[ ALREADY he is annoyed. How does this guy manage to sound so smarmy and chipper about it even over text. Fuuta scowls to himself as he fires back a response. ]
you're gonna buy me dinner to start and not some cheap garbage
[ He is tired after yet another week straight of mostly living off of energy bars and microwaved convenience store food, okay. Just the thought of getting to order a big plate of steak has his stomach grumbling. Charlie's Watch gets another ping as Fuuta sends him a pin on the maps app: the Gilded Cage. ]
An easy out for the debt, but Charlie doesn't really want an easy out.]
Go ahead, get a table. Order whatever you want!
[Slowly, Charlie is starting to learn his way around the resort. The trip from his room to the Gilded Cage is one of his more traveled paths - which is to say, he's not actually too late to their rendezvous. Just like ten minutes.
When he does arrive, he'll sit himself opposite Fuuta, legs stretching forward under the table into the boy's space.] Be sure to make me buy you drinks too, eh?
i said TO START WITH, asshole don't go thinking you're getting let off that easy after the shit you pulled and don't be late
[ Of course the guy's late! To be honest, Fuuta is very much ill at ease at the Gilded Cage, especially by himself -- he'll never fully get used to the glitzy vibes, the pervasive feeling that he's somewhere he's not supposed to be, and the dirty stares from the staff unhappy about seeing a lowly two loitering about at a table alone are grating at his nerves for the entire ten minute wait. Of course, the moment Charlie shows up, Fuuta snaps at him, ]
-- you're late! [ Accompanied by a little kick at Charlie's leg under the table. Yes, it was on purpose, no, he's not sorry about it at all. ] I'm adding it to what you owe me! You know how shitty it is, wasting other people's time like that? Tch.
[ He's scowling as he impatiently flips the menu back open, like he hasn't already nervously read through it twice while waiting for Charlie to show up; he looks up only at that additional goading, an eyebrow raised. ]
You're not trying to get me drunk so you can run and make me foot the bill, are you. I'm getting'em to take your Watch on file before I order anything, so it's all coming from your account.
Instead, he smiles placidly at his dinner date, a quickly muttered 'uh huh' in response to the tardy accusation. His ease is interrupted only briefly, when Fuuta's foot connects with his leg. It scuffs his shin, and Charlie's lip does curl in a brief flash of pain.
No comment about the value of Fuuta's time - maybe he'll just keep the guy company for an extra ten minutes to make up for it?]
I told you I'm payin, so you can trust I'm payin! [He leans forward, elbows propped on the table.] A dinner's just a little bit of a eh... humble request? I wanted to make sure you were plannin on taking me for all I'm worth.
And the drinks are the most expensive shit on the menu. [Charlie stretches his arm across the table to tap the drink menu impatiently. He doesn't actually want Fuuta to drink him dry, but he suspects the boy will hit his limit long before his chips do.]
[ Charlie's prodding towards getting a drink is obnoxious enough to earn a suspicious squint, and Fuuta just stares at him over the top of his menu for a moment. It's practically visible, the way the gears are spinning in his head as he tries to figure out the ulterior motive behind that prodding, and Fuuta finally gives a loud hmph! as he reaches his conclusion. ]
What, you think I'm some lightweight that's gonna pass out from one drink and cut things off early for you? [ He sounds sooooo smug about having gotten there before Charlie could pull one over him. ] Too bad for you, I know how to pace myself. I'm not like those idiots that don't have self-control and get wasted.
[ Fortunately for Charlie, and unfortunately for him, Fuuta assumes that he's correctly deduced Charlie's ulterior motive, and so -- drops his guard. As long as he paces himself and stays sharp, he won't be falling for any more of Charlie's bullshit, not tonight!
And so, he snaps the menu shut before flagging down a server. When the employee approaches, Fuuta immediately points at Charlie, clarifying that they should take his account on file to pay with. And only then, after the server's (grudgingly, annoyed at having to listen to a yappy rank-two) complied, he places his order: three different small plates, and one of their cocktails. A fairly weak one to start with ... though it promises in coquettish copy, 'a delightful tingle, regardless.' ]
[The suspicion on Fuuta's face is mirrored on Charlie's in narrowed eyes, though his are crinkled with characteristic glee. He's enjoying the show once again, expression a clear reprise of their previous rendezvous.
Until the boy puzzles out something, and Charlie raises his brows in blunt mock surprise. As if he'd been caught in his scheme.
With faux chagrin, he offers his wrist to the waiter when they request an account for the tab.] He's just so cute, how can I not treat him, eh? [The waiter responds with a forced smile, clearly more interested in doing their job than getting in between their two patrons.]
So, while we wait... why don't you tell me what your favorite meal is? [Casual conversation, normal, but delivered with that same predatory smile he always seems to wear around the boy.]
[ He’s never going to get used to people here calling him “cute,” sarcastic or not. The compliment(?) earns a highly unsubtle grimace, and Fuuta gives a dismissive huff as their waiter departs. ]
Why, are you planning on treating me again in the future?
[ He can’t help being bristly when even that innocuous question manages to sound slimy coming from Charlie. But, well … it’s not like he wants to make small talk with the guy? But the place is a bit too glitzy for him to slouch back and just fiddle with his phone, and the prospect of just being stared at by Charlie until the food arrives is even worse. So. ]
… dunno if I have a favorite, but I like stuff with meat. Like katsu curry. Yakiniku. Ramen, with extra chashu. [ Ngh. He’s getting hungrier talking about this. ] You look like the type to say your favorite food is something pretentious and expensive. Caviar something or the other.
[And that grimace is exactly what Charlie likes to see - though when he says Fuuta is cute, he means it. He'll never tire of a bright flush of frustration, the edge of anger.
Charlie's foot taps idly under the table, the rest of him rapt in the mundane answer to the mundane question. No feature of Fuuta's is beneath his intrigue, perhaps unfortunately for the boy.]
Me? Caviar!? [He gestures to himself, a sting of genuine incredulity.] The guys who actually like caviar are gonna get mad at you for sayin that.
Like you're insultin 'em.
[With a shake of the head, he chuckles.] My favorite's sweets. Like those little cookies- [He starts making the shape with his fingers, as if Fuuta's never seen a square or circle before.] -you know?
[As he continues to make cookie shapes - struggling to twist his fingers in the configuration of a flower - the waiter returns with Fuuta's cocktail. They set it down wordlessly, practiced habit to slip in and out of guest's experiences unobtrusively.
