armwriostle | peacockstop Overflow

[Continued from here.]

[Wriothesley is content with eating the skewer, but the audible swallow and the other unzipping their hoodie grabs his attention. Nevermind that Fuuta was wearing a hoodie in this heat, the action seems to enrapture his gaze for a moment before his gaze goes back to studying the other's face.]

Worked up is quite an understatement, isn't it? [And talking about it makes him more aware of the heat that seems to be simmering in the pit of his stomach. Know what's coming, huh...

He lets out a low hum.] So you're prepared for what's to come~?

Edited 2024-08-14 04:43 (UTC)

[ And of course Fuuta interprets that hum in the least charitable way possible: as Wriothesley feigning calmer than he actually is. (It is absolutely not that he's just reading his own emotions in the other party, shut up.) ]

What, you think I'm about to run away from you or something?

[ He scoffs a little too loudly, chomping down on the last of his meat before throwing the now-empty skewer on the paper plate it had come on. And, obnoxiously, he makes a point of rising to his feet and bracing a hand against the table so he can lean over that obstacle between them and smirk at Wriothesley from that slightly-higher ground ... even as a bead of heated sweat rolls down his throat. ]

I mean, that's pretty wimpy you know? Already letting these things get to you? You got a real affinity for this kinda stuff, huh. [ Don't pay any attention to the heated flush etched across his cheeks, all the way down his neck; also don't pay any attention to the way he reflexively licks his lips, his gaze automatically looking to the curve of Wriothesley's mouth before he can continue what he was saying. ] But if you're, like, already giving in, then it's not like I mind helping you deal with it?

Hmm, we've just met but you seem to have the most ill faith reading of anything I do. [He guesses that he has met people who are like that, especially in prison. It's amusing though. He's trying damn hard not to tease the other since it sounded like it bothered them, but it's tempting.

Wriothesley instead chuckles, resting his chin on his hand.] That's some impressive words you got there when your face is redder than your hair. [Well, he's going to call out the obvious. If Fuuta wants to try and incite a reaction from him, then it's fine to return the favor, right?]

You sound like you're impatient for it to happen almost.

I am not! [ So he says, even as he automatically raises an arm to scuff it over his face, like that can magically hide how red he is. ] If I'm red, it's just 'cause it's hot and I'm wearing a fucking hoodie!

[ Honestly though, the redness of his face is not his main concern here. It's the accusation about being impatient. ... because he sort of is, now that the heat's starting to build in the pit of his stomach, rendering him antsy and restless. Like hell he's going to admit to it, though. The hand he has braced against the tabletop shifts as he leans in further, and Fuuta shifts his weight from one foot to the other even as he tries to (and increasingly fails to) play casual. ]

And who said I'm impatient for anything? I'm just -- [ Oh, he spoke too fast. Reached this point in the sentence before his increasingly-jittery brain could think of a conclusion. There's an awkward pause where he pants out a shallow breath past parted lips before he tacks on: ] -- impatient to ... get this over with? Like, if it has to happen anyway?

[ Wait, shit. He just admitted to being impatient. ]

[Wriothesley could easily question why the other was even wearing a hoodie in this heat or continue to pick at the man's obvious flush. He decides that flustering the other even more in that regard isn't necessary.

Not when they seemed to be slowly working themselves up, be it from their own personality or because the affects of the skewers they were eating is really hitting them, and it's really just a matter of time. Wriothesley can also feel the effects of it, but he can stave it off just to see how the other will react. If Fuuta didn't react the ways they did, he'd be less inclined to draw this out.]

So you're not impatient. You're just...impatient. [To his credit, he did not laugh. Instead, he leans forward to give the other a quick kiss. If Fuuta is gonna keep leaning in like this, he's just gonna respond in kind, you know?] Well, your logic is sound. We can move somewhere more private if that's the case.

[ Smart move, Wriothesley. Because, predictably, Fuuta was just about to open his fat mouth to give another shitty retort of some sort, and it's only the press of lips against his own that shuts him up.

Oh boy, does it shut him up, though. It's barely more than a peck, but it still somehow lights up all his nerves; the antsy feeling he'd just barely been holding back goes cascading down his spine all at once, and Fuuta's elbow buckles, his posture slumping as he takes his next breath in a hoarse gasp, his eyes going hazy for a second. -- god, it's pathetic, but it feels like he's going to explode if he doesn't get to have some some sort of action. And soon. ]

... fine. [ At least he acquiesces on this one point without any further retort, even as he hastily grabs at Wriothesley's wrist, aiming to tug him out from around the table in search of privacy. Though given his pretty paltry physical strength, it really is up to Wriothesley how quickly he's going to indulge that pulling and yanking. At least it comes with background noise: ] -- and I'll have you know, it's not like I'm especially weak to the shit this place pulls? [ He kind of is ... ] It's just that ... you have an advantage. More body mass and all that? Like how big guys get drunk slower, usually. That's the only reason I'm feeling impatient, alright.

[He has been here in the resort long enough to know that kissing truly does a lot to get people to quiet down. It seems Fuuta is no different in that regard. Though, he wasn't expecting the man's response either. He guesses the skewers are really getting under their collar, not that he isn't unaffected either.

He's at least laidback enough to not dig his heels in. He easily goes with Fuuta, letting the smaller man yank him along without too much resistance.] Hm? I never said you were. [Though, Fuuta's need to tell him these details makes him think that Fuuta is trying to convince themselves more than him.

His smile is a little crooked at Fuuta's words. While there's some truth to their words, he already knows that also is just not the case. He doesn't call them out on it, merely nodding as they find themselves coming upon the countless bungalows.]

[ He'd normally be a little more cautious about all this, probably. Knock at a door, make sure there's no response, peek around a little to make sure it wasn't already occupied, so on and so forth. Now, though, he doesn't bother with any of that. Fuuta grabs at the door of the first bungalow they come across, halted only because it's locked; he stifles a grunt of frustration before dragging Wriothesley to the next one over, which is thankfully unlocked. Empty too, as is evident the moment Fuuta shoves the door open, a blissfully quiet and cozy-looking room awaiting them.

Even that short wait while finding this place has let the heat in his gut build up to terrifying heats, and Fuuta's motions are stiff as he drags Wriothesley in and slams the door shut behind them. His hand fumbles on its way to locking the latch, and immediately afterward -- he fists his hands into Wriothesley's shirtfront, yanking hard to get him to lean down a bit.

Unlike that little peck from before, Fuuta's kiss is hasty and ravenous, teeth nipping at Wriothesley's lower lip before he pulls back. His breathless demand comes immediately afterward, tugging again at that double handful of shirt: ] Take this off.

[Somehow, the hurriedness of Fuuta's actions do a bit to quell his own heated hunger. Maybe it's just the way the other commands and demands him to bend to his will and Wriothesley humoring it enough to let it happen. He's far from a passive participant though, returning the kiss just as fervently, a pleased purr as the sting of enamel against kiss-bruised skin.

He laughs breathlessly, pulling back just enough to rid himself of his shirt. Wriothesley is all muscle with broad shoulders and a large chest down into a tapered waist. Scars aplenty cover his body, revealing countless stories of his struggles to be where he is now.] What? No please?

[Well, two can play that game. Wriothesley's hands finds the bottom of Fuuta's sweater to pull over their head.] Let's even the playing field at least.

peacockstop Overflow

@pyrolyzed

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject