clear that it's part of a well-calculated plan. He takes in the positioning, the strategy behind it, and the subtle brilliance that shines through the playful exterior.

How interesting.

Zhongli's golden eyes flicker with intrigue. He makes his next move, a more defensive one, aligning his pieces in a way that invites Ajax’s advance—come catch me, his position seems to say.]

Well, then, I can't help but wonder... should we continue this game?

[His hand remains intertwined with Ajax’s, his thumb tracing slow, thoughtful circles along the younger man's skin, his gaze lowering to count the freckles on his cheeks, on his nose, and then the line of his lips.] After all, it’s only a game. And it seems to me that our wills are already quite evenly tied.

[ Ajax's eyes dim two shades darker at the question, something within him roiling at the mention of quitting. Forfeiture was a loss in his book, and Tartaglia had not backed down from anything in his life. Not even when he was a scrawny nobody brought in kicking and biting to the Tsaritsa's chambers upon their first meeting. ]

Only a game?

[ Red creeps along Ajax's cheeks at Zhongli's wandering gaze (for who resist the charm of this man), his own eyes tracking the slow repetitive motion of Zhongli's thumb pressed against his skin. He blinks slowly— once, twice — before lifting his other hand to advance another piece across the board. It's almost violent in its aggressiveness, but aimed pure and true like a knife thudding a bullseye.

Lead the way, Ajax seems to reply even as he knows there is a trap lying in wait. Or perhaps because he knows there is a trap, but the prize is worth that risk.

Ajax runs his tongue along the back of his teeth as if that could unstick the words he means to say. ]

Mister Zhongli~ Mama didn't raise a quitter, especially with a wager on the line. And I know you see my strategy. You know it's an all or nothing gamble that I win in two turns or lose it all.

So I really just have to know—

If you can stop me when you see it coming. You'll indulge me in that, won't you? To see who wins this battle of wills.

[Oh, there's something in him, something that resonates with an unyielding spirit, like a warrior’s refusal to back down.

Zhongli watches the aggressive move Ajax makes, the piece slamming into position with the force of someone determined to seize victory no matter the cost. A victory, or nothing at all. There's no mistaking the precision behind the move, the calculated risk, and the thrill of the chase that Ajax seems to thrive on. And yet, even in the face of that, Zhongli can't help but smile.

How fascinating.

His golden eyes flick up, meeting Ajax's darkened gaze, the younger man's intensity met with an unshakable calm. To think that a mere toy salesman would be this intense; is it because his work and his life provide him with little instances to truly let loose? Or…]

Ah, but quitting wasn’t what I had in mind. [His thumb continues its slow, deliberate circles on Ajax's skin, the touch grounding them both amidst the rising tension.] Merely a negotiation. I suppose we could call it a contract.

[He tips his head an increment, like he's considering something to be honored, one ritual to better demonstrate one's respect.] I won't deny you the thrill of this battle of wills. But I do wonder—what will that mean for you if I stop you?

[He is still teasing, laying out a test of sorts.]

Is it truly a loss, if you win something you wish for regardless?

[ Ajax tilts his head in the opposite direction, mirroring Zhongli as he rests his chin against his palm. His fingers curl tighter around Zhongli where he can, part restless and part to latch onto this enchanting individual. ]

It can't be a true loss, because it's you, Mister Zhongli. Even if there is no prize at the end except for the joy that blooms across your face at an enjoyable match, it's still worthwhile to me.

[ But then he laughs, eyes crinkling as they lose some of their intensity. ]

Though I must admit I wanted to create a win/win situation for the both of us no matter the outcome. That's just good manners when you're getting to know someone.

But if you want to suggest a negotiation—

[ His gaze lowers to their joined hands and then up to Zhongli's lips, an internal conflict on how bold he could or should be. Or perhaps fantasizing about a prize that he's not sure he wants to jeopardize.

But given a new potentially more thrilling option, there is really only one path for him to take. ]

I'm listening.

[The lightness of Ajax's laugh fills the air between them, dissipating the tension in a way that feels both natural and disarming. It's… strangely familiar. He's seen so many people able to weave this kind of mental maneuver, of meaning business, sometimes dangerous business, and they laugh it off to dissipate the threat. It's oddly strange to see such passionate claims coming from Ajax, when he's but someone who works with toys.

Perhaps he's being too nostalgic. How Ajax can be both fiercely determined and so unguardedly open at the same time is something he finds endlessly captivating.

But there is something else that lingers beneath that openness. Maybe even a hesitancy—an unspoken hope that lingers in the way Ajax’s gaze lowers to their joined hands, then to his lips, as if caught between a want and a fear of reaching too far too quickly.

What is he afraid of?]

A win/win situation... [He muses, lowering his gaze to the pieces, his free hand tapping onto one of them, mindlessly tipping it just a fraction, as though weighing the scales of their conversation.] That does sound appealing. But I think there's an opportunity here for something even more... rewarding.

[His thumb still traces slow, steady circles on the back of Ajax’s hand. There’s a pause, and then Zhongli looks up, his voice still a soft murmur, the kind that almost seems to wrap around them, as if sealing them off from the rest of the world.]

How about this: if you win, you can claim your prize—whatever you wish for. But if I win, I get to choose where this evening takes us.

[Zhongli’s smile deepens, warm and knowing, as his fingers tighten ever so slightly around Ajax’s hand.

His fingers move the piece to an extremely dangerous place for the both of them.] I’m certain you’ll find that quite a compelling contract. It’s not often that I offer such terms.

[ For perhaps the first time, Ajax truly blue screens. His eyes widen in shock as if he can't believe what he's hearing— because he doesn't. That sweet inviting tone of Zhongli's voice is something he only fantasized about in the privacy of his bed — not here and definitely not saying these things. ]

Whatever I—

[ And then Zhongli lays out the reward for his own win, and Ajax can feel the flush all the way up to the tips of his ears.

Oh.

Oh.

