Jiale had no intention of getting carried away, but the next loss burned so hard that it seemed like his fingers, account card, keyboard, mouse and brains were on fire. Every time he sat down at the computer, everything inside began to burn and ache, and a wave of anger at himself and at fate rose to his throat. Bright, caustic. Jiale did not pay attention to her, walked to the teleport to a random location and shot the mobs there. The mana was running out, the mobs were running out too, he drank the potion, went to the next location and shot again, and again, and again.

Then the anger receded a little, thoughts came about team play and how Jiale missed everyone, communication, jokes, stupid jokes and joint clearing in the training areas. Then he began to go to the dungeon; after all, he was not alone here. Even though he preferred to go with random groups who had no idea who the flamethrower was, who aggressively rushed bosses first when the dungeon mechanics allowed it. And when he didn't really allow it, either. Jiale just needed to throw out somewhere everything that was boiling so painfully inside with every breath. And it let go a little when the boss solemnly departed for another world.

Then it became a little easier, and he began to talk with those with whom he was in the same group. Without a voice, the last thing Jiale wanted right now was for someone to recognize him. There were plenty of people who liked to farm on Twink.

Striker caught Jiale's attention almost immediately. With short, concise answers in the chat - the group leader clarified something, and the striker answered as concisely and clearly as possible. He held the boss as if he had been sewn to him, and from behind the striker's back it was very comfortable to attack, pouring damage.

"Handsome," Jiale wrote after completing the dungeon. - "Will you come with me again?"

"Let's. You play good".

"Like?"

"Yes," the striker was not exactly known for his verbosity. And for some reason it worried him. Jiale stretched his fingers and moved closer to the monitor.

"What else do you like?"

He twirled in front of the striker, forcing the avatar to move. He smiled. Good flirting has never interfered with the game, and in Jiale's opinion, it even helped.

"I also like the way you shoot."

"Choose a longer dungeon and I'll show you something interesting," Jiale chuckled, adding a couple of emojis at the end of the message. And he realized that he really wanted to go to the dungeon. I would like to show this striker how a professional flamethrower can play and how beautiful it can be.

"If you have time," came the answer. Jiale liked this confidence and once again walked around the striker, looking at him. Good, Jiale liked the way the strikers were drawn: dark skin, muscles, a half-naked torso and pants that hugged their butts in the best traditions of the games. The face surprisingly matched everything else, even though the guy clearly put his own photo. He smiled at the corners of his mouth, his features were bright and open. The red bandage on her forehead only completed the look.

Jiale thought that he himself would not have decided to do this. There were a dime a dozen photographs of him on the Internet, and how many other shooters with long red-red hair were there?

Jiale swallowed, imagining how he would squeeze such a fucking ass with his palms. For the first time in recent months, he had the feeling that he was hungry for someone else's warmth, and this gave him even larger, richer, brighter colors.

"Let's go check it out," Jiale grinned at the screen. - "Handsome".

Perhaps, he thought, he could have put his photo. You never know if he had fans before. It would be funny to pretend to be one of them. Jiale paused to think: is it funny? - and quickly threw it away until his mouth began to taste bitter again.

He wanted to play.

This is the main thing.

The gorge into which the striker had led them would have instantly knocked off any mood to flirt with Jiale, because the dungeon was at the limit of possibilities for their avatars: and at the same time, the choice was dizzyingly correct, because it was a dungeon created for long-rangers could turn around.

Here you could jump on rocks and stones floating in the air, jumping from one to another and shooting huge mobs below, shoot down with precise shots and volleys of grenades a hidden boss who looked like the protective coloring of a pterodactyl, to whom someone had attached a fan to his head.

It was possible - and Jiale gave himself free rein. He spun in the air, pushing off stones, jumping over, covering the striker below with volleys. Now Jiale was not thinking about anything other than passing. Plus, how can you do it beautifully? How he wanted to do it beautifully, even if only for the only viewer - and for himself.

