Strictly speaking? Since I haven't eaten bacon for fourteen years I'd probably just 360-degree vomit in technicolor. But that's beside the point, we're not using real Facts in our fake argument about snowshoes and bacon.
zetes will appear in the doorway in a minute, after he's freed himself from the nest of blankets he'd constructed on their bed in which to dream about bacon. it's quite possible he's wearing one of sebastian's shirts, judging from the way the seam of the shoulders droops low and the fact that the black sleeves have been cuffed twice. his yellow boxers are doing little to keep his now chilly legs warm. this is all your fault, sebastian.
perhaps more important than his clothing, though, is the way he cups his hands over his ears, attempting to block out the sound like it may actually be causing harm. obviously, it isn't, and sebastian already knows that zetes really has nothing against the sax tunes on a good day, but he's playing a part here!!! he's committed!!! sort of. ]
Make it stop before you give me a boner. [ zetes calls over the wailing, doing his very best—and almost immediately failing—to wear a face that conveys what a disaster that would be. clearly, saxophones are too sexy. ]
[ sebastian isn't actually obliged to combat an instaboner of his own, wrought by glimpsing zetes half dressed and wearing his shirt, but it's. kind of a near thing. so he merrily accepts every ounce of blame available, especially since he is quite capable of eliminating any chilly leg concerns with his emanating aura like unto a furnace. meanwhile, since he has not been dissuaded from his incorrigibly old-fashioned taste in music in the last four years, he remains totally daunt-free, letting the particularly saxophoney part currently warbling away continue until it reaches its end, gazing at zetes with huge dark eyes, all scandalized innocence.
lalala dum dee doo, he's just going to put on another record...... and of course he has memorized precisely where to drop the needle, because. you know, they've required this precise location a lot. ]
How about now? Any errant boners cooperatively deflating?
[ zetes has stubbornly decided to keep standing there with his hands over his ears, staring sebastian and his huge, dark, beautiful eyes down with what is almost convincing exasperation minus the upward tug of his mouth. he takes some measure of satisfaction from the quick, near imperceptible once-over sebastian gives him and his striking choice of attire. he swears he doesn't actually wear sebastian's clothes just to get a rise—ha ha get it—out of him. or y'know. not only.
he makes the mistake of freeing some of the tension on his ears when sebastian moves to change the record because he's weak; his hands drop to his sides after only the first couple beats, looking at sebastian like he's been betrayed but he's honestly completely fine with it. ]
That's not fair. [ because it's not!!! even if this song pitches him straight into the depths of love and therefore his aptitude for being annoyed is crippled tenfold. ] I was trying so hard to be all irritated.
[ the eyeroll this earns is both loving and loling, so ideally that
ameliorates any possible sting. if not, perhaps it will help that
sebastian's once-overing has morphed into like five-overing during the
course of zetes' reaction. he pats the couch cushion next to him
invitingly, abandoning entirely the Lenny Bruce biography he was reading to
the nearest piece of furniture ( which is a coffee table bearing a
completed thousand piece jigsaw puzzle under glass, naturally ). ]
As a professionally irritated person, I advise you not to waste your time.
If you were really bothered you'd be trying to silver-lining it to
death right now. Like, "well, at least this compulsory hard-on gives me a
convenient place to hang laundry."
[ ...okay maybe not that, specifically, but his point
stands!! like some other things around here! damn you and your sexy
saxophone stylings, mark sandman. meanwhile sebastian's bedroom eyes are
taking over his entire face, just casually. ]
But okay, I concede your point about unfairness. [especially since
it is not as if he himself is unaffected, like. at all. ] Want me
to make it up to you?
[ yes, any and all stings, whether real or fake, have been successfully taken care of. zetes would be a fool to try and resist the endearing qualities of sebastian eyerolls, just like he'd be a fool to resist the endearing qualities of sebastian's ever strange dick jokes. zetes' face is a contortion of amusement and pure perplexity. he drags a hand through his hair while he ponders that image, fingers leaving it in one of his not uncommon States when he's done with it. ]
You say that like I can be trusted with our laundry. [ to be fair, though, he only made their whites pink once, and it might not have even been an accident. he's since learned to give the few clothing items of sebastian's that are not actually black proper respect. besides, he always uses the good-smelling detergent. ] And anyway, maybe I'm silver-lining it in my head. You don't know.