Normally, Ajax would recoil from such an offer, willful creature that he is. He always liked to have at least one hand on the driver's wheel even if the Tsaritsa sat next to him, calmly delivering order after order in a tone that conveyed the price of disobedience. The thought of allowing Zhongli to decide everything sends a unique and chilling thrill up his spine. The thought of Zhongli (Ajax's hand in his) smiling that too handsome smile and tugging him to an evening of his own design...

Ajax's fingers twitch in Zhongli's grip. His blush does not fade. ]

Okay.

[ Ajax's voice is embarrassingly small even to his own ears, but soon that boyish grin spreads across his face, thawing the ice of vigilance and mistrust. He was Ajax now — the toy seller. Ajax— a simple boy on a simple date with a man who he had a not-so-simple crush on. This was still a win-win— would still be his win. And he'd be a complete fool to let this opportunity pass him by. ]

You have a deal, Mr. Zhongli.

[ And he taps the consultant's most recently moved piece with a forefinger just to let him know he understand the stakes. Just to let him know he knew exactly what Zhongli was doing and was infatuated with him even moreso because of it.

Ajax's knight sweeps across the board to land side-by-side, so close and yet unable to attack or defend against each other. It's a deviation from Ajax's previous scheme but equally (if not moreso) risky. Can Zhongli defend his king when his knight has so thoroughly and brazenly infiltrated his ranks? ]

Check.

[ But not quite yet mate. ]

[Perhaps he shouldn't delight himself in the flush that spreads across Ajax’s face, the wide-eyed shock that briefly freezes him in place, his lips parted so captivatingly. Zhongli feels the delicate balance between them tip, the tension of their playful back-and-forth shifting into something far more profound, having the slide both down the incline into a depth that even he hadn't really expected that day. He wonders, as his smile deepens, if the tension of the week has gotten to him, and he now craves and thrills at seeing Ajax flustered, even if just for a fleeting moment.

He is incredibly distracting, he thinks as he curls his fingers and turns their hands, fingertips tracing over the same lines that Ajax pretended to read on his own. What was it again? Ah, there's a scar where his lifeline is, and a turbulent beginning to his heart's, only for it to settle into something so deep and steady. He wonders if Ajax has read his own palm before.

Okay, he says. A single, soft word, so unlike the boldness Ajax typically radiates. He feels it settle there, like a steady flame, flickering yet unwavering. How endearing.

Zhongli’s golden eyes flicker with interest as he studies the board. Ajax has made a daring move, one that leaves his pieces in a precarious position. A risk, certainly, but one worth taking for someone like him. Zhongli lets the silence stretch, his eyes lifting to meet Ajax's once more. There's a glint of something mischievous in them.]

How bold. However, a knight alone cannot win such a battle.

[Zhongli moves a piece—a defensive play, positioning his queen to protect the king, but also creating a delicate trap of his own, surrounded by all kinds of attacking pieces, even the remaining pawns. It's tempting - take the queen and the king all at once. It's subtle, but it gives Ajax the opportunity to press forward. Should he take it, however, the board will tilt once again, but in Zhongli’s favor. One would call it the sweetness of a venus flytrap.]

[ So focused is Ajax on the board that he pays little attention to his hand being turned so deftly (and oh so so gently) in Zhongli's. His eyes dart from piece to piece, eyes furrowed in concentration until his hand spasms in Zhongli's grasp. The scar on his hand is old, formed back when he was fourteen and newly admitted to the Fatui — never fully healing because he had not known enough about the life he leads now to tend to it correctly. As a result, the tissue itself is tender and Zhongli's touch is almost ticklish as he traces down the line of it. ]

No fair.

[ Ajax complains as if he had not done the same to Zhongli not moments before. But still he lets his hand remain, indulging in Zhongli's wandering touch. It was a distraction — the good kind that provided that wonderful rush, like standing on the precipice of a 10-foot drop. Uncertain, yet soothing.

A knight alone cannot win such a battle.

Ajax's tongue runs against the back of his teeth, eyes set squarely upon that trap and understanding fully the outcome of a frontal assault. The queen he could handle but the knight would be long slain before it reached the king, leaving the rest of his pieces at a severe disadvantage. A glorious fight but ultimately a loss. He would never do that to Her. No matter how much he loved the thrill of the hunt and the adrenaline rush of battle, Tartaglia did not march into battles that were unwinnable.

He manipulated them until they became achievable.

The knight moves again, this time to slay (not a pawn for they were no longer worth his time), a bishop off to the side of the queen and king. Too far for any one piece to reach the knight in a single movement, but threatening enough to put Zhongli on his back foot with one less major piece in play.

That look of concentration forms into a wicked grin, losing its playfulness for just one beat. A second. Too long for someone of Zhongli's astute observation skills: ]

Who says they can't?

[Ajax’s knight lunges, taking his bishop—a daring strike, one that reveals Ajax’s willingness to manipulate the board to his favor at all costs. But in doing so, the knight is now a solitary figure, bold and reckless, drawn far from its comrades. A smirk tugs at Zhongli’s lips—such audacity demands a response.

His fingers move with deliberate grace, reaching for an unassuming pawn. The movement is slow, almost teasing, as he places it in a position that shifts the dynamic of the game entirely. The pawn cuts through the heart of Ajax’s formation, its path carving a line that threatens the rest of the pieces left unprotected behind the knight, a knight of his own set up to attack the knight if it were to go back. It is not a defensive move—this time, it's offensive. A counterstrike. Followed through by the smallest of the pieces, no strong knight, no cunning queen, but a line of the pawns still remaining poised to strike back.]

A knight can be formidable, [Zhongli murmurs, his gaze flicking up to meet Ajax’s with an amused glint, watching how there's some sort of hunger there in the edge of his lips.

Zhongli's foot find Ajax's underneath the table,] but it is still only one piece. Boldness must always be tempered with strategy, lest it leave the rest of the field vulnerable.

[A good player will notice that at the back, a single steady rook somehow looms over the whole board, unmoving still, but its placement commanding, a line of attack ready to intervene if necessary, but still remaining tucked into the corner of the board. Ajax’s knight, though victorious in its previous move, is now stranded, unable to aid in defending the rest of the forces left exposed. Zhongli rests his chin on his wrist, his posture relaxed yet his eyes keenly watching Ajax’s reaction.]