Because he wanted to play. And I wanted to do it in my own style, so that fire bloomed in the air, blooming with combinations of effects.

Striker finished off the mini-boss below just in time for Jiale to jump onto the cliff closest to him. He moved sparingly, precisely, and so aggressively assertive that Jiale squinted.

This style of fighting was all too familiar to him.

"Further," the striker rushed forward along the narrow gorge. Jiale went after him, replaying all the battles with Han in his head. And that unforgettable one, 1 to 2, and all the others. Now it didn't hurt to remember at all; excitement and the excitement of a good fight were mixed in my head. And a bit of excitement, because - what if it's true Han?

And what?

Jiale was also a pro player.

What if Han recognized him?

So what? They could afford whatever they wanted - here and now, in a text chat, leaving the last border - without calling each other by name. Everything was possible and Jiale stopped thinking.

"How fast you are. Is it like this in everything?"

"When necessary," they scored the final boss together. Jiale didn't even have time to think much, he simply did everything that was right right now, covering the striker and adjusting to him.

"I would like to see you in bed," Jiale loved to flirt. But now it was the honest truth, during the fight he got so wound up that his dick was pulling on his underwear and home pants, and most of all he wanted to jerk off on the striker's ass and back. And also go look for Han's photos, because he wouldn't upload someone else's? It was difficult to imagine him smiling.

"Just look. I would start by letting your hair down."

Jiale instantly made the character move so that the "tail" swayed in the wind. And he automatically touched his own hair and pulled the elastic from it.

He ran his palm over his chest, over his stomach, caressing himself through the fabric.

"And I would take off your bandage. And trousers," he imagined it so vividly that he instantly became even more turned on. Now there was no trace left of the melancholy that covered his eyes and ears with a gray, stuffy scarf; Jiale was burning - all over, with a hot fire, excited to the limit.

"And I'd suck you off while you touch my hair."

Stryker moved, approaching. He came close to Jiale's avatar, and for a moment it seemed like heat was coming from the screen.

"Then I would fuck you on this rock."

The rock looked a lot like a table. Pictures floated under his lowered eyelashes and Jiale jerked off, biting his lips so as not to scream. Everything completely mixed together in his head - Han, "Glory", heat, excitement, splashing out in a short, bright orgasm.

"I'm done. And you?"

"And I".

And they both, without saying a word, went offline.

And just like that, without saying a word, they began to meet again and again, go to the dungeons - not to clean up, none of them actually needed the materials, but to show off, to flirt on the very edge. Each such flirtation ended with a jerk and a laconic "I'm done." And each time Jiale allowed himself more and more, and so did the striker.

Jiale was tossing between one hundred percent certainty that the striker was Han and the same conviction of the opposite. He was similar and different at the same time. Temperament, fighting style, fantasies, frankness in expressing one's desires. It could be anyone, and yet Jiale's thoughts stubbornly returned to Han. Jiale searched the entire Internet looking for Han's photo, but found nothing.

He had never seen Han smiling and relaxed, and not a single photo from the network showed a trace of the openness that showed in the character's face. Fan? Distant relative? Just a similar person?

He couldn't help himself: during their conversations he still imagined Han.

"I'll fuck you, looking into your eyes and holding your hands."

"I'll press my whole body against you in the shower, I'll kiss your back and jerk you off, feeling how you breathe."

"I'll put your legs on my shoulders and stroke with my fingers until you cum."

Waterfalls, rocks, fucking thorny bushes of "Glory" - everything went into action and fantasy. To such an extent that it was difficult to walk calmly around the locations, but Jiale smiled and jerked off mentally, instead of thinking about all sorts of bullshit and his own guilt.

But it was still impossible to determine the identity of the striker.

And at that moment, when Jiale was ready to admit that it seemed to him, a selection of old photographs of the captains was published on Weibo. Jiale was not ready to open it, but opened it anyway.