[ It's a snide comment that Fuuta mutters into his glass of water, too annoyed by Charlie to hold his tongue, but not yet incensed enough to say it properly out loud; maybe if Charlie is lucky he'll be able to make out those words in between the ambient noise of the restaurant, but otherwise, Fuuta sure isn't going to draw any attention to them.
Especially not when his waiter slides his cocktail before him the next moment.
The fact that it's been brought out so quickly does earn a blink, but Fuuta otherwise accepts it without much thought, giving their waiter a small nod in thanks before picking up the glass to take a small sip. ... it's good, actually. Much better than he'd expected? There's a trace of obvious surprise in the way he pulls the glass away to look at it for a moment, reflexively licking his lips -- it's sweet but not too sweet, with a nice kick that reminds him of ginger tea, tingly on the tongue without being medicinal. Fuuta takes another sip, and doesn't lower the little glass even as he shoots Charlie an unimpressed look. ]
And what are you, a five year old? Liking sweets at that age ... [ A slightly overdramatic sigh before he takes another sip. Despite what he said, he sure is underestimating this drink, just because it doesn't taste that alcohol-forward. ] I mean, I guess you can like what you want? But you know it always looks weird when guys like sweets too much, right. You should probably at least sound kind of embarrassed talking about liking cookies.
[Charlie does catch Fuuta's fleeting remark, though he offers nothing but a content shrug in response. As if he'd heard an unintentional compliment; Charlie's quite pleased with his self-awareness.
That he remains quiet to watch Fuuta drink should be immediately suspicious. He'd rather the boy partake in the cocktail than continue to pry and rile him up. The moment of quiet is a damning testament to his patience; he knows Fuuta will be even easier to wind around his finger when the alcohol, and whatever else, has set in.
So he idly watches light glint against the surface of the lightly colored spirit, a satisfied purse of his lips when Fuuta continues to sip.]
I'm not an easy guy to embarrass, no matter what it looks like. Are you sayin' I look immature? [An accusation he won't combat. Not because he tries to appear childish - it just doesn't matter what Fuuta thinks.] Everybody's got somethin' weird they like.
[He pauses, giving Fuuta another chance to drink.]
What about you? What's something you like that you shouldn't? [He doesn't actually expect an answer, but a flush of cheeks is just as good.]
[ And it works! Fuuta’s cheeks promptly flush a shade pinker as his posture stiffens, and he’s quick to don an irate scowl as he leans forward, lowering his voice to a growl. ]
Look, I don’t know what kinds of people you’ve been messing with in this place, but you’ve got the wrong target if you think I’m gonna go along with any of your bullshit.
[ He says, right before throwing down a big gulp of his drink, playing tough to try and emphasize his point. It’s fine, he figures; he’s not going to get drunk off something this weak. Fuuta clears his throat after swallowing, tongue tracing his lips to catch the tingling sensation lingering there, before resuming: ]
Some people here might be giving up on common sense, but I don’t care how insane this place is — I still know what’s right and wrong, what’s normal and not, and I am not losing track of any of that. I’m not into any weird shit, and even if I was, like hell I’m talking about any of that stuff in a place like this, in public, and especially not to someone like you.
[ There’s a belligerent confidence to his delivery, the sort of smug condescension unique to someone who’s sure they’re talking to someone worse than them, and Fuuta gives a brief huff. Then he throws back the rest of his cocktail before flagging down a nearby waiter and holding up the empty glass. ]
[Having mirrored Fuuta's bend forward, Charlie gets a great view of the boy's flushed cheeks. The alcohol begin to color them soon, though he wonders if his banter and the drink will be able to pull as deep a shade of red as their last encounter.
Hopefully-
Charlie's lips form a faux surprised 'oh' when Fuuta rejects his question, like he's truly been spurned. The rest of his rant meets an unblinking stare; sickly eyes only move to watch the glass in Fuuta's hand.
Until it's empty.
He may have ordered Fuuta another himself, but the boy beats him to it. That brings a mote of genuine surprise to his features. The pleasant sort.] Do you think you're in the minority there? Being very normal and not doing anything 'wrong?'
I think you might be the only one here who's not into any weird shit! Kind of makes me feel sad for you - left out. [He's not chasing an ideal conclusion - Fuuta admitting a kink or insisting on a sense of public decency - just keeping the guy talking.
The next drink comes quickly, along with one of the small plates requested. They're delivered subtly, though Charlie turns his head mid-conversation to tell the server to check back soon.
I'm not left out. [ As a youth ever-conscious of how he's being received, of course Fuuta bristles at that observation, even if he's just as quick to walk it back. ] -- not that I'd care if I was? What other people wanna do is their business, and I'm not going along with anything just because it's what everyone else is doing? Like that matters to me. [ Too bad those blustering words are followed by a forceful exhale. Somebody doth protest too much. ] So I don't need any of your pity.
[ He caps off that statement by grabbing for the refill of his cocktail and going to take a swig of it -- only to pause after a sip, pulling the glass away from his mouth. Fuuta's expression tinges with some combination of surprise and confusion as he distractedly licks his lips. ... they feel tingly, for some reason. And a little hot? Did they make this drink stronger? The first one didn't taste this spicy, he thinks.
Charlie might notice it before Fuuta himself, the way his face is starting to flush a little redder, sweat starting to bead thinly at his temple. And though Fuuta tries to distract himself by putting down the glass and going for a bite of the food instead, that earns a similar confused double-take in reaction. ... why does his mouth feel so weird. Like everything feels a little too intense against his lips and tongue; he ends up chewing at his lip for a moment, eyes narrowed, before glaring back up at Charlie. ]
... 'sides, if you're gonna be asking someone something, shouldn't you talk about yourself, first? You gonna spill about all your weird hobbies in public?
[ Ugh, actually, he regrets saying that the moment the words leave his mouth. He'd just said the first thing that came to mind, wanting to put Charlie on the back foot, but something tells him the guy's not going to be fazed by the demand at all. ]
[Insisting he doesn't care contradicts Fuuta's perpetual demeanor. Charlie associates anger in any form - frustration, outbursts, simmering - with love, after all. It's easy to listen to these desperate rebuttals because they carry no weight.
As if to confirm he has no pity to offer, Charlie shrugs.