Well? [Behind the measured calm, there’s a flicker of warmth—Zhongli’s delight in this exchange, in the thrill of matching wits with someone who embraces the game with such passion.

Ah, it truly has been a while.]

[ Oh Zhongli. Mister Zhongli. Ajax could burst into flames right now for how each motion, each breath, each word makes the man across from him more attractive. And he'd be thankful for it, too. Like the gravity of the sun, how is he supposed to even escape?

(Not that he wants that. Oh no no. Finally, Ajax has found something precious. Something that makes him feel as alive as those nearly impossible missions the Tsaritsa stacks on her youngest to keep his interest piqued. Why would he ever want such a feeling to end?) ]

It's only one piece.

[ Ajax's eyes flicker over to the line of pawns poised and ready to lay waste to his main troop. Zhongli's careful and meticulous positioning has seen to that. The most logical next step would be to abandon the knight in favor of bolstering the rest of his troops and ensuring the protection of his king and queen. An overextended soldier is not worth paying mind to, after all. They all know the price of being set upon the field. Glory or death.

But Ajax has never been the logical player. The thrill of a risky move has and will guide his hand more than any a clear and straightforwardly boring path to his objective.

His sneaker scuffs against the pristine polish of Zhongli's leather dress shoe, childish but also eager to leave his mark (however small) upon the other. ]

Mmmm. But where does being predictable get you? Nowhere fast if your opponent knows where you're going to be three moves from now. Might as well not act at all in that case. At least it'd be a surprise!

But ah— is strategy the only factor in what piece to play? In what move to choose? Will Mr. Zhongli let a favored piece be sacrificed if that means he gets one step closer to the end game.

[ The knight moves again — two spaces up and one across, the rook in the corner sighted at the end of his lance. A rook can only go straight in any direction. It poses no threat to the flexibility and unpredictability of the knight.

So given the choice between regrouping or recklessness, Ajax had once again pulled out a surprising third option— go for the head of the snake instead of the crown that sits pretty up top as a distraction. And then let Zhongli decide what was most important— Victory above all else? Or some other unknown answer. ]

Let's find out.

[Silently, quietly, Zhongli watches the way the Knight traipses closer to the ever-looming rook, how it sweeps across the field with audacious intent. Interesting, how a single unmoving piece easily caught Ajax's attention. The board reflects the sharp, unexpected rhythm of their exchange, each move rippling outward with tension.

His smile deepens as Ajax once again opts for unpredictability. The knight is reckless, but its purpose is clear. To challenge, to provoke, to seize control of the narrative on the board.

But the battlefield is never as simple as one daring charge. He doesn’t move immediately, letting the moment and the intensity linger. His foot shifts beneath the table, unbothered by the scuff of Ajax's trainer, the polished leather of his shoe sliding up the side of it, pressing against the jut of his ankle. The movement is playful, as his toe edges beneath the hem of Ajax’s trousers, brushing against the socked beginning of his calf. The touch is fleeting but leaves a spark, like the current running between them.

With that, Zhongli moves one of his knights, emerging from behind what had seemed to be an impenetrable line of pawns. The piece darts forward, challenging Ajax’s knight in a manoeuvre that feels less like a counterattack and more like an invitation. A daring move that draws attention, pulling focus back to the knight now standing so near. Behind it, if he notices, there's yet another bishop that he has yet to take.

The rook remains steadfast in its corner, looming like a sentinel. He doesn't say anything, merely watches those ocean depth eyes swirl about the complexity of it all.]

[ The bishop is ignored. It is weak, cowering behind the frontal assault of the knight, and Tartaglia does not bother with the weak when a worthy adversary is on the field. Though his eyes dart between the rook and the knight (queen and king seemingly forgotten) as he carefully considers his next move.

The rook is the head of the snake— every gut instinct burning within him is almost sure of that. Without a doubt, he will need to be taken out. But is the knight a credible enough warrior to deal with first, lest he pay for that mistake gravely later if he wrongfully ignores him? Decisions, decisions. And without proper information to go on.

Ah, but it is the thrill of the unknown that Tartgalia loves. Jumping headfirst into a situation that has him at the disadvantage. So he does not falter. He does not hesitate.

(And he does not let Zhongli have the upper hand in the battle under the table as that teasing sharp touch recedes. Sneakers aren't really made for this kind of elegant touch that Zhongli so expertly wields, but they'll do in a pinch. He catches Zhongli's foot just at the Achille's heel with the curve of his shoe — slides up and down in a mirror of what Zhongli had done a few moments before but making sure to press a little harder against all those delicately vulnerable places.)

The knight moves to engage the other knight, bold and brave and just out of reach of the army of pawns. ]

You're so serious, Mister Zhongli.

[ As if Ajax wasn't just the same. ]

Could it be that perhaps I have tempered your strategy with boldness?

[There’s an art to restraint that Zhongli has perfected over the years, what seems like centuries. And yet, this vivacious, charming man in front of him, seems to have found a way to steadily erode that practiced discipline. Like an orange cat that found something of interest behind a wall, and is stubbornly and willfully digging its claws in, chipping it bit by bit. And yet, the flicker of admiration rises unbidden.

And then, under the table, Ajax mirrors his earlier motion, the curve of his sneaker pressing with an intent that is bolder, less refined, yet no less effective. The pressure against his heel is more assertive than teasing, the rough contrast of his trainer grazing over sensitive, vulnerable places. A touch that feels like a declaration in its own right. Zhongli exhales softly, his lips curling into a subtle smile.]

"Tempered me", have you? [His golden eyes lift from the board to meet Ajax’s, his gaze steady but alight with a warm, teasing glint. And if his voice had raised playfully, fondly, before, it drops yet again a fraction, low enough that it feels like a shared secret between them, woven into the space they’ve claimed in this moment.] Perhaps.

Or perhaps, Ajax, you’ve encouraged me to indulge a little.