He remembered this moment so vividly, as if time had stopped and struck a new starting point.

Jiale was so bored. He scrolled down the photographs, eagerly comparing, picking out familiar features. Jexi hasn't changed. Wenzhou - well, maybe just a little bit. The fagot Ye Qiu, of course, was not in the selection. Jiale had already seen this photograph of Zheping and considered it the stupidest in the world - but here Zheping's eyes shone with laughter. Inside, everything was clenched with pain, all the "if onlys" and a monstrous feeling of guilt that I didn't notice, couldn't take on even more, pulled the team - but not into first place. Jiale sighed. Next in the selection was his own photo. A stubborn look, lips stretched in an impudent grin, slightly disheveled hair. Jiale smiled, and the pain subsided. It was a good time, and that smile was good. Jiale was always stubborn and never knew how to give up.

He wanted to play. And I returned to this thought again and again, as a starting point.

He didn't want to leave Slava.

I wasn't going to leave her behind.

Jiale has not yet taken the cup - for himself, for Zheping, for all those who believed in them. And he was ready to return for the cup. Return to pro - and come what may, Jiale was not going to turn back.

He didn't have time to open the rest of the photos when QQ came to life with a message from Xinze.

"Good afternoon, Jiale. I have a conversation with you."

Jiale called him immediately and was startled when Han appeared on the screen next to Xinze.

The offer was tempting: an updated "Tyranny", four generals, a cup in the future. The penultimate chance for all of them.

Jiale agreed.

And then, to calm his racing heart - he will play again, he will play, he will play - he returned to the article about the captains.

Han's photo was one of the last, the first generation of the Alliance, the only captain still active. Number one striker for many years. From the photograph, clearly taken in the first year, and perhaps even before the creation of the Alliance, a very young Han was looking at Jiale. Stern, confident, smiling. The same smile as the striker with whom Jiale went to the dungeon.

Where they got this photo from is unknown; Jiale had never seen it, either in the old days or in his searches. Probably club archives or something. If these are archives, Jiale will get to them first when he arrives in Qingdao. Although no, second. He will be the first to fuck Han the way he imagined during their dungeons.

It was cold in Qingdao. Although, maybe it was Jiale who was shaking - from getting up early, from too much coffee, from the unusually smelling air. From "I will play, play, play," so sharp that Jiale choked inside himself.

Thoughts about Han gave me an electric shock. Jiale managed to wrap around the equator a hundred thousand kilometers of reasoning about - what if it's not him? Does Han want their half-romance, flirting, jerking off to turn into reality? They never called each other by name, although it seemed obvious.

Jiale stopped in front of the Tyranny building. He finished his last sip of cold coffee and angrily squeezed the glass in his fingers, looking at the symbol. Unusual, different.

Somehow it suddenly immediately dawned on me that this was a different city, a different team, different rules. And Jiale is different too. Although the old one, from the photographs from the collection, is also somewhere inside, has always been and will be. And Jiale will take the cup for him.

His thoughts again turned to Han and to the fact that flirting is not an obstacle to play, but sex is an obstacle to work. Or not. They are adults. Or yes.

Fuck it. He will play, give his best, no, two hundred percent, and then he will come and kiss Han himself.

Jiale had no intention of giving up on anything.

According to Han, it turned out to be impossible to understand whether they had a dungeon romance or not. He got straight to the point, the schedule, the training, the strategy. Xinjie displayed a hundred thousand diagrams on the screen in a small, very bright meeting room, which made Jiale's heart even more firmly filled with hope that they could do it. Lin, who arrived on the same day, brightened up the adaptation with an offer to go for a walk, and life began to spin in a new rhythm.

Jiale unpacked his backpack and threw the suitcase with his things into the closet. He put a new mug with the team symbol on the table, and an old photo from a walk along the sea. I took oranges from the kitchen and set up a new computer for myself.

