[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?
[Pushing at Polnareff's chest was all the energy he could spare. As soon as he gets the signal, Abbacchio's hand drops back to the bed, and he's left looking up at Polnareff through tired, half-lidded eyes. Like he's ready to fall asleep on the spot, given the chance.]
Never... been a problem before. I dunno...
[Now his eyes close and he sighs, trying to fight off a yawn.]
[Fuck, now he's gotta call someone to fix this. Shit. Who does he know that Abbacchio won't hate? Not Giorno. Bruno? Kakyoin? Avdol? Shit. Shit.
Whatever. He keeps an eye out on the figure half-asleep beneath him before grabbing his phone, going down midway through his contact list. He's smart. He'll be mean about it, but whatever, he'll also get shit done.]
[Know that this is a weird call to get, both of you. Just know this. Like, does Kakyoin show up anyway? Yes, but he's already got his judging eyebrow raised even before he knocks. Presumably Polnareff will take the initiative to let him in so he can judge some more, so, here he is. Hi.
Honestly, of all people, Kakyoin's not a bad choice. He likes Kakyoin. He's smart and just shitty enough, and he likes that in him. Anyway, he doesn't really have the energy to gesture or anything, so he just mumbles:] Not my fuckin' fault.
[Kakyoin gestures to Abbacchio just lying there as if to say, what kind of idiot do you think I am, look what you've done. Polnareff. My guy.
He sits down and reaches to take Abbacchio's hand, since who knows, maybe he has Death By Touch Disease and everyone who tries will make it worse. Baby steps. It feels perfectly normal to him, soooo.
[When Kakyoin takes his hand, he almost feels immediately better. He lets out a relieved sigh, squeezing Kakyoin's hand. Sorry bud, but he needs this.]
[So fuck you too? He flips him off, but, like, in a slightly worried way. Like, he's irritating, but also concerned. There's a lot going on right now.]
Seriously, you should go to a doctor or something.
[Is he just here to hold hands? Yes. Is he going to pick sides? Also yes. You fucked up, big guy. He shifts, to uhhh, put his other hand... on Abbacchio's forehead? You know, like you'd do for someone who's sick in a normal way. He's trying.]
[Polnareff also in return receives possibly the laziest middle finger that's ever happened. His free hand does not even lift from the bed anymore since it flopped down after pointing, he's just flipping you off from the mattress.
The hand on his forehead is okay. It does something. Still infinitely better than being drained like a battery.]
Yeah? I should go to a cuddle doctor? That what you're saying?
[Abbacchio appropriately grumbles now instead of tired mumbling at least.]
Seriously. Something is wrong with you. That's never happened before with anyone else.
[Admittedly, this is probably his fault. But on the other hand, fuck you both? He scowls back at them, but, like, there's only so long he can argue a losing position.]
Maybe it's the combo. The two of us, y'know? Or--
Hey, c'mere when you're done with him.
[Because now it's experiment time, and he's holding out his hand for Kakyoin, just to see if it works. Or, no, this is taking too long: he just puts his palm flat against the back of his neck, that'll definitely not backfire in any way.]
[Hey, what the fuck?? He's lucky Kakyoin has no arms free to elbow him in the throat, because that's his instinct. The Chroma coming from his hands on Abbacchio is there, he can feel it, he knows what that is - so Polnareff slapping impotently at his neck (more or less) feels off immediately.
He ducks his head, trying to lean away from that nasty hand.]
[So it is him, then. He is patient zero. Is this how plague victims feel? Probably. With unfeeling loved ones and a society built upon the very thing he cannot give, how tragic, how awful, no one has suffered as he has suffered.
Or, possibly, it'll wear off in like two days just like every other cycle around here. At least he takes his hands back and keeps them to himself.]
So now what, I never touch anybody until all the squids are dead or whatever?
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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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Never... been a problem before. I dunno...
[Now his eyes close and he sighs, trying to fight off a yawn.]
Yeah. Yeah get someone else... Don't care who.
1/2
Whatever. He keeps an eye out on the figure half-asleep beneath him before grabbing his phone, going down midway through his contact list. He's smart. He'll be mean about it, but whatever, he'll also get shit done.]
it's me, 2/2
Hmm. Look at this mess.]
How did you manage to do it wrong?
[that's for both of u, what the fuck]
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Honestly, of all people, Kakyoin's not a bad choice. He likes Kakyoin. He's smart and just shitty enough, and he likes that in him. Anyway, he doesn't really have the energy to gesture or anything, so he just mumbles:] Not my fuckin' fault.
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[The black lipstick on his mouth suggests otherwise, but, like, whatever, it was one kiss.]
Just spoon him or whatever?
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He sits down and reaches to take Abbacchio's hand, since who knows, maybe he has Death By Touch Disease and everyone who tries will make it worse. Baby steps. It feels perfectly normal to him, soooo.
Three... two...] Anything?
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Yeah. That's better.
[Tiredly, he points at Polnareff.] Fuck you, man.
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[So fuck you too? He flips him off, but, like, in a slightly worried way. Like, he's irritating, but also concerned. There's a lot going on right now.]
Seriously, you should go to a doctor or something.
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[Is he just here to hold hands? Yes. Is he going to pick sides? Also yes. You fucked up, big guy. He shifts, to uhhh, put his other hand... on Abbacchio's forehead? You know, like you'd do for someone who's sick in a normal way. He's trying.]
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The hand on his forehead is okay. It does something. Still infinitely better than being drained like a battery.]
Yeah? I should go to a cuddle doctor? That what you're saying?
[Abbacchio appropriately grumbles now instead of tired mumbling at least.]
Seriously. Something is wrong with you. That's never happened before with anyone else.
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Maybe it's the combo. The two of us, y'know? Or--
Hey, c'mere when you're done with him.
[Because now it's experiment time, and he's holding out his hand for Kakyoin, just to see if it works. Or, no, this is taking too long: he just puts his palm flat against the back of his neck, that'll definitely not backfire in any way.]
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He ducks his head, trying to lean away from that nasty hand.]
Are you serious? Stop it.
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[So it is him, then. He is patient zero. Is this how plague victims feel? Probably. With unfeeling loved ones and a society built upon the very thing he cannot give, how tragic, how awful, no one has suffered as he has suffered.
Or, possibly, it'll wear off in like two days just like every other cycle around here. At least he takes his hands back and keeps them to himself.]
So now what, I never touch anybody until all the squids are dead or whatever?
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