[Who sounds like a cat who got the cream, here? Zhongli slides his knight into a position that defends the rook and simultaneously opens a line of attack on the other side of the board. Ajax's knight, moving after the other, move out of the way for a dual purpose—keeping the rook free, and another sentinel to prepare for an unseen strike. His queen remains silent, untouched, biding her time, yet her presence looms over the field, a full line aimed at the king on the other side.]

Boldness is very appealing, Ajax. It certainly has its allure. I do admire it. [His foot shifts again, sliding up the length of Ajax’s calf in a deliberate counterstroke, the polished leather smooth against the fabric of Ajax’s trousers. It lingers just long enough, coiled around that leg, for half a second, pulsing.] But it’s the balance of restraint and daring that truly defines a... good performance.

[His tone softens just slightly, an undercurrent of genuine curiosity threading through his words.] Is there ever a moment when you hold back?

[ Ajax places a finger atop his knight (his favored piece) stroking the resin mane as if it were an actual pet as he surveys the trap which he has so recklessly and willingly wandered into.

Zhongli has many key pieces at his disposal waiting to be deployed: a bishop (forgettable) and a knight (a worthy adversary) and the rook (his ultimate goal) and the queen (the impossible god to tear down from her throne). His king is not safe and his army divided — how just like the Fatui in their scheming and squabbling. It was the true reason they could not overcome the might of Morax, after all. Morax's whose coordination was so perfect, it was almost nauseating. Morax who inspired leadership instead of paid for it strength, fear, and lofty promises. Tartaglia is a Vanguard, a blade to an organization where such pieces prided themselves on strength and undying loyalty. Long-term strategy has never been his forte nor does he care to make it one.

And so— Ajax picks up the knight even when he knows that beyond his own delusions of grandeur, he is a pawn. And pawns either fight tool or nail to be queened or are felled on the battlefield forgotten in a sea of similar shaped corpses. ]

Never.

[ The knight ignores the other knight. It ignores the rook and the bishop. It hops over two pawns deep into enemy territory to challenge the queen. He cannot defeat her from this position, but now he stands between her and his king, a bishop ready to sweep across the board and end her if she were to take the knight. It's a taunt and a threat all wrapped with a little bow. Perhaps he's worked himself into an unwinnable situation, but even so Ajax will take down Zhongli's best if he has to go down fighting. ]

Half-measures rarely give me what I want.

[ And now to turn to the other "battle". The one that Ajax has been sorely (and pleasurably) losing this entire encounter.

Ajax glances once to the left and to the right, clocking everyone else within the room but this part of the museum is quiet and empty save for the staff and the odd couple and family engrossed in their own little outings. His free hand dips below the table to catch Zhongli's wandering foot by the ankle and hoist it further up until it's halfway up Ajax's calf. Two fingers dip underneath the leather lip of the shoe stroking just under the jut of Zhongli's anklebone with that some bold gentleness that Zhongli had displayed earlier before.

His eyes never leave Zhongli's as unlike the polite consultant, Ajax doesn't let go. Perhaps it is a cruelty — the desire he has to whittle away at Zhongli's composure. To try and keep his attention on him and him alone. ]

But I'm glad you find my boldness appealing even if you shouldn't say such things aloud. It just makes me want to test my limits all~ the~ more~

[It's been a long time since anyone pursued him like this, and it's been longer still since he allowed himself to reciprocate.

He’s been desired before, certainly. Admired, revered, respected—often with some distance, often with hesitation, often with reverence that placed him on a pedestal too high to be reached.

But Ajax does not approach him with careful steps or measured words. He does not hesitate, nor does he handle Zhongli like some untouchable relic of the past. He challenges him, dares him. And, perhaps the most dangerous thing of all, he wants him, unashamedly, and does not care to conceal it.

Zhongli swallows, his throat dry, suddenly wishing for tea to steady himself, to give him something to do with his hands, to keep him from revealing too much of the sudden heat creeping into his expression. But there is no such respite, only the heavy, heated weight of Ajax’s palm still holding firm against his ankle, fingers pressing just under the lip of his shoe with a gentleness that feels at odds with the boldness of his words.

Zhongli's golden eyes flick downward, catching the way Ajax’s fingers linger and how he does not let go. The realization sends a ripple of warmth through him—he enjoys being wanted and pursued this time. He cannot deny it, not when his own body betrays him. His breath is just the slightest bit uneven, and his lips part before he presses them together again in a vain attempt to compose himself.

Instead, his tongue flicks out, wetting his lower lip as he exhales quietly, slowly. He could allow himself this, couldn't he? Just this once? To be courted, to be seduced, despite the world outside, despite the weight of his duty, despite the danger of his life. Here, now, within the sanctuary of this quiet museum, where the only battlefield that mattered was the one between them?

But what of once they left this sanctuary?

The bet curls, coils tight in the space between them like a breath waiting to be drawn. He does not know how Ajax will take it—if the other man, for all his daring, would be the type to pull Zhongli into a darkened corridor out of sight of CCTV and wandering eyes, pressing him against a quiet corner of the world with all the heat and fervor that burns beneath his skin. Or if, for all his boldness, Ajax will surprise him again—choosing instead something prim and deceptively polite, a gentleman, pressing a kiss to his lips with decorum, restrained and measured, as though the tension between them did not exist.

(Which did he prefer? Zhongli is at a loss.)

The thought makes his pulse quicken: would it be so terrible to indulge?]

Ah… [The sound escapes him, softer than he intended.] You speak as though I shouldn’t say such things. But I find it’s difficult not to when you keep earning them.

So. [His fingers move to the board again. A misdirection.

Ajax is so focused on the knight, on the queen, on the looming rook that he has already noticed. But there were always two.

The second rook—forgotten until now—moves at last. The twin to the first. The second half of a whole. Or perhaps the second face of the same entity.

This one does not linger behind, does not wait like its twin. This one strikes. It cuts through the space left open and slides into place in a way that could only be described as inevitable, taking Ajax's rook, nestled in their ranks.
Perhaps, like himself, two identities reside within a single force. One to be seen. One to be wielded in secret.]

