[ He knows, of course, that he'd been asked for, and given, his permission for this - this - this whatever this is - to continue. He hadn't intended it as a carte blanche, but it's not as if Furuya needs his permission to do whatever he wants, given the chance.
He shifts to look back as Furuya starts squirming again, huffing through his nose. Why is that he's usually perfectly happy to laze around except for when he's sharing a bed with Masamune? He opens his mouth to ask if he's going to be able to go five minutes between moving all over when he's interrupted.
They've been skirting that - this - since Furuya refused to move when poked away. The urge had burned low and sweet in his joints, and he'd let it simmer, like he lets a lot of things simmer, but the cover's off now. Usually the moments he refuses to put a name to are moments of passion, spurred by the stickiness of their rivalry and the sexual tension that doesn't dissipate because they're sharing an apartment. This... this is none of the above, a soft buzz more than an electric shock.
His hand slides slow up the line of Furuya's arm from his elbow in the wake of it, fingers tracing the seam where his sleeve stops, and his grip tightens on Furuya's bicep, enough to yank him back from retreating. Like hell he's letting Furuya start something like that and leave it unfinished.
He's unhurried as he returns the favor, unsatisfied with the bare minimum in this as in everything else. ]
no subject
He shifts to look back as Furuya starts squirming again, huffing through his nose. Why is that he's usually perfectly happy to laze around except for when he's sharing a bed with Masamune? He opens his mouth to ask if he's going to be able to go five minutes between moving all over when he's interrupted.
They've been skirting that - this - since Furuya refused to move when poked away. The urge had burned low and sweet in his joints, and he'd let it simmer, like he lets a lot of things simmer, but the cover's off now. Usually the moments he refuses to put a name to are moments of passion, spurred by the stickiness of their rivalry and the sexual tension that doesn't dissipate because they're sharing an apartment. This... this is none of the above, a soft buzz more than an electric shock.
His hand slides slow up the line of Furuya's arm from his elbow in the wake of it, fingers tracing the seam where his sleeve stops, and his grip tightens on Furuya's bicep, enough to yank him back from retreating. Like hell he's letting Furuya start something like that and leave it unfinished.
He's unhurried as he returns the favor, unsatisfied with the bare minimum in this as in everything else. ]