[ this as he wanders into the room, drawn by that simple pat-pat. there are a lot of silver-linings to choose from in this situation, after all. once he gets close to the couch, he wonders if he should actually sit or just stand there in front of sebastian and look down at him with his own set of bedroom eyes, heavy and expectant. he plucks at one of his folded over sleeves like there's an actual chance that it won't be discarded in what will probably be a few minutes time. ]
I think you should, yeah. [ his smile manages to be both devilish and soft. ]
[ Sebastian laughs one of his raspy, coughy laughs, inspired by both musings about laundry and the novelty of looking up at zetes, bracketing his hips with giant hands up under the ill-fitting shirt. meaning he can skim thumbs back and forth along the waistline of hilariously incongruous yellow boxers. ]
Riiight, okay. You have a point there, skipper. I'd trust you with my life [ aND HIS hEART ], but not our laundry.
[ no one, including sebastian, knows whence emerged the habit of tacking on things like buddy, and bucko, and skipper, and whatever other stock-photo-style masculine tags a person can attach, it just happened. like the tides! or sebastian's particular brand of affection, which is weird, but demonstrably coming from a place where while he doesn't usually bother with like .......tact, it's a stilted kind of tactlessness that despite its complete lack of restraint definitely isn't casual. zetes is the only person he's comfortable addressing with any level of like he isn't talking from the other side of a barbed wire fence.
meanwhile. he eyes the sleeve-plucking, gaze heated. ]
Did you silver lining with "ooh, now I can harass Sebastian with my wardrobe, or significant parts lack thereof"?
[ he may be sliding a hand down to check whether or not zetes escaped the threat of saxophone-induced boner. what, they agree he should be compensated for his suffering! ]
[ it's some kind of miracle that zetes doesn't just turn to happy putty when sebastian laughs, when his hands find familiar purchase around zetes' waist and drag along sensitive skin knowing full well what they're capable of. zetes bracelets one wrist with his fingers, if only to track the slow movement of sebastian's hand along the waistline of his boxers. ]
'Skipper' means I'm in charge, right?
[ the quirk of an eyebrow here, playing at innocent curiosity. sebastian gave him that one!!! though in all honesty, being in charge isn't really a concept that holds much weight for him, anyway. there is the fact that sebastian is particular about how he does all things ever. but perhaps more important than that, zetes has little doubt that he can place himself in sebastian's hands and have expectations met to stunning success.
the promise of which can be found in the way the hand zetes doesn't have a tender grip on slips lower, finding what is clear evidence that zetes did not, in fact, escape the thread of a saxophone-induced boner—surprising exactly no one—with a grazing palm just light enough to tantalize. zetes breathes what's either a little laugh or a sigh of short-lived relief, chin tilted up, resigned to his fate. ]
No. [ he says simply, head lolling just enough to the side that he can look at sebastian with all the fondness one person should be allowed to radiate, still somewhat distracted by the song in the background. ] I was thinking "at least now Sebastian will notice these boxers may actually be the perfect gold finch yellow," but I like yours. Maybe I'll bump that one to the top of the list.
Edited (remembers how to words ) 2017-11-11 04:48 (UTC)
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1. i said there might be more
does a happy dance
twirls u!!
dips!!!
[ intentionally misses the point. he's not a troll, what are you talking about. ]
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[ sebastian refuses to dignify this trolling with anything but seriousness!!!!!! ]
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[ counter-attack. ]
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[ sebastian, you don't even eat bacon. ]
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fake fan.
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Meaning I'll waste away while we're stuck in the wilderness. Because we didn't pack the snowshoes.
1/2
2/2
Re: 2/2
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[ that's all he gets for a minute, then: ]
but ok.
compromise.
i'll bring carrots, too.
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[ how serious is he.
more than you'd think tbh ]
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trust me, i know what turns you on by now.
compromises and saxophones.
[ how serious is he. more than you'd think tbh!!! ]
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zetes will appear in the doorway in a minute, after he's freed himself from the nest of blankets he'd constructed on their bed in which to dream about bacon. it's quite possible he's wearing one of sebastian's shirts, judging from the way the seam of the shoulders droops low and the fact that the black sleeves have been cuffed twice. his yellow boxers are doing little to keep his now chilly legs warm. this is all your fault, sebastian.
perhaps more important than his clothing, though, is the way he cups his hands over his ears, attempting to block out the sound like it may actually be causing harm. obviously, it isn't, and sebastian already knows that zetes really has nothing against the sax tunes on a good day, but he's playing a part here!!! he's committed!!! sort of. ]
Make it stop before you give me a boner. [ zetes calls over the wailing, doing his very best—and almost immediately failing—to wear a face that conveys what a disaster that would be. clearly, saxophones are too sexy. ]
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lalala dum dee doo, he's just going to put on another record...... and of course he has memorized precisely where to drop the needle, because. you know, they've required this precise location a lot. ]
How about now? Any errant boners cooperatively deflating?