No hesitation. No half-measures. There is an appeal to such a conviction. But it is, also, utterly dangerous.

[When he lifts his eyes again, he lets his foot rise higher. The smooth drag of polished leather ascends, lifting the weight from the salesman's grasp for half a second, pressing with intent until the arch of his foot settles just beneath Ajax’s knee. He presses, firm enough to be felt, a silent provocation of his own. Happy to be there.] But there is a beauty to surrender, as well, Ajax.

[In war, surrender is a moment of sharp clarity, the instant one recognizes the inevitability of being overcome. It is the breaking of resistance, not in despair, but in recognition of something stronger, something greater. In some ways, it is the truest form of wisdom—to know when to hold the line and when to let it fall, to recognize when the act of giving in is itself an act of claiming something else. The act of allowing. It is the moment one lets go, not into nothingness, but into someone else. To feel their hands, their mouth, their voice guiding, teasing, commanding—and to choose to follow. It is the soft unravelling, the exquisite loss of tension, the offering of oneself into the hands of another with the trust that it will be returned.]

Would you ever let yourself yield?

[ Yield? Surrender?

(Ajax was fourteen when he slit his first throat to put bread on the family table. One might have pitied the boy if not for the focus and glee he took in the task. And how not even a fortnight had passed before he did it again.)

Zhongli's embarrassment (though not his reactions) go momentarily overlooked, spared further teasing by Ajax as he mulls over the words that Zhongli has offered him. He should smile good-naturedly here, hint that his submission comes with a price, and try to see what lovely shade of red dusts Zhongli's cheeks before he guesses exactly what that price is. That is what Ajax should do. But something deep within in, something lodged in to the very core of his character, balks at even entertaining such an idea. Yielding was a weakness. Surrender — a death sentence. There was no beauty to be found there. Only failure.

"Dangerous," Zhongli had called his methods or perhaps he was referring to Ajax himself. The glove fits snugly on either hand anyway. And oh, if Zhongli only knew just how dangerous he could be. He'd run, of course. Any sane person would. But the thought is just enough for Ajax to slip on a fraction of his Harbinger mask instead on relying on the ever-pushing charisma of a foreign businessman. ]

I'll take any loss graciously if it's a fair fight. In fact, I find such strength quite charming whether it be in chess or anything else. Yourself included, of course.

[ Because Ajax does feel the press of fine leather pressed just below his knee, a warmth that only fans the flames of his competitiveness. If Ajax was not so wrapped up in victory over this chess match (silly silly Ajax who prefers the losing prize and yet—), he might be tempted to see what he might strip from the other, public space be damned. Or actually— with Zhongli supporting his own weight now, that leaves Ajax's hand free to release the other man's ankle and go exploring. Up up up, he trails two fingers like a blacksmith admiring the edge of a blade. Up until he reaches Zhongli's mid-calf. Because he must know— with as old-fashioned as Zhongli is, should he expect to feel pleasant tautness of sock garters? That would make this all the more fun for Ajax anyway. ]

But I'm afraid it's against my nature to yield. Sorry to disappoint.

[ He sing-songs in a tone that show he's not sorry in the slightest. Without hesitation, his hand once again picks up the knight. Ajax looks Zhongli in the eye then, a grin stretched across his face as he ignores the pair of rooks that have outsmarted him. He ignores the queen who can easily outmatch him. And he ignores the sad forgotten bishop behind him who is now in a terrible position left bereft of allies.

The knight charges even farther into Zhongli's territory, landing with a small thunk exactly four spaces away from one of the two most important pieces on the board. ]

Check. Mister Zhongli.

[ It is as much of a bluff as it is bold. The king can move in any direction to remove itself out of harm's way of the knight, and Ajax is in no better position than he was before. In fact, he might even be worse off. But that does present Zhongli with only one of two options— flee. Or face the knight in combat.

After all, it's the vanguard's duty to lead the charge. And in this task (while the Fatui themselves have been outmatched), Tartaglia himself has never failed. ]

Do you yield?

[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.

The outside world does not exist.

Not yet.]

[ Ajax arches a brow as Zhongli taps his pawn, message received as his free hand drums a senseless staccato against the table. But oh, how he loves to raise the ante, even when the pot is already overflowing with bets beyond their means. Nails scrape against the soft hollow of Zhongli's knee as he hooks two fingers underneath the garter. ]

Flattery will get you everywhere, except when I really really want to win, Mister Zhongli.

[ And he really really wants to win. ]

So I'll take that as you still need a little more convincing. Maybe something to sweeten the deal? Oh! Or maybe you're the type who likes a little assertiveness.

[ In one slow and languid motion, Ajax begins to drag the garter midway down Zhongli's calf. Maybe Zhongli will get to enact that fantasy of Ajax absconding away with him to a shadowed corner where the cameras don't see — all smiles full of teeth as he unravels Zhongli thread by thread to reveal what lies beneath. It's been a while since Ajax has been able to indulge in such a power play against a worthy opponent.

It's been never since the strikes had been traded in desire and denial. And oh, does all of Zhongli's confidence (while incredibly attractive) make Childe want to crack his composure. Just a little bit.

Just to hear his name on Zhongli's lips minus all that carefully packaged decorum.

("Careful now, Ajax. You don't want to spook him on the third date." Says the rational part of his brain which he is paying less and less attention to as the tension between them pulls tauter.) ]

Maybe you want me to leave you with no other alternatives.

[ One might think that Ajax is not even talking about the chess game anymore except for the way that the board has stolen the majority of his focus. Even the teasing touch of Ajax's fingers slipping between bare skin and what has to be very expensive silk is just a distraction. A tantalizingly temptation for the way heat pools in his gut, but a distraction all the same. For even if he becomes less outwardly animated in favor of something more coy, Ajax's eyes dart from one piece to the next on the board in an almost erratic pattern calculating strategies that only he can see.

And so the game continues. With Ajax's wandering fingers stroking Zhongli's calf reverently as he does not slide the garter any lower.

