[It's slightly weird, but only if he thinks about it. Whatever. There's a lot he's willing to do for Chariot.]
Well, he's my Stand, so . . . pretty much anytime I gotta fight a sexy squid.
[Fine, two hands, then, that definitely will be enough. Except no, not really, and he scowls. This is, perhaps, heading in an inevitable direction, but on the other hand, it's not like this would be any less awkward with Kakyoin or Avdol. Probably more so; at least he barely knows (and knows intimately, all at once) Abbacchio.]
I mean, I could fight em without him. But why bother, right? Come on.
[Guess they're heading further into his lair, because Polnareff's outright tugging him forward, hand still held, looking for a couch or a bed or somewhere they can at least touch slightly more without being as awkward.]
[must be nice having a battle stand!! but no, he's stopped being bitter about that a long time ago. so instead he just sighs and shrugs helplessly because that means you need a lot of chroma guy.
Abbacchio SCOWLS when he's dragged away, but Polnareff is in luck and there is definitely a black leather couch. They're definitely holding hands while sitting on the couch.]
You get more chroma from other shit, you know. Handholding is bottom tier, if you plan on using Chariot that much.
[This is very weird. Not bad, but weird. Like they're parodying shitty puritan culture or whatever, holding hands chastely on the couch. Which, again, not bad, but he's also been restless these past few days, fighting too hard, nearly vibrating out of his skin with something that isn't quite energy.]
[It might, honestly, except now he's determined to win this fight, so obviously he's not going to say no. But hugging, hm, how are they gonna do that on a couch . . . like, obviously there's ways and ways, but if the goal is body contact . . .]
Hey, turn around.
[Because maybe it'll just be easier if Abbacchio leans up against him. He turns sideways, back to one of the couch's arms, legs bracing wider. Just, like, lay up on him or whatever.]
[He rolls his eyes, although he doesn't know why, and grabs Abbacchio's shoulder to yank him back between his legs. There. That's a hell of a lot more chroma now, and he's actually a little overwhelmed by it, because, well--
--well, holding hands with Kakyoin is a far cry from this. Christ.]
[This is definitely not exactly what he expected. Abbacchio's eyes widen a little, his back stiffening mostly from surprise, then he slowly settles his weight against Polnareff.]
[Much better. And the instant it hits, it's a lot harder to focus on why he was so stiff in the first place. Like, yeah, okay, it's slightly weird, but not honestly the strangest thing he's gone through here. For crissake, he's sporting scales, and the less said about his teeth, the better.
Abbacchio's all lean muscle, his frame narrower but no less powerful. He's so long, though, long legs and long torso and long pale neck, and he drops his head down, chin plunking down on his shoulder hard. He feels like he's tipsy suddenly, his thoughts blurred, but it doesn't matter, not really, not when this feels wonderful.
Presumably it's the same for Abbacchio, right? Yeah. Definitely. It's not like he can just leech it out of him with no return, right?]
[This kind of position doesn't really bother him, but he can see why it's probably a bit weird for Polnareff. But's not like they're boning, and they won't be.
He huffs at the way Polnareff's chin rests on his shoulder, then frowns a little before he's taking the other man's hand. Just to encourage the moonlacing. But it's weird, he doesn't feel like he's getting anything at all?]
[A lot more than just anything. Is it supposed to be this strong? It really, really hadn't felt like this with Kakyoin, and even considering the difference in position, it seems like a lot. But a good lot, so why is he worrying?
On a whim, he tugs their joined hands inward, resting lightly against Abbacchio's stomach.]
[It's weird. He can't really figure it out. They're not doing anything wrong; hell, he's practically a fucking expert on moonlacing by now. He should be feeling fantastic, so why does he just feel tired?
He shifts slightly, getting more comfortable, but it doesn't seem to change anything.]
I don't think so. Maybe just more tired than I thought...
[It doesn't help Abbacchio in the least. He's pretty comfortable where he is, but being pulled closer doesn't change anything. Gradually, more and more, he just feels more exhausted.]
[The lack of grip actually feels a lot better. He leans forward, rubbing his head forehead, sighing. He isn't regaining a damned thing, though. He's just as tired as before.]
Not while I'm moonlacing. Maybe you just really suck at it after all. [It's sort of a joke, but he really isn't sure what's wrong at all, truthfully.]
[Slowly, Abbacchio gets up. Maybe he needs some tea or something, but the bed sounds nicer at this point.
He makes his way over to the bedroom, toeing off his shoes along the way before he crawls into bed. He doesn't really feel any better, but it's pretty damned comfortable at least.]
[Still, he doesn't climb into bed yet. Just sits heavily on it, looking down at him. A beat, and then hesitantly, he runs his fingers against his arm.]