He waits, then, while Fuuta takes another drink. Finger idly flipping the edge of his unused menu, he schools the interest that piques when his partner's demeanor shifts. In contrast to red cheeks, his tongue seems pale when it darts over his lips. Charlie keeps his in his mouth, impassive in the face of Fuuta's apparent confusion.
The drinks here are the fun type tonight, huh?
And so are Fuuta's questions - too quick to attempt a verbal assault, now he's put himself in a position he doesn't want to be in. Though, to be fair, maybe any position with Charlie is one Fuuta doesn't want.
He did ask for dinner though...]
Sure, why not! [Charlie is quick to indulge the inquiry precisely because he can tell Fuuta doesn't really want to hear it.] You already know I like to watch, but did you know that kissin' is my favorite?
You really eh... spoiled me last time. [Remember that kiss? He does.]
[ His cheeks had already started to redden from some combination of the alcohol and the little extra zing added to the drinks, but clearly, that was just a warmup exercise. Charlie's casual remark immediately has Fuuta's face flushing so hot it almost matches his hair. ]
Wh -- I didn't -- shut up! Why the hell would I have -- ?!
[ Of course he'd raised his voice in indignation, but Fuuta shuts up the moment their water steps back over with an impeccably polite but frosty, 'Is there a problem, sirs?' Equal parts mortified and frustrated, he's silent for a moment before shaking his head, muttering something about 'no, no problem.' And right as the waiter starts stepping away, he hurriedly adds, 'I wanted another cocktail. The -- uh, something sweet. Anything's fine.'
He probably shouldn't be getting another drink already. He knows that, rationally. But the order had been in part because he needs something to wash that weird tingly feeling out of his mouth, and in part to get the waiter to step away. The moment the waiter has stepped out of earshot, Fuuta leans across the table to hiss, ]
That was only because of the game! Like hell I was doing anything to s-spoil you!
[ With that point made absolutely clear, he scrunches back down in his seat to angrily stuff a piece of meat in his mouth. His mouth still feels weird, the texture against his tongue making his nerves bristle, and it's a little slurred when he mumbles, ]
And you're a fucking weirdo, you know that. The hell was there to like about watching ... that. The shit you made me do. You just did that to humiliate me, I know you did.
[There it is. The red flushing over Fuuta's whole face is as enticing as it'd been across the poker table. Charlie doesn't school his satisfaction, instead leaning forward on the table, relaxing into the scene.
When Fuuta turns back from damning himself with another drink, Charlie looks pretty fucking comfortable. His eyes dart between the retreating waitstaff and his table companion, as if implying something. What is that something? It doesn't matter, Fuuta will supply an answer to piss himself off.
It's so easy to wind him up - this is great!] So, hold on, I'm confused. [A hand raises, as if to halt Fuuta's bluster.]
You only gave me that long, sloppy, wonderful kiss because of the game. But, when I had you do those other guys some favors, it was about you? [A pause, his lips pursed impishly.] You're right.
But I think you might'a liked my attention, too.
I'll let you blame the string. I'll let you blame the alcohol tonight, too. [And he points to Fuuta's unfinished drink, silently prompting him to finish it up before the third is brought to the table.] And, I won't even humiliate you this time.
[His tongue flicks over his bottom lip, unblinking stare fixed on Fuuta. Foot tapping restlessly under the table, it's clear he's thinking of something more than a dinner date.]
[ Oh, he hates that Charlie has a point, there. He'd jerked back when Charlie raised that hand to stop him, and Fuuta's left gawping in impotent fury afterward, struggling to come up with a decent defense. There isn't one, of course, and so he angrily forks another piece of meat in his mouth, trying to pretend that's the only reason he's at a loss for words for the moment.
Brain still occupied trying to think of a counterpoint to Charlie's statements, Fuuta automatically picks his drink up to drain it when it's pointed at, thumping the empty glass down with a little more force than was probably necessary as he snaps, ]
I-it's different, alright! You know what you did! And there's n-no way I'd want any attention from a creep like you!
[ -- god, he knows that's barely a defense at all, and he winces a little at the sound of his own words leaving his mouth. Especially because -- as he glowers across the table at Charlie, Fuuta realizes he's drooling a little, rendering his words wet and sloppy around the edges. He hurries to swipe at his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie, brow scrunched in embarrassment and frustration. Whatever was in that drink's really getting to him by this point, his whole mouth feeling weirdly itchy for contact, and when the waiter approaches with his third drink -- a different cocktail this time, something pink and sugary-looking -- he barely waits for it to be put down before snatching it up to take a big gulp of it.
It does seem to soothe the tingling in his mouth a little bit. But as he feels the saccharine heat of it work its way down his throat, Fuuta realizes what Charlie had said. ]
... what do you mean 'this time.'
[ The anxious, suspicious look in his eyes is rather undermined by how flushed and worked-up he already looks, brow beaded with sweat and lips parted as his breaths come quicker. Despite his denials, his mind's quick to race down a path of what-ifs exploring what could happen from here, and the thought has heat starting to stir in the pit of his stomach. ]
[Easily riled up, and easily obedient. Fuuta serves more than Charlie's need to bully for entertainment. His blood can sustain Charlie, and Charlie's own blood is satiated by every little command he follows - implicit or explicit.
From his unbeating heart outwards, Charlie's blood feels warm.
A brief sensation he sometimes chases to endure, but right now, Charlie would rather continue to watch Fuuta wrap around himself with frustration. He gets messier and messier with every word, not only in his tone but- is that drool?
As Fuuta notices, Charlie raises a hand to his own mouth, mirroring the whisk of hoodie. All clean, for now. Another kiss would fix that.
Charlie's leg stills and he shifts in his seat, leaning to the opposite side.] What do you mean what do I mean? You called me! So, you've got my attention-
Which we've already established you enjoy. [Totally ignoring that pathetic protest earlier.] B-because of the alcohol. [Charlie adds quickly, hardly restrained from laughing while nodding to Fuuta as if trying to get him in on a bit.
As he talks, his leg extends, brushing the side of his shoe against the boy's ankle and lingering. He toys with the cuff of his pants, as if he could excuse this affection as idle fidgeting.] That shit's hittin' you hard, isn't it?
You sure you want the rest of it?
[The other two small plates, delivered from behind Fuuta's shoulder, clink to the table. They look as succulent as the last, and Charlie wonders if the fare is as fun as the drink tonight.]