Ajax does not move his knight (unless it is in danger of being removed from the board) for the next turn or many thereafter. It stays in silent vigil, as Zhongli's rook does not a few squares away, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Like a trained sniper pressed low to the roof waiting for the perfect opportunity to take the shot.

Like his father taught him back on the frozen shores of their Snezhnayan home as they huddled around the fishing line in the frigid hours of dawn.

Ajax bides his time with the scattered officers left on his side of the playing field. Small groups of them form up into little squadrons of defense, halting Zhongli's forward momentum. On occasion, a piece is set out to bait to lure the consultant in a very obvious and foolhardy feint. Ever rarer is a feint staged three layers deep so that the logical move results with Ajax's laughter as he triumphantly lines up one of Zhongli's pieces on his edge of the board (always fewer than what Zhongli has managed to capture from Ajax's side).

The outside world does not exist. But neither is this the world where Ajax is but a humble toy salesman.

Queen takes knight. ]

[It is fascinating to watch someone reveal themselves in increments with the reckless certainty of a man who does not know how to do anything by half-measures. It is impossible not to when Ajax lays himself so deliberately bare, as if the very act of wanting, of taking, of pursuing, is a game in and of itself. And perhaps that is the most dangerous thing about him, his strength, his wit, the layered way he maneuvers the chessboard, and how he plays as though there is nothing to lose. That boyish grin that never quite reaches his eyes, how it curls with charm, with ease, with something so sweetly dangerous. How insidious.

How deceptive, that something so bright, so warm, could also be so lethal. How his playfulness lapped at the edges of his cold, calculating gaze, like waves against jagged rock, as if it was his own innocence that made him treacherous.

And isn’t that what makes a man truly terrifying?

The casual gamble of a man who does not flinch at risk, who does not hedge his bets. Ajax plays with all or nothing. And he has since the moment he first sat in front of Zhongli on that quiet park afternoon, all boyish charm and too-bright eyes, an open sort of affection, so genuine it almost seems unpracticed, uncalculated, untouched by the world’s cruelty, moving his chess pieces with the same open ease as he threw flirtations as if to say, Here. Have me. Take me. Or don’t. But I won’t hesitate to try anyway.

He knows that true danger is not the blade at one’s throat, nor the weight of a gun pressed firm to the small of one’s back. True danger is the man who smiles as he does it. It is the light in Ajax’s eyes, too bright, too warm, even as his fingers tighten around the edge of control. That is the kind of man who, were he in the same universe as he is, would not hesitate before pulling a trigger.

Zhongli knows better than to believe in idle hands. Knows better than to think that Ajax is unaware of what he is doing. Knows he lets Zhongli notice his gaze flickering to his mouth as though he thinks he is not watching. No, he is making a point. A bold, shameless declaration, a challenge written in the way his fingertips play so idly with the silk of Zhongli’s restraint.

And it is then, with such dangerous thoughts blooming in his mind, that Zhongli shifts his weight ever so slightly, pressing the arch of his foot harder against the inside of Ajax’s thigh.

Ah. What a dangerous thing to test in such a public place.

Zhongli exhales quietly, clears his throat, barely resisting the urge to reach for a cup of tea that isn’t there. His lips feel dry. He wets them absently, pressing them together as if to compose himself as if the subtle heat curling in his stomach could be soothed with anything so simple.

Instead, a quiet chuckle slips from his lips.]

Perhaps, [he muses, tapping a single finger against the board,] I simply enjoy watching you work for it.

[It is a contradiction, really.

Because just as he speaks, he moves the second rook.

The twin to the first. The shadow to its counterpart. A silent piece that had remained unseen, unnoticed, until now. And as it slides into place, Ajax’s king is caught in check.

But by doing so, Zhongli opens a full, unobstructed path towards his own king.

An exposed throat to a blade. A parting of lips to waiting teeth.

It could be a trap.

Or it could be an offering.]

[ 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— ]

[It is fleeting, barely there, but Zhongli sees the precise moment desire battles restraint.

The moment when Ajax’s mind fractures between the logic of the game and the weight of their indulgence. The idea of what could be, if not for the constraints of their setting. A world without a table between them, without a chessboard dictating their careful dance. Would he pull him closer? Would he claim him with the same boldness he has wielded since the start? Would he take his victory not in chess, but in the way Zhongli’s lips part beneath his own?

And how fascinating, that Zhongli lets himself consider it.

The warmth of Ajax’s thumb, now skimming on his ankle, and he wonders if he'd ever kiss it. The heat of his body, tense and waiting, as Zhongli presses just a fraction harder, his foot a slow, deliberate weight against Ajax’s thigh.

A reminder that he is watching him.

And Ajax—

Ah.

He had suspected as much before, but now there is little doubt: Ajax does not play with the expectation of winning. He plays for the thrill. For the risk. For the moment the game turns in his favor or against it, and he gets to claw it back, just to feel it slip between his fingers again, to chase after it. The eternal unsatisfied. Never sated.

Ajax’s voice is honey-thick, smooth and self-assured, but Zhongli can see the effort behind it. The tension beneath the confidence as his fingers finally move—the queen glides across the board onto a block-challenge-invitation. Zhongli hums, the amusement curling warm behind his lips.

So he is pulling out formalities, now.

What a wonderfully dangerous game.

Two turns. He's seen this play. He knows that is what Ajax is banking on. If he can keep his king moving for just two more turns, then victory will be his. It is, still, a gamble. A high-stakes one, considering how Zhongli has already laid out the trap. But this is exactly what he's come to admire about Ajax, that he looks like a man who'd grin with a blade at his throat. Foolish.

But what of everything else?

Would Ajax ever allow himself to simply enjoy what Zhongli had to offer? Or would he tussle and wrestle for dominance each time, all bright teeth and burning want, pushing until neither of them could breathe? Would he fight for it every single time?

Zhongli could end it here.

He lets one more piece move instead.

His fingers drift, trailing with a smooth motion before nudging his knight forward. In one stroke, Zhongli has offered the king an escape route, but it comes at a price. A single open line leading straight to the waiting jaws of his final rook.

