[ Fuuta had fallen uncharacteristically silent after making that ragged demand, and the reason for it probably becomes clear when Charlie leans in to wrap arms around him. Ravenous for any sort of stimulation that might sate that empty feeling in his mouth, Fuuta had latched his teeth around a mouthful of Charlie's clothes, mouthing restlessly at the fabric in his desperation.
Even when they step into the bathroom he doesn't relent, barely aware that they've reached their destination. It's only when he's shoved onto the couch that his mouth comes away from that sodden fold of fabric, lips damp and parted as he pants for air, and Fuuta just stares blearily up at Charlie for a moment before his brain arduously catches up. ]
Nnh ... no, I just --
[ A low groan as he looks around, catching sight of the stalls off to the side. Right, right. He wanted to get to the bathroom so he could jerk off. Maybe if he could get himself off a few times, it'd shake off the effect of those cocktails? Except now the prospect of only having his own hand to comfort himself sounds agonizing, and Fuuta groans before shaking his head. ]
Someone else. [ He says that, but backtracks almost immediately afterward -- hands winding desperately into Charlie's clothes to keep him close, before he can step away. Because the thought of having to lie here, waiting, for however long Charlie takes to find someone -- if he even would find someone, instead of just leaving him -- is genuinely agonizing. And besides, what if Charlie finds someone awful? Even worse than him? ] -- no. No, it's fine. I don't need any playmate.
[ 'Tell him to fuck off,' the tiny remaining rational part of his mind shrieks at him. 'Tell him to fuck off. Tell him to go away. Add this to his tab and tell him to fuck off.' Except what Fuuta manages to choke out after a long moment is: ]
-- k -- ... kiss me.
[ There's no coming back from how desperate it ends up sounding, slurred and wet around the edges. ]
charlie brings out his best qualities π³
Even when they step into the bathroom he doesn't relent, barely aware that they've reached their destination. It's only when he's shoved onto the couch that his mouth comes away from that sodden fold of fabric, lips damp and parted as he pants for air, and Fuuta just stares blearily up at Charlie for a moment before his brain arduously catches up. ]
Nnh ... no, I just --
[ A low groan as he looks around, catching sight of the stalls off to the side. Right, right. He wanted to get to the bathroom so he could jerk off. Maybe if he could get himself off a few times, it'd shake off the effect of those cocktails? Except now the prospect of only having his own hand to comfort himself sounds agonizing, and Fuuta groans before shaking his head. ]
Someone else. [ He says that, but backtracks almost immediately afterward -- hands winding desperately into Charlie's clothes to keep him close, before he can step away. Because the thought of having to lie here, waiting, for however long Charlie takes to find someone -- if he even would find someone, instead of just leaving him -- is genuinely agonizing. And besides, what if Charlie finds someone awful? Even worse than him? ] -- no. No, it's fine. I don't need any playmate.
[ 'Tell him to fuck off,' the tiny remaining rational part of his mind shrieks at him. 'Tell him to fuck off. Tell him to go away. Add this to his tab and tell him to fuck off.' Except what Fuuta manages to choke out after a long moment is: ]
-- k -- ... kiss me.
[ There's no coming back from how desperate it ends up sounding, slurred and wet around the edges. ]