[ Vaguely, somewhere at the very back of his mind, Fuuta does feel a little squirm of alarm trying to make itself heard. His body doesn't feel right -- his mouth feels hot and tingly, his gaze swimming a little as his thoughts start to blur together. His skin feels itchy, and he has to fight back the urge to rub at himself to ease the sensation. A kiss really would fix a lot ...
Too bad his pride keeps him from heeding that tendril of worry. After what Charlie put him through last time, there's no way he can just tuck his tail between his legs and scamper just because he feels a little weird? He's going to get his damn money's worth out of this meal! It'll be fine, he can soldier through whatever's making him feel like this! He's sure of it! ]
Nn -- [ Speaking takes a little effort when his mouth feels so weird, and he swallows thickly before managing to muster words. ] -- who said I enjoy attention. I just wanted a damn meal.
[ Even as he says that, though, he ends up squirming a little, heat pooling sticky through his guts. He doesn't, he's sure. He doesn't like being watched or anything, but ... maybe. Just a little ...
It's telling, too, that he doesn't recoil from Charlie's shoe nudging against his ankle, his increasingly-foggy brain failing to register that touch as more than a pleasant sensation working its way through his nerves. The next slide of Charlie's shoe against his calf earns a breathy exhale, and Fuuta shivers before muttering, ]
I'm fine? I dunno what you're talking about. I'm ... fine.
[ And while he doesn't take the rest of his drink yet, he does spitefully shove a forkful of one of the small plates in his mouth, face flushing hotter and eyes narrowing as he struggles with the flood of sensations spreading over his tongue. It's tasty, of course. But -- it's also not what he really wants right now, weirdly enough. He wants something else, he thinks. ]
[More protests, but this time they come from nearly trembling lips. Charlie watches Fuuta's body as he talks, his actual words paper-thin and easy to shirk by. There's not even any vitriol behind them anymore; a bit of a shame, he thinks...
But the way Fuuta works his mouth makes up for any delight lost in the tone of his voice. Charlie stares as his lips press together, then shudder. He curls his own inwards, pressing teeth into folding flesh as he considers...
Would he be able to eat tonight, too?
Would his 'food' be laced with the same shit Fuuta has injested, or would he just come away with the usual pleasant dull tingle a cocktail leaves?
Charlie's lips part, but he pauses before he speaks. Beneath the table, his shoe continues to caress Fuuta's calf after a notable lack of protest.]
What's wrong? Don't like how it tastes?
Do you want something else? [He voices the thought in Fuuta's head because its obvious what the boy wants. Even without all that squirming and color on his face - Charlie knows what the drinks do here.]
[ Finally, finally, his addled brain manages to put the pieces together. This fucker must have known that the drinks would get him worked up -- it must be why he'd been so insistent that he order some cocktails, not to get him drunk, but to cause this.
Fuuta's expression does tinge with a hint of indignity and anger at that realization, though he's still too paralyzed fighting against his own nerves to jerk away from the caress at his calf. And though sheer spite drives him to take another bite of his plate, he becoming very aware of the fact that he's fighting a losing battle here. Every bite, every sensation against his tongue has his nerves sparking, and the very act of swallowing earns a hard shudder; he wants more, but of something else. ]
That's not -- ... [ The attempt at a snapped retort cuts off as he has to swallow thickly to keep himself from drooling. Worse than that, even when he does look up from his plate to shoot Charlie a glare, his eyes automatically latch upon the other's lips, his brain quick to wonder how it'd feel to get to kiss him again.
The last time they'd kissed had felt wonderful, after all. And that had been without anything in his system. How good would it feel now? To feel teeth against his lips, tongue on tongue, that slick sensation against nerves rendered so sensitive they're practically tingling ...
He'd been staring at Charlie for a moment, almost dazed in his mounting arousal, and it takes visible effort when Fuuta abruptly stands. It takes even more of a struggle for him to declare, blearily, ] 'm going to the bathroom.
[ Too bad his knees practically give out with the first step he takes, his shoulders hunched as he ends up stumbling, needing to lean heavily against the table to keep from just spilling to the floor. And mortifyingly, the front of his sweatpants are tented visibly, a fact he desperately tries to hide by shoving down the hem of his hoodie. Oh, this is bad. ]
[The drinks are potent tonight. Charlie is, of course, aware of the Resort fare's 'encouraging' qualities. Everyone is. A point he'd insist to Fuuta, were their banter still the verbal sort. As the boy is now, he's clearly beyond coherent words.
With eyes on his lips, Charlie makes no effort to dampen his own eagerness. Top lip curls over teeth, worried beneath before his mouth simply hangs, open slightly. Lips parted, his tongue visibly toys behind his incisor - clear desire even without the haze of addled alcohol.
But what Charlie wants is blood.
The risk that Fuuta's vitae will afflict him similarly presents a small challenge, but... if the boy works through his frustration, the potency of the drug should diminish. Conclusion reinforced by the strength of Charlie's lust, rather than logic, his fingers curl one by one, slowly, against the table.
Impatient. But not so much as his dinner date. Charlie's brow raises, overstated surprise, when Fuuta stands abruptly. He mirrors the move, his watch lighting up to deduct chips for their meal. Typically, Charlie uses a little mind trick to get free or discounted checks, but his ledger is far from his mind.]
Yeah, I bet you are- [With no discretion whatsoever, Charlie looks pointedly from Fuuta's erection to his face.] -but it looks like you need some help gettin' there. [Running curved knuckles along the edge of the table, Charlie closes the distance between them to grab the boy's bicep. Supportive, but trapping, he pulls Fuuta away from the table and into another stride.
Once they're moving, he leans down to speak quietly - too loud to be a whisper - in his ear.] You'll wanna move quick, or more people are gonna see you like this.
[ Charlie's oh-so-kind warning comes too little and too late. Through no fault of his own, of course! It's just that Fuuta's sudden rise and stumble hadn't been the most subtle move, and in an establishment like this where most of the clientele leans sophisticated and graceful, even the smallest blunder stands out. Already, there are glances behind thrown his way from guests and staff alike, accompanied by a quiet titter of laughter from a few of the sharper-eyed individuals, and Fuuta freezes like a deer caught in the headlights when he feels all those eyes fixing on him.
Then that grab at his arm jolts him back to his senses, while scaring a strangled squeak out of him. ]
Y-yeah, I know? [ He hurriedly looks away from the rest of the restaurant, ducking closer to Charlie as he shies away from those stares. ] I'm -- moving. I'm moving.
[ He sure is! But poorly.