[ smooch. ]
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he makes the mistake of freeing some of the tension on his ears when sebastian moves to change the record because he's weak; his hands drop to his sides after only the first couple beats, looking at sebastian like he's been betrayed but he's honestly completely fine with it. ]
That's not fair. [ because it's not!!! even if this song pitches him straight into the depths of love and therefore his aptitude for being annoyed is crippled tenfold. ] I was trying so hard to be all irritated.
[ no, there are no boners deflating now. ]
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[ the eyeroll this earns is both loving and loling, so ideally that ameliorates any possible sting. if not, perhaps it will help that sebastian's once-overing has morphed into like five-overing during the course of zetes' reaction. he pats the couch cushion next to him invitingly, abandoning entirely the Lenny Bruce biography he was reading to the nearest piece of furniture ( which is a coffee table bearing a completed thousand piece jigsaw puzzle under glass, naturally ). ]
As a professionally irritated person, I advise you not to waste your time. If you were really bothered you'd be trying to silver-lining it to death right now. Like, "well, at least this compulsory hard-on gives me a convenient place to hang laundry."
[ ...okay maybe not that, specifically, but his point stands!! like some other things around here! damn you and your sexy saxophone stylings, mark sandman. meanwhile sebastian's bedroom eyes are taking over his entire face, just casually. ]
But okay, I concede your point about unfairness. [especially since it is not as if he himself is unaffected, like. at all. ] Want me to make it up to you?
[ that sound is crackling wickedness, yes. ]
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You say that like I can be trusted with our laundry. [ to be fair, though, he only made their whites pink once, and it might not have even been an accident. he's since learned to give the few clothing items of sebastian's that are not actually black proper respect. besides, he always uses the good-smelling detergent. ] And anyway, maybe I'm silver-lining it in my head. You don't know.
[ this as he wanders into the room, drawn by that simple pat-pat. there are a lot of silver-linings to choose from in this situation, after all. once he gets close to the couch, he wonders if he should actually sit or just stand there in front of sebastian and look down at him with his own set of bedroom eyes, heavy and expectant. he plucks at one of his folded over sleeves like there's an actual chance that it won't be discarded in what will probably be a few minutes time. ]
I think you should, yeah. [ his smile manages to be both devilish and soft. ]
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Riiight, okay. You have a point there, skipper. I'd trust you with my life [ aND HIS hEART ], but not our laundry.
[ no one, including sebastian, knows whence emerged the habit of tacking on things like buddy, and bucko, and skipper, and whatever other stock-photo-style masculine tags a person can attach, it just happened. like the tides! or sebastian's particular brand of affection, which is weird, but demonstrably coming from a place where while he doesn't usually bother with like .......tact, it's a stilted kind of tactlessness that despite its complete lack of restraint definitely isn't casual. zetes is the only person he's comfortable addressing with any level of like he isn't talking from the other side of a barbed wire fence.
meanwhile. he eyes the sleeve-plucking, gaze heated. ]
Did you silver lining with "ooh, now I can harass Sebastian with my wardrobe, or significant parts lack thereof"?
[ he may be sliding a hand down to check whether or not zetes escaped the threat of saxophone-induced boner. what, they agree he should be compensated for his suffering! ]
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'Skipper' means I'm in charge, right?
[ the quirk of an eyebrow here, playing at innocent curiosity. sebastian gave him that one!!! though in all honesty, being in charge isn't really a concept that holds much weight for him, anyway. there is the fact that sebastian is particular about how he does all things ever. but perhaps more important than that, zetes has little doubt that he can place himself in sebastian's hands and have expectations met to stunning success.
the promise of which can be found in the way the hand zetes doesn't have a tender grip on slips lower, finding what is clear evidence that zetes did not, in fact, escape the thread of a saxophone-induced boner—surprising exactly no one—with a grazing palm just light enough to tantalize. zetes breathes what's either a little laugh or a sigh of short-lived relief, chin tilted up, resigned to his fate. ]
No. [ he says simply, head lolling just enough to the side that he can look at sebastian with all the fondness one person should be allowed to radiate, still somewhat distracted by the song in the background. ] I was thinking "at least now Sebastian will notice these boxers may actually be the perfect gold finch yellow," but I like yours. Maybe I'll bump that one to the top of the list.
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