[There's a pause, then he shakes his head a little. This isn't normal, but then he isn't sure what else could be wrong. Getting drained isn't something he's ever had to worry about before.]
Nah. Nothing.
[He never thought he'd be in a position where he'd actually desperately want someone to touch him or hold him, but he does feel tired enough that it's what he feels like is missing. So it's really baffling that this isn't working as expected.]
Don't make it weird, but come here and kiss me. [Just so he can know for sure.]
[Oh, hm, it's definitely a Thing, it's definitely weird, and even his bizarre high right now can't ignore that. He blinks down at him once or twice, and Abbacchio can just see all the stupid thoughts on the tip of his tongue. Like: this doesn't mean anything. Like: I'm not like that. Like: don't tell anybody even though it doesn't mean shit, because he's stupid like that sometimes.
But nobody's around, and he knows, because he glanced around (like, what, somebody's waiting in the corner? but maybe they are, maybe they're waiting to leap out and shout look at what Polnareff's doing!, a thought equal parts stupid and utterly terrifying). So it's fine.
He leans down, and--
--ah. Hm. It's not the best kiss to start with, maybe. A quick brush of the lips, not so much a kiss as an accident, utterly unsatisfying to either party. But it's enough for a spark-- like a hint of what he'd had before, and he's so hungry for it tonight, hungry enough not to question why he's acting the way he is, more impulsive and headstrong than ever.
So there's a kiss, hard and hungry, so much more than was strictly necessary; he curls his fingers in his hair, tipping his head up, taking more than he should in a kiss that's surprisingly good.]
[For a second, he's ready to just mock Polnareff for his first shitty attempt, but he doesn't even get close to saying a single thing before it suddenly becomes a more proper kiss. Huh, all right, so it turns out that Polnareff definitely knows how to do that, and it's actually really fucking good. There's always some kind of satisfaction like this where his lipstick smears, leaving its mark on someone, and that's no different here. It feels nice enough that he gives a growl, but--
But the problem is that he's feeling worse. Like every time he's trying to moonlace with Polnareff, he's just getting drained more and more, feeling more exhausted. It's a real fight to bring up his hand and push at Polnareff's chest, trying to get him off. This isn't working, and it's getting to actually be alarming.]
[It's a good kiss, and let's be honest: he wouldn't have stopped if it'd been up to him. He won't like thinking that later, but it's true. He'd liked the kiss, the way Abbacchio had felt, sounded, tasted, lipstick smearing just a little, like a girl and not, it was great, it was--
--not to be. Apparently. Because there's a hand at his chest, and though he feels like he's thrumming with energy, like all he wants to do is take and take and take from this man, he pulls back. There's no misreading that kind of movement.]
'S not working?
[Sorry, give him a second. With black lipstick on his mouth, he looks a little more eerie, fractured eyes narrowing as he stares down at his partner.]
Shit. Maybe it's a moon thing? Like . . . like my moon beats yours or it's your time of the month or something.
[He presses his lips together reflexively. It'd been a good kiss, okay.]
Shit. Uh. Do you . . . want me to call somebody or something?
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Well, he's my Stand, so . . . pretty much anytime I gotta fight a sexy squid.
[Fine, two hands, then, that definitely will be enough. Except no, not really, and he scowls. This is, perhaps, heading in an inevitable direction, but on the other hand, it's not like this would be any less awkward with Kakyoin or Avdol. Probably more so; at least he barely knows (and knows intimately, all at once) Abbacchio.]
I mean, I could fight em without him. But why bother, right? Come on.
[Guess they're heading further into his lair, because Polnareff's outright tugging him forward, hand still held, looking for a couch or a bed or somewhere they can at least touch slightly more without being as awkward.]
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Abbacchio SCOWLS when he's dragged away, but Polnareff is in luck and there is definitely a black leather couch. They're definitely holding hands while sitting on the couch.]
You get more chroma from other shit, you know. Handholding is bottom tier, if you plan on using Chariot that much.
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Yeah, but we're not banging.
[That's rude. And direct.]
Got any other suggestions?
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Some no homo hugging is probably fine, unless that freaks your delicate sensibilities.
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Hey, turn around.
[Because maybe it'll just be easier if Abbacchio leans up against him. He turns sideways, back to one of the couch's arms, legs bracing wider. Just, like, lay up on him or whatever.]
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[Annoyed, Abbacchio lets go of his hands and turns around, folding his arms over his chest. What now, asshole!]
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--well, holding hands with Kakyoin is a far cry from this. Christ.]
Is that-- does that work for you?
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Yeah. S'fine.
That's better for you, right?
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[Much better. And the instant it hits, it's a lot harder to focus on why he was so stiff in the first place. Like, yeah, okay, it's slightly weird, but not honestly the strangest thing he's gone through here. For crissake, he's sporting scales, and the less said about his teeth, the better.