The other unremarkable dark pieces on Zhongli’s side have, until now, seemed harmless. Small pawns, scattered across the battlefield like forgotten remnants, inconsequential to the grander scheme of things. And yet, with the shift of his knight, the landscape of the board turns in an instant. What had seemed innocent now bristles with hidden intent, every minor piece aligned into an unexpected threat.

A single pebble thrown at a giant’s eye can bring him to his knees. A whisper, carried across a kingdom, can ignite a revolution. A modest, unassuming toy salesman can entice a dragon, as if his very bones are spun from gold.

And then, he reaches for Ajax’s playing hand, brings it closer, his own fingers twining with his, slow, deliberate. His eyes are half-lidded, gold smoldering with something undeniable, something that settles deep in his chest like the secret he can't speak of. Presses his lips, soft and unhurried, against the back of his own hand. Not quite kissing Ajax's, his warm breath skimming only as he lets out a sigh. He lingers, just for a breath, just long enough for the warmth of his mouth to linger, before his gaze lifts again, heavy-lidded, knowing.

What a contradiction he must be.

He could see it now, couldn’t he?

The way all those innocuous little things have turned into weapons.

And yet, the pathway for his own king? Still open, seemingly defenseless. An acknowledgement in the silence, a provocation that needs no words: 'come catch me'.

And then, as if he has done nothing at all, as if this moment isn’t curling into something thick and inescapable, he murmurs against his own skin.]

Check, Ajax.

[ It's a trap. All of this is.

The press of Zhongli's sole against his thigh, inviting Ajax to indulge more. The Harbinger savors this scandalous contact of skin to skin between them. Would he kiss it? Yes— preposterous as that seems. (Who loses their cool over a bare ankle anyway?!) Yes and he'd do a dozen more things to every inch of Zhongli's body. He wants to see this man in the throes of passion. Wants to see him overwhelmed. But not in his usual blazing rush of glory, no. Perhaps for the first time, Ajax catches a glimpse of understanding of those who favor their strategies and intrigue over the crisp decisive results of action. For the only thing more enticing than seeing Zhongli undone by Ajax's own hand is the thought of that slow realization dawning in those beautiful golden eyes as Ajax careens them both of that cliff, Zhongli helpless to prevent it and not wanting to anyway.

Ugh! Distracting. This is much too distracting!

Which makes it hard to pinpoint just what is triggering the sense of unease that tingles at the corner of his senses. Zhongli's move is not incorrect, but it's not quite right either. And it's not because it's the thrill of something reckless or unexpected. No, it's— it's— an offering? a compromise? another layer to their interactions that are becoming so complex, Ajax is not sure what is supposed to be tactics and what is supposed to be innuendo anymore? Impossible to tell. But he hasn't lost yet, which means the only path forward is well— forward. Forward with a charming grin and the sharp edge of a blade. Surely it will work out in the end. Somehow it always had for him.

The press of Zhongli's shoe and the warmth of Zhongli's breath ghosts over the back of his hand. He needs that hand to continue the game, but is too selfish to even think about disentangling his hand from Zhongli and his oh so intoxicating attention.

So Ajax doesn't allow Zhongli's hand to drop his as moves them both across the board. Together their fingers find the slick acrylic of his queen's many-pronged crown. (He doesn't trust getting close to the rook. Either of them. He doesn't know why. But instinct that has helped him claim victory many a time demands it.) Together they slide the queen wildly across the board almost as deep into the heart of enemy territory as Ajax's own knight is just to eliminate Zhongli's knight. It's reckless and bold. Surely his queen will be eliminated in the next few turns for such a move (if it lasts that long. It cannot last that long if Ajax is meant to seize victory). But the queen stands proud and tall and unintimidated surrounded by her enemies, facing the king. And her knight lurks in the shadows behind him, waiting to ensnare him as he falls into the abyss. ]

Oh. You're being a little bit naughty, aren't you? I can play that game too, you know.

[ It's now Ajax's turn to pull Zhongli's hand to his lips. But unlike the coy teasing that proved to be incredibly effective against Ajax, the vanguard unashamedly nips at one his knuckles like a misbehaving puppy before soothing the away the pink indents of his teeth with his thumb. Not a kiss so not breaking the rules of their little engagement. But oh does he so not want to apply even the slightest amount of brakes to their escalation. ]

Check, xiansheng.

[The teeth catch him by surprise.

Technically, they do not break the rules, and yet his skin feels the edge of Ajax's teeth so vividly. It is not the soft graze of lips on a ring, or the careful, curated affection of courtship, but the sharp, instinctive nip of something wild. Something unruly. Something that wants.

And wants him.

The faintest gasp catches at the back of his throat, too quiet to be called a sound, more like the flicker of a candle in a still room. His lashes flutter low over gold-lit eyes, and he watches as Ajax soothes the indentations of his bite with his thumb, as if marking the spot only to later worship it. A shiver curls down his spine from the sheer audacity of being wanted like this. It is… not what he is used to. He has been admired, yes. Desired, even. Revered and feared and bowed to. But not pursued.

And not with this much teeth.

Zhongli swallows. He is composed, of course he is. Composure is all he has, at times. But even that feels threadbare around the edges now, tugged loose like the garter Ajax’s fingers still stroke with maddening reverence. One touch, two. Still there. Still teasing. Still claiming.

Ajax’s queen has surged forward now, taking the knight that had opened the way. It’s a brilliant move—impulsive, devastating. The kind that carves into Zhongli’s strategy and leaves a wound. The kind of move that should be punished.

Instead, it is… fascinating.

Because Ajax lays himself bare, as though he has nothing to lose. Because he walks into a trap, knowing, and does so anyway with that ever-gleaming grin and a flourish that makes Zhongli feel a little drunk. He calls him xiansheng like it’s a shared joke. Like he knows what the title means. Like he might peel it from his skin with the same care he might unfasten the clasp of his belt.

