Baptiste can't help but notice the aspects of performance. It's his livelihood after all- What sort of showman would he be if he couldn't pick out just how he pulled people's attention?

Yet Chika seems ignorant of the finer details of their match. The blonde idly wonders if it is a willful sort of disregard-

Before the angle of a knee digs into his thigh and causes him to hiss. His eyes screw closed as his teeth clench. The connection of knee and thigh forces Baptiste's hips back into the ground.

"Now, now. I can't just keep spoiling you just because you're handsome, you know-" Baptiste chuckles. He shifts to lift his head up. Tilts his jaw as he tries to inch closer to Chika's face - an impossible task with how he's pinned now.

"I want you to take me - but it's still a fight, remember?"

The man's tongue traces his own lips. When he takes his own blood into his mouth, he turns his head to spit it at the ground. A bit of it splatters against Chika's forearm and Baptiste' offers the man a smirk.