Abbacchio's all lean muscle, his frame narrower but no less powerful. He's so long, though, long legs and long torso and long pale neck, and he drops his head down, chin plunking down on his shoulder hard. He feels like he's tipsy suddenly, his thoughts blurred, but it doesn't matter, not really, not when this feels wonderful.
Presumably it's the same for Abbacchio, right? Yeah. Definitely. It's not like he can just leech it out of him with no return, right?]
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He huffs at the way Polnareff's chin rests on his shoulder, then frowns a little before he's taking the other man's hand. Just to encourage the moonlacing. But it's weird, he doesn't feel like he's getting anything at all?]
Hey.
[He feels weirdly tired.]
Are you getting anything from this?
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[A lot more than just anything. Is it supposed to be this strong? It really, really hadn't felt like this with Kakyoin, and even considering the difference in position, it seems like a lot. But a good lot, so why is he worrying?
On a whim, he tugs their joined hands inward, resting lightly against Abbacchio's stomach.]
You're not?
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He shifts slightly, getting more comfortable, but it doesn't seem to change anything.]
I don't think so. Maybe just more tired than I thought...
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[He definitely isn't, though, and he sighs as he pulls him in a little, like maybe that'll help.]
I dunno, we could move or something.
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[It doesn't help Abbacchio in the least. He's pretty comfortable where he is, but being pulled closer doesn't change anything. Gradually, more and more, he just feels more exhausted.]
Yeah, all right. Where you want me?
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[It's slightly resentful, more sullen than truly irritated. He releases his grip, pulling back, blinking once or twice.]
You ever get tired like this before?
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[The lack of grip actually feels a lot better. He leans forward, rubbing his head forehead, sighing. He isn't regaining a damned thing, though. He's just as tired as before.]
Not while I'm moonlacing. Maybe you just really suck at it after all. [It's sort of a joke, but he really isn't sure what's wrong at all, truthfully.]
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Yeah, right. Nobody's complained but you, buddy. Come on.
[He stands up, jerking his head to indicate they oughta go already.]
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[Slowly, Abbacchio gets up. Maybe he needs some tea or something, but the bed sounds nicer at this point.
He makes his way over to the bedroom, toeing off his shoes along the way before he crawls into bed. He doesn't really feel any better, but it's pretty damned comfortable at least.]
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He stares down at him, curled up beneath the sheets, and grimaces. He does want more, but--]
We can stop if you want.
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Knowing me, I probably just had too much to drink.
[He's perfectly self-aware about his own self-destructive habits after all.]
Just don't get pissed if I fall asleep or something.
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[Still, he doesn't climb into bed yet. Just sits heavily on it, looking down at him. A beat, and then hesitantly, he runs his fingers against his arm.]
What about that?
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Nah. Nothing.
[He never thought he'd be in a position where he'd actually desperately want someone to touch him or hold him, but he does feel tired enough that it's what he feels like is missing. So it's really baffling that this isn't working as expected.]
Don't make it weird, but come here and kiss me. [Just so he can know for sure.]
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But nobody's around, and he knows, because he glanced around (like, what, somebody's waiting in the corner? but maybe they are, maybe they're waiting to leap out and shout look at what Polnareff's doing!, a thought equal parts stupid and utterly terrifying). So it's fine.
He leans down, and--
--ah. Hm. It's not the best kiss to start with, maybe. A quick brush of the lips, not so much a kiss as an accident, utterly unsatisfying to either party. But it's enough for a spark-- like a hint of what he'd had before, and he's so hungry for it tonight, hungry enough not to question why he's acting the way he is, more impulsive and headstrong than ever.
So there's a kiss, hard and hungry, so much more than was strictly necessary; he curls his fingers in his hair, tipping his head up, taking more than he should in a kiss that's surprisingly good.]
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But the problem is that he's feeling worse. Like every time he's trying to moonlace with Polnareff, he's just getting drained more and more, feeling more exhausted. It's a real fight to bring up his hand and push at Polnareff's chest, trying to get him off. This isn't working, and it's getting to actually be alarming.]
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--not to be. Apparently. Because there's a hand at his chest, and though he feels like he's thrumming with energy, like all he wants to do is take and take and take from this man, he pulls back. There's no misreading that kind of movement.]
'S not working?
[Sorry, give him a second. With black lipstick on his mouth, he looks a little more eerie, fractured eyes narrowing as he stares down at his partner.]
Shit. Maybe it's a moon thing? Like . . . like my moon beats yours or it's your time of the month or something.
[He presses his lips together reflexively. It'd been a good kiss, okay.]
Shit. Uh. Do you . . . want me to call somebody or something?
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1/2
it's me, 2/2
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