( somewhat pointedly, it seems, oushi takes a seat on the armrest--and he considers that his own folly, for not directing him to sit somewhere more comfortable; his lips shift into a frown, but he doesn't say anything. the last thing he wants to do is nag him into submission. sparing a glance towards the door, as though trying to reassure himself that they won't be interrupted by the staff again, he lets out a breath.
carefully, he brings himself down to sit on the other armrest. his knees bend, shoes tucked in on the cushions; he knows, vaguely, that this is bad manners, but it seems that no one in this place adheres to japanese customs, and so in a bid to fit in, he's been trying, observing, moving along the way that other people do. )
A secret move... I understand.
( he stares down at oushi's hands for a moment, considering--and then rather than touch him, at first, he uses his own hands, bumping them together at the knuckles, fist to fist. )
So maybe we do this, and then... ( his pale fingers spread out again, and he snags his two index fingers together, hooked together like some kind of promise. ) ...maybe this? Is that secret enough?
[ the armrest had seemed to oushi the lesser of two evils. had he taken a seat on the loveseat itself, wouldn't it have left choso with no other option than to sit right beside him? that seemed an awkward thing to ask of the other man — then again, given the very nature of where they are and what's expected of him, sitting side-by-side in a tiny sofa is probably the least embarrassing thing they could be made to do...
ah well. hindsight is 20/20, etc. ]
Hey, yeah, that's a good one.
[ he's encouraging, at least. genuinely so, though maybe his surprise that choso would land on one so good so quickly is in itself something insulting... it's fine. ]
D'you wanna try it together now?
[ he holds his right hand out again, fingers already curled into a light fist. ]
( for what it's worth, that sort of confirmation makes his shoulders relax, like he's a flower that turns up towards the sunshine of appreciation; if he's being encouraged, then it means he's not doing anything wrong, and his expression shifts, eases, tries for a smile until he can feel his lips curling, and then stops himself. that's not the point, here. enjoying being praised by oushi is not the point. or is it? could that be considered bonding? not like he can ask the staff.
so instead, he steadies himself on the task at hand. his larger hand closes into a fist, mirroring, and he lets his arm push forward, bumping them knuckle to knuckle; when his fingers spread out, he doesn't wait to take oushi index finger to index finger, tugging--and then, rather than give up, he gives a harder, pointed tug, as though ready to topple him right into the loveseat cushions.
that smile on his face is actually catching, pleased with himself--and if oushi protests, then he'll just keep pulling with their hooked fingers, trying to unseat him onto the cushions proper. )
The secret move has a secret move.
( matter-of-fact, his eyes bright with pleasure despite the tired rings around them. )
[ THAT WAS ALARMINGLY SMOOTH??? it takes oushi almost a full minute to even conceptualize what had just transpired. honestly, he hadn't even realized he'd been drawing closer to the seat proper until he finds himself having to tilt his head up even more just to keep meeting choso's eyes — and the look in them had been distracting enough it took him a half-second later to even notice the shit-eating grin right beneath it.
all at once, it catches up to oushi. all at once, every available surface of skin seems to heat up and prickle. ]
W-We're both supposed to know about the secret!
[ the protest is a weak one, and even oushi knows it. ]
( it sounds a little lofty--a little pleased, smug, like he doesn't care if he's done something wrong, or broken some kind of human rule. as far as he's concerned, he's just proceeding the way that the experiment wants them to; he's just taking advantage of the situation.
which for now, means that oushi's on the loveseat, and he's stretching one leg out, balancing his heel against the floor so that he can dig his knee down into the cushions next to him. )
Do you want to hear about the next one? ( their hands are still linked, fingers still taut around each other, and his weight continues to shift, like he'll squeeze himself down to sit next to oushi even if they're half on top of each other or not. )
The next secret move. Or do you want to make one up yourself?
[ technically, technically, there aren't any rules here to break. this whole thing is premised by a concept so insane and chaotic that it stands to reason anything is fair game.
but oushi will still protest, as oushi is wont to do. though strangely (or perhaps, quite expectedly) the closer choso inches towards him, the more the younger man feels his natural inclinations to fuss start to — well. not fade, per se. more like quiet down some, as if lulled.
his voice too, goes a touch quieter. the words themselves their secret shared. ]
...You should tell me. [ somehow, oushi doesn't trust himself to try and conceive of one without doing something extremely stupid or bold or both. ] Give me some warning this time.
( he repeats it mildly, like it's not something he would have ever considered--or offered. )
If it's a warning, then you'll be able to get away.
( his weight shifts, slides, moves until his hips hit the cushions on the loveseat; his legs bend a little, crowding in against oushi, and given there's little room, he can't shift to give him any space. instead, one arm grips at the back of the loveseat, allowing him to pivot further in towards him; the other lets his fingers loosen, drawn away from oushi's hand in order to reach further for his elbow.
maybe that's the warning--or the encouragement, as he pushes firmly at oushi's arm, encouraging it to close the space between them, too. )
...You're not supposed to get away. ( the words feel warm, a deep rumble in his throat, oddly pleased. ) We haven't done the thing yet.