Fuuta barely manages a few steps away from their table and towards the exit before his posture starts to crumble. It doesn't help, either, that his mind keeps being drawn to that hand gripped around his arm -- thinking about how good that squeeze feels, about how nice it'd be to feel more of it, and elsewhere, over more of his body. By the time they cross the threshold out into the halls of the resort, Fuuta's leaning heavily against Charlie just to stay upright, his steps wobbly and his free hand raked into Charlie's clothes to keep the other close.
-- his head's spinning so bad. It feels like his blood's boiling, his heart beating way too fast. And Fuuta can barely get the words out when he lets his head sink against Charlie's arm and mumbles, ]
... this is all your fault. You better -- take responsibility.
[Even after spilling into the halls, Fuuta isn't spared lascivious glances. The way he's tucked into Charlie, red and aroused, catches the attention of more than a few passerby. Head to toe, the guests' appraisal is leaden. Charlie gives these temporary voyeurs a quick and devious smile, assuring them.] Yeah, he's alright. Just got himself a little too worked up, you know?
[He's not the only one. Charlie can feel the thrum of Fuuta's pulse beneath his grip. His hold tightens, constricting bloodflow to feel arteries swell. Tongue darting over his lips, Charlie reminds himself of the effects Fuuta is experiencing.
He's not the most patient man.
With quickening strides, Charlie guides his wobbly companion to the door of a luxurious washroom. There he stops; the heat from Fuuta's forehead nestling into him is shock to his resolve. A pause follows as Charlie's other arm rises to fold around Fuuta's shoulders in something almost like a hug. Holding the boy close, he leans down.] You wanted to go to the bathroom, right?
[Now with one hand planted on the shoulder opposite his initial grip, Charlie abruptly shoves Fuuta through the large wooden door and into the lobby. Couches line three of the four walls, the fourth a large multi-paneled mirror. Past the sitting room a line of floor to ceiling stalls await whatever business a cherished resort guest could have.
Charlie drops Fuuta onto a couch, immediately leaning down over him. If the boy continues to cling, he won't try to disconnect.] You said you want me to take care of that for you, right? Or do you want me to find you a playmate? [This is a genuine offer as much as it is goading to get Fuuta to ask for something he so clearly wants.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Being in debt has its uses. This guy's running right to him - after so clearly wanting nothing more to do with him.]
Hey, there you are! I was wondering if you forgot about our deal.
Sure, I got time. What do you want?
no subject
you're gonna buy me dinner to start
and not some cheap garbage
[ He is tired after yet another week straight of mostly living off of energy bars and microwaved convenience store food, okay. Just the thought of getting to order a big plate of steak has his stomach grumbling. Charlie's Watch gets another ping as Fuuta sends him a pin on the maps app: the Gilded Cage. ]
meet me there in half an hour
no subject
An easy out for the debt, but Charlie doesn't really want an easy out.]
Go ahead, get a table. Order whatever you want!
[Slowly, Charlie is starting to learn his way around the resort. The trip from his room to the Gilded Cage is one of his more traveled paths - which is to say, he's not actually too late to their rendezvous. Just like ten minutes.
When he does arrive, he'll sit himself opposite Fuuta, legs stretching forward under the table into the boy's space.] Be sure to make me buy you drinks too, eh?
no subject
don't go thinking you're getting let off that easy after the shit you pulled
and don't be late
[ Of course the guy's late! To be honest, Fuuta is very much ill at ease at the Gilded Cage, especially by himself -- he'll never fully get used to the glitzy vibes, the pervasive feeling that he's somewhere he's not supposed to be, and the dirty stares from the staff unhappy about seeing a lowly two loitering about at a table alone are grating at his nerves for the entire ten minute wait. Of course, the moment Charlie shows up, Fuuta snaps at him, ]
-- you're late! [ Accompanied by a little kick at Charlie's leg under the table. Yes, it was on purpose, no, he's not sorry about it at all. ] I'm adding it to what you owe me! You know how shitty it is, wasting other people's time like that? Tch.
[ He's scowling as he impatiently flips the menu back open, like he hasn't already nervously read through it twice while waiting for Charlie to show up; he looks up only at that additional goading, an eyebrow raised. ]
You're not trying to get me drunk so you can run and make me foot the bill, are you. I'm getting'em to take your Watch on file before I order anything, so it's all coming from your account.
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Instead, he smiles placidly at his dinner date, a quickly muttered 'uh huh' in response to the tardy accusation. His ease is interrupted only briefly, when Fuuta's foot connects with his leg. It scuffs his shin, and Charlie's lip does curl in a brief flash of pain.
No comment about the value of Fuuta's time - maybe he'll just keep the guy company for an extra ten minutes to make up for it?]
I told you I'm payin, so you can trust I'm payin! [He leans forward, elbows propped on the table.] A dinner's just a little bit of a eh... humble request? I wanted to make sure you were plannin on taking me for all I'm worth.
And the drinks are the most expensive shit on the menu. [Charlie stretches his arm across the table to tap the drink menu impatiently. He doesn't actually want Fuuta to drink him dry, but he suspects the boy will hit his limit long before his chips do.]
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What, you think I'm some lightweight that's gonna pass out from one drink and cut things off early for you? [ He sounds sooooo smug about having gotten there before Charlie could pull one over him. ] Too bad for you, I know how to pace myself. I'm not like those idiots that don't have self-control and get wasted.
[ Fortunately for Charlie, and unfortunately for him, Fuuta assumes that he's correctly deduced Charlie's ulterior motive, and so -- drops his guard. As long as he paces himself and stays sharp, he won't be falling for any more of Charlie's bullshit, not tonight!
And so, he snaps the menu shut before flagging down a server. When the employee approaches, Fuuta immediately points at Charlie, clarifying that they should take his account on file to pay with. And only then, after the server's (grudgingly, annoyed at having to listen to a yappy rank-two) complied, he places his order: three different small plates, and one of their cocktails. A fairly weak one to start with ... though it promises in coquettish copy, 'a delightful tingle, regardless.' ]
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Until the boy puzzles out something, and Charlie raises his brows in blunt mock surprise. As if he'd been caught in his scheme.
With faux chagrin, he offers his wrist to the waiter when they request an account for the tab.] He's just so cute, how can I not treat him, eh? [The waiter responds with a forced smile, clearly more interested in doing their job than getting in between their two patrons.]