His fingers tighten, just slightly, against the younger man’s, entwined as they are, and he allows his own gaze some respite from the beautiful coppered and brilliant man sitting across from him, like a trap Zhongli is finding himself wanting to be fully encased by.

Who's the hunter, truly? ]

You should be careful, [he murmurs, voice low, the words almost lost to the hush of the gallery around them.] Those who play with dragons often mistake the warmth of their breath for something safe.

[The bishop strikes.

It is not the most logical move on the board by far. There were easier targets, more immediate counters, cleaner paths to safeguard the king he has so openly left exposed. But for once, Zhongli does not do it for the sake of logic. He does it to watch Ajax react.

Ajax’s rook, proud and loyal and so rarely out of position, vanishes under the sweep of his bishop like it had never been there at all. It is, in all aspects, an elegant capture.

It does not protect Zhongli's king. It does not block Ajax’s queen. It leaves the heart of his defenses threadbare, veiled only by the illusion of caution. A gesture of strength that, when pressed, offers no resistance.

And yet, how it sings.

Because the rook was a threat, a shadow, a witness to all the traps he'd laid. Zhongli takes it not for necessity, but because it hurts. Because it matters. Because it sends a message, a blade pressed flat to skin, not to cut, but to make its weight known.

And still, the path remains open. The king is untouched. Unfleeing. Unmoved.

Zhongli watches Ajax from beneath the sweep of his lashes, gold eyes slow and hooded, as if this isn’t war, but a study. Every line of Ajax's body is wired with tension that he wears like silk, deceptive in its softness, and every bit as dangerous.

Zhongli can feel the slight shift in his grip, the subtle change in his stillness. He can sense the way his focus flickers, ever so slightly, between board and thigh, between threat and temptation. As though keeping himself tethered to something he hasn’t decided yet whether he wants to destroy or to worship.

The bishop falls into place with a delicate, hollow tap.

Zhongli exhales. The kind of sound that trembles just beneath the threshold of notice, but feels louder than thunder in the silence between them. His thumb glides once across the knuckles of Ajax’s hand, still held, still offered.

Zhongli sees it. Feels it. Knows the next step, the final step, is not his.

And yet, he doesn’t look afraid.

He looks like he’s waiting.

For the teeth. For the triumph. For the fall.

Perhaps this is what it means to be caught.

To want to be.]

Go on, [he says softly, eyes glittering as the last of the bishop’s echo fades between them.] Let’s see if you can truly reach me.

[ "Those who play with dragons often mistake the warmth of their breath for something safe."

Ajax could giggle — does giggle— at how absolutely endearing Zhongli is. While still a novice about the finer points of Liyue culture, Ajax does understand how very particular they are about their dragons. Wise and benevolent as they are just and decisive. No dragon would ever look down at Tartaglia and see him as anything but a threat to order and stability. And Tartaglia would never see a dragon as anything but a notch under his belt as an impossible challenge defeated by his own hand. Only good people (or those that thought they were good) would find refuge near a dragon's maw. May their sins be weighed accordingly.

But ah, that was Zhongli's charm point, was it not? Here he was courting a creature with fangs without the slightest sign of self-preservation. Bold but not reckless. Exactly the kind of person who gets trapped in the dark with the Vanguard of the Harbingers and thinks a serving tray will save him.

Perhaps he should be worried about his own safety first. ]

Wise words, but actually— I have this feeling you don't want me to be careful at all. That you enjoy the thrill of the hunt, matched in such a way that one false step and the hunter becomes the hunted.

[ For the game is only a means to an ends, a thin veneer spread across the rising need to push at the boundaries. To test oh so carefully that which bends and avoid that which breaks. Zhongli's walls are closing in but that only works if they catch Tartaglia in time before he strikes.

Which is why Zhongli's next move is so bewildering.

There is a slightly puzzled expression on Ajax's face as his own rook topples. Surely there was significance of that or perhaps this was simply a quirk of Zhongli's — to favor his own rooks above else and jealously eliminate those of his opponents. Surely, there is a story there, but one for another time as the final spring of Tartaglia's trap has been sprung.

Hands still intertwined, Ajax reaches for his queen again and in another bold movement, she dances across the length of the board to stand toe to toe with Zhongli's noble king. Strategically placed on his unprotected flank, none of Zhongli's other pieces are able to strike her down. Only the king can move to defeat her.

Except.

Except—

Should Zhongli's king vanquish Ajax's queen, the knight sits patiently, lance poised to strike down the king right where he would stand. But ah, isn't that how it always is? The Tsaritsa always sends him out first— reconnaissance she claims as the bodies pile up around him. He never questions her. Never questions the mission. And only when he has entrenched himself deep in enemy territory does she confidently stride down those halls, bathed in the beauty and confidence of frost and white. And why shouldn't she be? When she knows her Vanguard is never too far away with his sights trained on the final target. Her final target.

To topple the king. His loyal blade at their throat. ]

Checkmate, Zhongli-xiansheng.

[ The words spill of his tongue like ambrosia, sweet and far too rich for his usual tastes (except that is Zhongli who is ever proving to be the exception). Now to claim the spoils of his hard work and a job well done.

Ajax's thumb skims Zhongli's ankle one last time as he spares the briefest of thoughts of returning the consultant's clothes to their former prim and proper state, garter hoisted up midcalf to stretch taut a clean and smooth pull of fabric. But no, it's much more enticing to leave him disheveled in ways that only Ajax knows about. It will be his little secret to watch to see if Zhongli's straightens his attire or enjoys the touch of personal chaos Ajax has bestowed upon him.

(And oh, what other imperfections could he leave under Zhongli's clothing that would be their little secret.)

Ajax lets go of Zhongli's ankle, allowing the other's press of shoe upon his thigh to either keep that position or relax onto something a bit more family friendly. This leaves both of his hands free to capture Zhongli's hand between both of his own, restless fingers stroking both palm and back of his hand alike as he raises it between them. ]

And I believe the wager is that now I'm allowed to do whatever I want with you.

[ Two fingers find the dip of the pulse at Zhongli's wrist. ]

Did you still find those terms acceptable?

[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.

Mafia AU

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)