He didn't want to sleep. He had to lie down, close his eyes and try to pass out until the morning, but Jiale clearly understood that he couldn't. He felt like he was in a stadium. It was as if the light was hitting him from behind, and he was standing on stage, but it wasn't just the team behind him. Everything was behind me.

Everything that was important to Jiale.

He pulled the elastic out of his hair, put it on his hand so as not to screw it up, and stuck the card into the reader.

Striker was online.

"Where shall we go?" "Jiale already had his eye on one dungeon, even before leaving. Now he was again covered with a sharp, bright feeling of delight and excitement at the same time, a fucking, sweet flirtation. Which only became more acute from the fact that Han was here, nearby, on the same floor.

"By the way, we haven't been to Zelenaya Pad yet."

"It's inconvenient for flamethrowers there."

"Nothing," but there was, for example, a fucking light there. And healthy mobs, and while the striker was thrashing them, Jiale was going to jerk off heartily.

"I love watching you shoot."

"Are we going for a long walk?" — Jiale shifted, making himself more comfortable. - "Then I'll make coffee." With sugar. In the middle of the night I really want something sweet."

"Sweet tooth."

"I love not only sweets," Jiale smiled, laughed under his breath and added, "I like to watch you fight and jerk off."

"And I'm like you, after the fall we'll go to another dungeon," the striker was serious, and Jiale began to get excited from this as usual.

He shifted, trying to sit more comfortably. He undid the button on his jeans. Coffee could wait, but Jiale couldn't.

"Where shall we go? Tell".

"You choose."

"Then to the Spell Square, there are pillars, I'll jump on them," Jiale stopped short. They talked about this dungeon, as an example, this afternoon, planning training for four, three, two.

His heart pounded in his throat. Jiale sat and looked at the screen, feeling a burning desire to add something else, turn it into a joke, wait for the striker's response. He didn't move.

And he was silent.

Jiale was about to log out. Apologize. Explode and yell, what the hell anyway.

When a quiet knock on the door was heard behind him, Jiale slowly pulled the headphones over his neck - they crushed the strands, pulled, but now, when the adrenaline was off the charts, it didn't interfere at all.

- Open.

Han walked very quietly. So, if Jiale had not been accustomed to listening to every sound in the Arena, he only caught the sound of the door opening and closing and the click of the lock, before Han's palm lay on the back of his neck, under the headphone, tangling in the strands.

- Get up.

Jiale stood up. He didn't try to catch his fucking jeans, which had become too big over the last couple of months, and they slipped down. Instead, Jiale turned to face Han, ready for anything.

Han was so handsome in reality that Jiale short-circuited as soon as he looked up. Even more beautiful than at seventeen, than all the avatars combined. He didn't smile, but Jiale still saw this smile, guessed it in the corners of his eyes, in his gaze, and was suffocated by a desire that was more acute than ever.

Han pushed the chair to the side, precisely so that it would move towards the wall, but would not hit it. He moved the monitor and keyboard away without looking - he looked only at Jiale, and in the silence between them the breathing became louder and clearer.

"Fucked up, you have fucking self-control," Jiale gave up on everything. He leaned forward, throwing his arms around Hanyu's neck, kissing him himself, pulling him closer by the back of his head, randomly roaming his palms over his back and ass.

- I haven't seen enough. You're moving too fast," Han took the initiative and pushed Jiale towards the table, simultaneously pulling his jeans off his hips with one jerk.

"You'll see enough more," Jiale pulled his sports shirt up, ran his palms over his chest and stomach, getting excited to the limit. - I promise.

He really promised - the cup, the game, the romance, all together. Jiale is tired of rushing about and thinking, tired of guessing and waiting. I'm tired of waiting the most.

He kissed Han again, grinding his hips together, feeling his cock and moaning into his lips as Han grabbed his ass and lifted him up, sitting him on the table. He was somehow inhumanly strong, and even this turned Jiale on, although in a good way it was worth saying about the fact that you need to take care of your hands.

- If you want something, say it.

