Mafia AU

[misfittoys]

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

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[arcaico]

[It all happens in increments. Soft, dangerous increments.

The press of Ajax’s mouth against his temple is warm, fleeting, scandalously familiar, and it stuns Zhongli more effectively than any blade, any bullet ever could. His breath catches, a small, private gasp that curls tight behind his teeth.

He is so used to being manhandled into safety by those sworn to him: Xiao’s sharp, no-nonsense hands pulling him from crumbling stone, Ping's gentle but firm shepherding when he forgets his limits, even Ganyu’s rare, trembling grip when things turned too dire. Ajax’s touch is no shield or command, only the bright, impulsive pull of someone who simply wants him closer. Wants him for the sake of wanting. No contracts. Only that reckless, singular hunger, glittering and terrible and sweet, and Zhongli lets himself be guided with startling ease, almost stumbling in his steps from the sheer unthinking willingness of his body to follow.

Their shoulders brush again, firmer this time, Ajax’s body warm and solid at his back as he guides him a few steps away from the blinking, mechanical gaze of the security cameras.

There is something terribly delicious in it. The motion softens him from the inside out, the dangerous, private little smile of a man who has survived long enough to know what he is risking and is willing to wager it anyway.]

You seem to have a rather competitive streak, [Zhongli murmurs, gold eyes bright with an indulgent, affectionate glimmer as he lets Ajax pull him along.] One I had not been aware of.

[misfittoys]

Oh! That?

[ Ajax laughs as if it was no big deal.

As if it wasn't that competitive streak those helped him rise through the ranks of the Fatui until he was the youngest Harbinger among Her Majesty's trusted. That same competitive streak that made him turn his back on years of dusty school books and their promise of an office job when his ailing father grew too sick to put bread upon the table. As if it wasn't the catalyst for what made Ajax slide into the seat opposite of Zhongli that day on his way back from dropping Teucer off at school— for what was more depressing than a challenger without a worthy opponent.

But still, he knows how off-putting it can be to the people around him. There's a reason on diplomatic missions he has to be babysit by an elder Harbinger. There's a reason they send him off on the craziest of missions and still they remain incredulous when he returns alive after each and every one. There's a reason why his parents politely take the money offered and don't ask too many questions.

The red light of the security camera is now hidden from their view while Tartaglia does the mental calculation of where the other three closest ones are. Not in line of sight. They're ghosts in the system now, perfectly placed out of the vision of those who might be spying.

If he were on a mission, this is the point where the target would disappear either to be hand-delivered to the Tsaritsa herself or never to be seen by anyone ever again.

(Mister Zhongli really should be worried about the company he keeps.) ]

That's just the natural conclusion of being the middle child.

[ Ajax doesn't quite look at Zhongli— not directly anyway as he peers at him out of the corner of his eye. He tries to force himself to relax. Be chill about this, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Tonia chides him in his head after he had gushed one too many times about the handsome stranger he'd met at the park. While Mister Zhongli may be fond of Ajax (just as Ajax is endeared by him in return), Tartaglia's level of competitiveness was not everyone (or anyone's) cup of tea. ]

Does it bother you? I can tone it down.

[ Ajax squeezes the hand in his almost apologetically. ]

I guess the prize was just too tempting that I got a liiiiiittle carried away. Aha!

[arcaico]

[The laugh draws a slow, indulgent smile from him. Ajax's words come light, offhanded, but Zhongli has lived long and through darkness enough to know when something soft is meant to hide the sharpness underneath. That kind of drive, the spark that flares in Ajax’s eyes when he speaks, the way he moves, bold, forward, always with a sense of momentum that may never ever stop, doesn’t come from ease. It comes from having had to run ahead of something. Or someone.

Middle child, he said. Zhongli lets the phrase turn over in his mind, warm and strange. He wonders about Ajax’s family, the shape of it, the pressure of it. He can imagine it now: not in clear shapes, but in tone and impression. A busy household. Noise. Expectations. Maybe even absence, heavy in the rooms between. The kind of home that carves a man into someone so hungry for wins, and still so good at offering laughter like it costs him nothing.

There’s a moment where Zhongli thinks of saying something tender, something careful.

But then Ajax squeezes his hand and throws in that last line, breathless and apologetic and entirely too charming for his own good, and Zhongli only laughs softly, golden and low, eyes crinkling at the corners as he leans in just enough to brush his shoulder back against Ajax’s.]

Not bothered, no. Just, ah, pleasantly surprised.

[His tone is gentle, almost musing, but there’s a glint behind his eyes that says he’s enjoying this more than he lets on. He tilts his head slightly, as if studying Ajax anew.]

I see. Truly, like a middle child, you were quick to tease me for being the eldest.

[He shifts closer, casually, sinfully, until the scent of cologne and museum dust hangs between them. His lips hover by Ajax’s ear, the space between them tightening like a held breath.] Curious. Clearly, I haven’t tempted you enough, then.

[He pulls back just enough to meet Ajax’s gaze again, eyes rich and amused, his expression unreadable save for the small smile playing at the corners of his lips.]