So, while we wait... why don't you tell me what your favorite meal is? [Casual conversation, normal, but delivered with that same predatory smile he always seems to wear around the boy.]
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Why, are you planning on treating me again in the future?
[ He can’t help being bristly when even that innocuous question manages to sound slimy coming from Charlie. But, well … it’s not like he wants to make small talk with the guy? But the place is a bit too glitzy for him to slouch back and just fiddle with his phone, and the prospect of just being stared at by Charlie until the food arrives is even worse. So. ]
… dunno if I have a favorite, but I like stuff with meat. Like katsu curry. Yakiniku. Ramen, with extra chashu. [ Ngh. He’s getting hungrier talking about this. ] You look like the type to say your favorite food is something pretentious and expensive. Caviar something or the other.
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Charlie's foot taps idly under the table, the rest of him rapt in the mundane answer to the mundane question. No feature of Fuuta's is beneath his intrigue, perhaps unfortunately for the boy.]
Me? Caviar!? [He gestures to himself, a sting of genuine incredulity.] The guys who actually like caviar are gonna get mad at you for sayin that.
Like you're insultin 'em.
[With a shake of the head, he chuckles.] My favorite's sweets. Like those little cookies- [He starts making the shape with his fingers, as if Fuuta's never seen a square or circle before.] -you know?
[As he continues to make cookie shapes - struggling to twist his fingers in the configuration of a flower - the waiter returns with Fuuta's cocktail. They set it down wordlessly, practiced habit to slip in and out of guest's experiences unobtrusively.
The bar always works faster than the kitchen.]
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[ It's a snide comment that Fuuta mutters into his glass of water, too annoyed by Charlie to hold his tongue, but not yet incensed enough to say it properly out loud; maybe if Charlie is lucky he'll be able to make out those words in between the ambient noise of the restaurant, but otherwise, Fuuta sure isn't going to draw any attention to them.
Especially not when his waiter slides his cocktail before him the next moment.
The fact that it's been brought out so quickly does earn a blink, but Fuuta otherwise accepts it without much thought, giving their waiter a small nod in thanks before picking up the glass to take a small sip. ... it's good, actually. Much better than he'd expected? There's a trace of obvious surprise in the way he pulls the glass away to look at it for a moment, reflexively licking his lips -- it's sweet but not too sweet, with a nice kick that reminds him of ginger tea, tingly on the tongue without being medicinal. Fuuta takes another sip, and doesn't lower the little glass even as he shoots Charlie an unimpressed look. ]
And what are you, a five year old? Liking sweets at that age ... [ A slightly overdramatic sigh before he takes another sip. Despite what he said, he sure is underestimating this drink, just because it doesn't taste that alcohol-forward. ] I mean, I guess you can like what you want? But you know it always looks weird when guys like sweets too much, right. You should probably at least sound kind of embarrassed talking about liking cookies.
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That he remains quiet to watch Fuuta drink should be immediately suspicious. He'd rather the boy partake in the cocktail than continue to pry and rile him up. The moment of quiet is a damning testament to his patience; he knows Fuuta will be even easier to wind around his finger when the alcohol, and whatever else, has set in.
So he idly watches light glint against the surface of the lightly colored spirit, a satisfied purse of his lips when Fuuta continues to sip.]
I'm not an easy guy to embarrass, no matter what it looks like. Are you sayin' I look immature? [An accusation he won't combat. Not because he tries to appear childish - it just doesn't matter what Fuuta thinks.] Everybody's got somethin' weird they like.
[He pauses, giving Fuuta another chance to drink.]
What about you? What's something you like that you shouldn't? [He doesn't actually expect an answer, but a flush of cheeks is just as good.]
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Look, I don’t know what kinds of people you’ve been messing with in this place, but you’ve got the wrong target if you think I’m gonna go along with any of your bullshit.
[ He says, right before throwing down a big gulp of his drink, playing tough to try and emphasize his point. It’s fine, he figures; he’s not going to get drunk off something this weak. Fuuta clears his throat after swallowing, tongue tracing his lips to catch the tingling sensation lingering there, before resuming: ]
Some people here might be giving up on common sense, but I don’t care how insane this place is — I still know what’s right and wrong, what’s normal and not, and I am not losing track of any of that. I’m not into any weird shit, and even if I was, like hell I’m talking about any of that stuff in a place like this, in public, and especially not to someone like you.
[ There’s a belligerent confidence to his delivery, the sort of smug condescension unique to someone who’s sure they’re talking to someone worse than them, and Fuuta gives a brief huff. Then he throws back the rest of his cocktail before flagging down a nearby waiter and holding up the empty glass. ]
Another one of these. On the same tab.
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Hopefully-
Charlie's lips form a faux surprised 'oh' when Fuuta rejects his question, like he's truly been spurned. The rest of his rant meets an unblinking stare; sickly eyes only move to watch the glass in Fuuta's hand.
Until it's empty.
He may have ordered Fuuta another himself, but the boy beats him to it. That brings a mote of genuine surprise to his features. The pleasant sort.] Do you think you're in the minority there? Being very normal and not doing anything 'wrong?'
I think you might be the only one here who's not into any weird shit! Kind of makes me feel sad for you - left out. [He's not chasing an ideal conclusion - Fuuta admitting a kink or insisting on a sense of public decency - just keeping the guy talking.
The next drink comes quickly, along with one of the small plates requested. They're delivered subtly, though Charlie turns his head mid-conversation to tell the server to check back soon.
Who knows when Fuuta will want his third drink?]
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[ He caps off that statement by grabbing for the refill of his cocktail and going to take a swig of it -- only to pause after a sip, pulling the glass away from his mouth. Fuuta's expression tinges with some combination of surprise and confusion as he distractedly licks his lips. ... they feel tingly, for some reason. And a little hot? Did they make this drink stronger? The first one didn't taste this spicy, he thinks.
Charlie might notice it before Fuuta himself, the way his face is starting to flush a little redder, sweat starting to bead thinly at his temple. And though Fuuta tries to distract himself by putting down the glass and going for a bite of the food instead, that earns a similar confused double-take in reaction. ... why does his mouth feel so weird. Like everything feels a little too intense against his lips and tongue; he ends up chewing at his lip for a moment, eyes narrowed, before glaring back up at Charlie. ]
... 'sides, if you're gonna be asking someone something, shouldn't you talk about yourself, first? You gonna spill about all your weird hobbies in public?