"I want you to fuck me." Immediately," Jiale didn't even think about it. He just wanted it here, now, this second. Han squeezed his fingers in his hair, pulled lightly - so right, so pleasant - and Jiale threw his head back, exposing his neck to kisses.

- On the table.

Han understood him correctly. The tube of lubricant was cold and smooth, and Jiale shook again with anticipation. No wonder he took apart his backpack.

He took Han's hand, without opening his eyes, and squeezed the lubricant onto his fingers - more than necessary, maybe, but it didn't give a fuck. He passed his palm, smearing the gel almost to Han's wrist, shuddering more and more often. The touch of lips on my neck and temple made me want to moan out loud. Jiale tucked one leg under himself, resting his foot on the keyboard, and opened himself up more, guiding Han's hand himself.

Han's fingers felt different inside than his own. They entered at a different angle, reached a little deeper and stretched harder. Han moved carefully, slowly, but every touch made Jiale jump.

And also from Han's gaze. Dark, intense, heavy. So open and speaking that no words were needed. Jiale simply arched over, reaching for a kiss, pushing himself harder onto his fingers. He wanted to learn the Han language, understand it completely, play together, cover him in battle. I wanted everything, here and now.

Jiale sobbed quietly when Han touched his hair again, stroking it, collecting the strands. He turned three fingers inside, almost harshly, so that Jiale almost came from the way they passed over the prostate. And also from the way Han tilted his head, pressing his cheek against his own palm when Jiale reached out to him.

Jiale fidgeted on the table, throwing up his hips, and he really wanted to start cursing and demanding - immediately, more, more. But it was impossible to even quarrel with Han, as if in a dungeon, he walked forward on his own, first and in his own rhythm. And Jiale was so turned on by this that he couldn't breathe normally, let alone make at least one conscious sentence.

"That's what I wanted," he broke into a groan, but Han understood him.

- Me too. The first time.

- And I.

Of course, he guessed and immediately understood everything, and supported, and moved on, and made a decision for both of them, although Jiale would not have been able to stand it himself after half an hour. Now he realized this with crystal clarity. He simply couldn't do this: knowing that Han was nearby and not being able to touch him.

"I like your style," Han repeated the phrase from that very first dungeon, and Jiale lost his temper.

He rose up on his elbows, pulling Han towards him, kissing him so that there was no air left, directing him into himself.

"I want, I want, I want, I want," Jiale whispered, and Han shuddered all over.

"What are you like?" he once again spread his fingers to the sides and carefully moved back.

Jiale groaned loudly when Han entered. He closed his eyes, biting his lip, so as not to cum now - from overexcitement, from how Han was now, with him, here. The air really ran out: from sharp, hard shocks. I had to lean back, pulling Han with me. Jiale seemed to be whispering something - and he himself couldn't understand what, everything was confused in his head. "Glory", the fact that they will play together, love, delight, the fact that he himself will play, Han, sharp, blinding happiness.

Han was breathing quickly and raggedly. He squeezed his fingers on Jiale's hips, stroked his legs up to the knees, and sharply pulled him towards him - so that the penis went in deeply, until it slapped every time. And how wet and hot his back was under Jiale's palms was sickening.

"Jiale," Han's exhalation over his ear triggered some kind of chain reaction, brighter, stronger than fingers on his penis.

Jiale arched with a groan, he came and came, unable to stop shaking and moaning and kissing Han, breathless, until Han tensed with his whole body, pounding deeper into him.

"Okay," Han said and Jiale opened his eyes.

Han smiled. Like in that photo, on the avatar - and that smile hit me in the gut, leaving no thoughts, only an overwhelming, piercing feeling of tenderness and love. So sharp that it was impossible to keep it inside.

Jiale leaned forward and kissed Han's smile, smiling himself. And then he whispered right on his lips.

- The first time.

And Han understood again. I squeezed him in my arms harder, kissed him and answered simple and laconic:

"Yes."