( 'the thing', which he's not going to clarify, apparently. )
[ get away? oushi almost lets out a bubble of laughter at that. choso's grip is so strong on his arm the younger boy is almost certain he's far more likely to accidentally rip his own arm off in any attempts to get away than actually putting any respectable distance between them.
though, a small part of his brain is quick to intone: if choso thought he really wanted to get away, oushi was sure that he would let him.
he doesn't move. ]
Now you're just drawing it out.
[ dangling the thing so expertly above him that oushi cannot help but feel even more compelled to find out what it is. despite himself, he has suspicions. ]
Are you thinking I'll chicken out or something?
[ as always, his body betrays him. his eyes make the briefest glance down towards choso's lips, noting the pleased — or is it that they're pleasing? — curve of them. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
carefully, he brings himself down to sit on the other armrest. his knees bend, shoes tucked in on the cushions; he knows, vaguely, that this is bad manners, but it seems that no one in this place adheres to japanese customs, and so in a bid to fit in, he's been trying, observing, moving along the way that other people do. )
A secret move... I understand.
( he stares down at oushi's hands for a moment, considering--and then rather than touch him, at first, he uses his own hands, bumping them together at the knuckles, fist to fist. )
So maybe we do this, and then... ( his pale fingers spread out again, and he snags his two index fingers together, hooked together like some kind of promise. ) ...maybe this? Is that secret enough?
no subject
ah well. hindsight is 20/20, etc. ]
Hey, yeah, that's a good one.
[ he's encouraging, at least. genuinely so, though maybe his surprise that choso would land on one so good so quickly is in itself something insulting... it's fine. ]
D'you wanna try it together now?
[ he holds his right hand out again, fingers already curled into a light fist. ]
no subject
so instead, he steadies himself on the task at hand. his larger hand closes into a fist, mirroring, and he lets his arm push forward, bumping them knuckle to knuckle; when his fingers spread out, he doesn't wait to take oushi index finger to index finger, tugging--and then, rather than give up, he gives a harder, pointed tug, as though ready to topple him right into the loveseat cushions.
that smile on his face is actually catching, pleased with himself--and if oushi protests, then he'll just keep pulling with their hooked fingers, trying to unseat him onto the cushions proper. )
The secret move has a secret move.
( matter-of-fact, his eyes bright with pleasure despite the tired rings around them. )
1/2
2/2
all at once, it catches up to oushi. all at once, every available surface of skin seems to heat up and prickle. ]
W-We're both supposed to know about the secret!
[ the protest is a weak one, and even oushi knows it. ]
no subject
( it sounds a little lofty--a little pleased, smug, like he doesn't care if he's done something wrong, or broken some kind of human rule. as far as he's concerned, he's just proceeding the way that the experiment wants them to; he's just taking advantage of the situation.
which for now, means that oushi's on the loveseat, and he's stretching one leg out, balancing his heel against the floor so that he can dig his knee down into the cushions next to him. )
Do you want to hear about the next one? ( their hands are still linked, fingers still taut around each other, and his weight continues to shift, like he'll squeeze himself down to sit next to oushi even if they're half on top of each other or not. )
The next secret move. Or do you want to make one up yourself?
no subject
but oushi will still protest, as oushi is wont to do. though strangely (or perhaps, quite expectedly) the closer choso inches towards him, the more the younger man feels his natural inclinations to fuss start to — well. not fade, per se. more like quiet down some, as if lulled.
his voice too, goes a touch quieter. the words themselves their secret shared. ]
...You should tell me. [ somehow, oushi doesn't trust himself to try and conceive of one without doing something extremely stupid or bold or both. ] Give me some warning this time.
no subject
( he repeats it mildly, like it's not something he would have ever considered--or offered. )
If it's a warning, then you'll be able to get away.
( his weight shifts, slides, moves until his hips hit the cushions on the loveseat; his legs bend a little, crowding in against oushi, and given there's little room, he can't shift to give him any space. instead, one arm grips at the back of the loveseat, allowing him to pivot further in towards him; the other lets his fingers loosen, drawn away from oushi's hand in order to reach further for his elbow.
maybe that's the warning--or the encouragement, as he pushes firmly at oushi's arm, encouraging it to close the space between them, too. )
...You're not supposed to get away. ( the words feel warm, a deep rumble in his throat, oddly pleased. ) We haven't done the thing yet.
( 'the thing', which he's not going to clarify, apparently. )
no subject
though, a small part of his brain is quick to intone: if choso thought he really wanted to get away, oushi was sure that he would let him.
he doesn't move. ]
Now you're just drawing it out.
[ dangling the thing so expertly above him that oushi cannot help but feel even more compelled to find out what it is. despite himself, he has suspicions. ]
Are you thinking I'll chicken out or something?
[ as always, his body betrays him. his eyes make the briefest glance down towards choso's lips, noting the pleased — or is it that they're pleasing? — curve of them. ]
No way, I'm no chump.