[ Ugh, actually, he regrets saying that the moment the words leave his mouth. He'd just said the first thing that came to mind, wanting to put Charlie on the back foot, but something tells him the guy's not going to be fazed by the demand at all. ]
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As if to confirm he has no pity to offer, Charlie shrugs.
He waits, then, while Fuuta takes another drink. Finger idly flipping the edge of his unused menu, he schools the interest that piques when his partner's demeanor shifts. In contrast to red cheeks, his tongue seems pale when it darts over his lips. Charlie keeps his in his mouth, impassive in the face of Fuuta's apparent confusion.
The drinks here are the fun type tonight, huh?
And so are Fuuta's questions - too quick to attempt a verbal assault, now he's put himself in a position he doesn't want to be in. Though, to be fair, maybe any position with Charlie is one Fuuta doesn't want.
He did ask for dinner though...]
Sure, why not! [Charlie is quick to indulge the inquiry precisely because he can tell Fuuta doesn't really want to hear it.] You already know I like to watch, but did you know that kissin' is my favorite?
You really eh... spoiled me last time. [Remember that kiss? He does.]
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Wh -- I didn't -- shut up! Why the hell would I have -- ?!
[ Of course he'd raised his voice in indignation, but Fuuta shuts up the moment their water steps back over with an impeccably polite but frosty, 'Is there a problem, sirs?' Equal parts mortified and frustrated, he's silent for a moment before shaking his head, muttering something about 'no, no problem.' And right as the waiter starts stepping away, he hurriedly adds, 'I wanted another cocktail. The -- uh, something sweet. Anything's fine.'
He probably shouldn't be getting another drink already. He knows that, rationally. But the order had been in part because he needs something to wash that weird tingly feeling out of his mouth, and in part to get the waiter to step away. The moment the waiter has stepped out of earshot, Fuuta leans across the table to hiss, ]
That was only because of the game! Like hell I was doing anything to s-spoil you!
[ With that point made absolutely clear, he scrunches back down in his seat to angrily stuff a piece of meat in his mouth. His mouth still feels weird, the texture against his tongue making his nerves bristle, and it's a little slurred when he mumbles, ]
And you're a fucking weirdo, you know that. The hell was there to like about watching ... that. The shit you made me do. You just did that to humiliate me, I know you did.
sorry, getting back from mini hiatus!
When Fuuta turns back from damning himself with another drink, Charlie looks pretty fucking comfortable. His eyes dart between the retreating waitstaff and his table companion, as if implying something. What is that something? It doesn't matter, Fuuta will supply an answer to piss himself off.
It's so easy to wind him up - this is great!] So, hold on, I'm confused. [A hand raises, as if to halt Fuuta's bluster.]
You only gave me that long, sloppy, wonderful kiss because of the game. But, when I had you do those other guys some favors, it was about you? [A pause, his lips pursed impishly.] You're right.
But I think you might'a liked my attention, too.
I'll let you blame the string. I'll let you blame the alcohol tonight, too. [And he points to Fuuta's unfinished drink, silently prompting him to finish it up before the third is brought to the table.] And, I won't even humiliate you this time.
[His tongue flicks over his bottom lip, unblinking stare fixed on Fuuta. Foot tapping restlessly under the table, it's clear he's thinking of something more than a dinner date.]
no worries, glad to have you back!
Brain still occupied trying to think of a counterpoint to Charlie's statements, Fuuta automatically picks his drink up to drain it when it's pointed at, thumping the empty glass down with a little more force than was probably necessary as he snaps, ]
I-it's different, alright! You know what you did! And there's n-no way I'd want any attention from a creep like you!
[ -- god, he knows that's barely a defense at all, and he winces a little at the sound of his own words leaving his mouth. Especially because -- as he glowers across the table at Charlie, Fuuta realizes he's drooling a little, rendering his words wet and sloppy around the edges. He hurries to swipe at his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie, brow scrunched in embarrassment and frustration. Whatever was in that drink's really getting to him by this point, his whole mouth feeling weirdly itchy for contact, and when the waiter approaches with his third drink -- a different cocktail this time, something pink and sugary-looking -- he barely waits for it to be put down before snatching it up to take a big gulp of it.
It does seem to soothe the tingling in his mouth a little bit. But as he feels the saccharine heat of it work its way down his throat, Fuuta realizes what Charlie had said. ]
... what do you mean 'this time.'
[ The anxious, suspicious look in his eyes is rather undermined by how flushed and worked-up he already looks, brow beaded with sweat and lips parted as his breaths come quicker. Despite his denials, his mind's quick to race down a path of what-ifs exploring what could happen from here, and the thought has heat starting to stir in the pit of his stomach. ]
ty ;u;
From his unbeating heart outwards, Charlie's blood feels warm.
A brief sensation he sometimes chases to endure, but right now, Charlie would rather continue to watch Fuuta wrap around himself with frustration. He gets messier and messier with every word, not only in his tone but- is that drool?
As Fuuta notices, Charlie raises a hand to his own mouth, mirroring the whisk of hoodie. All clean, for now.
Another kiss would fix that.Charlie's leg stills and he shifts in his seat, leaning to the opposite side.] What do you mean what do I mean? You called me! So, you've got my attention-
Which we've already established you enjoy. [Totally ignoring that pathetic protest earlier.] B-because of the alcohol. [Charlie adds quickly, hardly restrained from laughing while nodding to Fuuta as if trying to get him in on a bit.
As he talks, his leg extends, brushing the side of his shoe against the boy's ankle and lingering. He toys with the cuff of his pants, as if he could excuse this affection as idle fidgeting.] That shit's hittin' you hard, isn't it?
You sure you want the rest of it?
[The other two small plates, delivered from behind Fuuta's shoulder, clink to the table. They look as succulent as the last, and Charlie wonders if the fare is as fun as the drink tonight.]
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A kiss really would fix a lot ...Too bad his pride keeps him from heeding that tendril of worry. After what Charlie put him through last time, there's no way he can just tuck his tail between his legs and scamper just because he feels a little weird? He's going to get his damn money's worth out of this meal! It'll be fine, he can soldier through whatever's making him feel like this! He's sure of it! ]
Nn -- [ Speaking takes a little effort when his mouth feels so weird, and he swallows thickly before managing to muster words. ] -- who said I enjoy attention. I just wanted a damn meal.
[ Even as he says that, though, he ends up squirming a little, heat pooling sticky through his guts. He doesn't, he's sure. He doesn't like being watched or anything, but ... maybe. Just a little ...
