Normally, this might be where Keqing’s awkwardness starts to get the better of her; as layers start to peel back, and as they get closer to the main event, that troublesome habit of over-thinking things always, always creeps up on her.

Not tonight, though.

Tonight, it’s easy to let her tongue slide eagerly against Xiangling’s as she makes work of the clasp holding her outerwear on, and it’s equally easy to let one hand flit up to Xiangling’s throat, to unfasten the collar of her top in one, quick motion. At the same time, her other hand slides down— from her waist and over the curve of her hip, until her fingers can squeeze greedily at the bare portion Xiangling’s thigh that peeks out from the sides of her clothing.

That, too, is something she’d usually agonize over, but tonight, Keqing is already itching for more; Xiangling is warm and inviting, and it takes real, genuine effort for her not to speed things up more than they already are. With the work that her girlfriend put into planning this out and cooking for her, it’d be a waste to let that infamous impatience of hers dictate the pace at which they move, tonight.