Toàn Chức Cao Thủ đồng nhân QT

[ Hàn lạc ] The first time

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.