It's telling, too, that he doesn't recoil from Charlie's shoe nudging against his ankle, his increasingly-foggy brain failing to register that touch as more than a pleasant sensation working its way through his nerves. The next slide of Charlie's shoe against his calf earns a breathy exhale, and Fuuta shivers before muttering, ]
I'm fine? I dunno what you're talking about. I'm ... fine.
[ And while he doesn't take the rest of his drink yet, he does spitefully shove a forkful of one of the small plates in his mouth, face flushing hotter and eyes narrowing as he struggles with the flood of sensations spreading over his tongue. It's tasty, of course. But -- it's also not what he really wants right now, weirdly enough. He wants something else, he thinks. ]
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But the way Fuuta works his mouth makes up for any delight lost in the tone of his voice. Charlie stares as his lips press together, then shudder. He curls his own inwards, pressing teeth into folding flesh as he considers...
Would he be able to eat tonight, too?
Would his 'food' be laced with the same shit Fuuta has injested, or would he just come away with the usual pleasant dull tingle a cocktail leaves?
Charlie's lips part, but he pauses before he speaks. Beneath the table, his shoe continues to caress Fuuta's calf after a notable lack of protest.]
What's wrong? Don't like how it tastes?
Do you want something else? [He voices the thought in Fuuta's head because its obvious what the boy wants. Even without all that squirming and color on his face - Charlie knows what the drinks do here.]
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Fuuta's expression does tinge with a hint of indignity and anger at that realization, though he's still too paralyzed fighting against his own nerves to jerk away from the caress at his calf. And though sheer spite drives him to take another bite of his plate, he becoming very aware of the fact that he's fighting a losing battle here. Every bite, every sensation against his tongue has his nerves sparking, and the very act of swallowing earns a hard shudder; he wants more, but of something else. ]
That's not -- ... [ The attempt at a snapped retort cuts off as he has to swallow thickly to keep himself from drooling. Worse than that, even when he does look up from his plate to shoot Charlie a glare, his eyes automatically latch upon the other's lips, his brain quick to wonder how it'd feel to get to kiss him again.
The last time they'd kissed had felt wonderful, after all. And that had been without anything in his system. How good would it feel now? To feel teeth against his lips, tongue on tongue, that slick sensation against nerves rendered so sensitive they're practically tingling ...
He'd been staring at Charlie for a moment, almost dazed in his mounting arousal, and it takes visible effort when Fuuta abruptly stands. It takes even more of a struggle for him to declare, blearily, ] 'm going to the bathroom.
[ Too bad his knees practically give out with the first step he takes, his shoulders hunched as he ends up stumbling, needing to lean heavily against the table to keep from just spilling to the floor. And mortifyingly, the front of his sweatpants are tented visibly, a fact he desperately tries to hide by shoving down the hem of his hoodie. Oh, this is bad. ]
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With eyes on his lips, Charlie makes no effort to dampen his own eagerness. Top lip curls over teeth, worried beneath before his mouth simply hangs, open slightly. Lips parted, his tongue visibly toys behind his incisor - clear desire even without the haze of addled alcohol.
But what Charlie wants is blood.
The risk that Fuuta's vitae will afflict him similarly presents a small challenge, but... if the boy works through his frustration, the potency of the drug should diminish. Conclusion reinforced by the strength of Charlie's lust, rather than logic, his fingers curl one by one, slowly, against the table.
Impatient. But not so much as his dinner date. Charlie's brow raises, overstated surprise, when Fuuta stands abruptly. He mirrors the move, his watch lighting up to deduct chips for their meal. Typically, Charlie uses a little mind trick to get free or discounted checks, but his ledger is far from his mind.]
Yeah, I bet you are- [With no discretion whatsoever, Charlie looks pointedly from Fuuta's erection to his face.] -but it looks like you need some help gettin' there. [Running curved knuckles along the edge of the table, Charlie closes the distance between them to grab the boy's bicep. Supportive, but trapping, he pulls Fuuta away from the table and into another stride.
Once they're moving, he leans down to speak quietly - too loud to be a whisper - in his ear.] You'll wanna move quick, or more people are gonna see you like this.
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Then that grab at his arm jolts him back to his senses, while scaring a strangled squeak out of him. ]
Y-yeah, I know? [ He hurriedly looks away from the rest of the restaurant, ducking closer to Charlie as he shies away from those stares. ] I'm -- moving. I'm moving.
[ He sure is! But poorly.
Fuuta barely manages a few steps away from their table and towards the exit before his posture starts to crumble. It doesn't help, either, that his mind keeps being drawn to that hand gripped around his arm -- thinking about how good that squeeze feels, about how nice it'd be to feel more of it, and elsewhere, over more of his body. By the time they cross the threshold out into the halls of the resort, Fuuta's leaning heavily against Charlie just to stay upright, his steps wobbly and his free hand raked into Charlie's clothes to keep the other close.
-- his head's spinning so bad. It feels like his blood's boiling, his heart beating way too fast. And Fuuta can barely get the words out when he lets his head sink against Charlie's arm and mumbles, ]
... this is all your fault. You better -- take responsibility.
fuuta continues to be really cute
[He's not the only one. Charlie can feel the thrum of Fuuta's pulse beneath his grip. His hold tightens, constricting bloodflow to feel arteries swell. Tongue darting over his lips, Charlie reminds himself of the effects Fuuta is experiencing.
He's not the most patient man.
With quickening strides, Charlie guides his wobbly companion to the door of a luxurious washroom. There he stops; the heat from Fuuta's forehead nestling into him is shock to his resolve. A pause follows as Charlie's other arm rises to fold around Fuuta's shoulders in something almost like a hug. Holding the boy close, he leans down.] You wanted to go to the bathroom, right?
[Now with one hand planted on the shoulder opposite his initial grip, Charlie abruptly shoves Fuuta through the large wooden door and into the lobby. Couches line three of the four walls, the fourth a large multi-paneled mirror. Past the sitting room a line of floor to ceiling stalls await whatever business a cherished resort guest could have.
Charlie drops Fuuta onto a couch, immediately leaning down over him. If the boy continues to cling, he won't try to disconnect.] You said you want me to take care of that for you, right? Or do you want me to find you a playmate? [This is a genuine offer as much as it is goading to get Fuuta to ask for something he so clearly wants.]
charlie brings out his best qualities 😳
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