[None of his anxiety exactly subsides as Miyuki deserts the bed to rummage through drawers. He's positive he intends to make good on what was supposed to be a joke from the beginning, and while the older of the two searches wordlessly, Alois internally justifies it for Miyuki. If he were to go on with it.
Upon his inquiring, he looks up belatedly, as ever like he's coming back into himself from some place else. If there's any hint of his not wanting to be there, even with the act he put on before, it must be this. He can't stop resigning himself to his thoughts, his private reasonings, what-ifs, doubts.]
Something... [gaze drifting away, while he seriously considers it. But all he can come with is something gruesome and frightening, even for him, and so deeply private he could never say it aloud. Any other time he remembers getting off, it was only frustrating, not-so-happy, happy accidents. He thinks he's filth, and won't touch himself if he can help it. He's still a healthy boy, though, and those times he can recall are when dreams probably conjured up something vulgar for him and he awoke in such a state, and had to urge the sensation away.
His expression morphs into guilt again, because if he could think of a lie, they could simply pursue this. But he doesn't know what to say. What gets normal boys off? Tits?
That must be it. Even Jim remembers seeing boys only a couple years older than him peeping at the town prostitute getting dressed.]
—T- tits? [It pipes out more earnest than he intends, and with a tone as though he's about to be graded.]
no subject
Upon his inquiring, he looks up belatedly, as ever like he's coming back into himself from some place else. If there's any hint of his not wanting to be there, even with the act he put on before, it must be this. He can't stop resigning himself to his thoughts, his private reasonings, what-ifs, doubts.]
Something... [gaze drifting away, while he seriously considers it. But all he can come with is something gruesome and frightening, even for him, and so deeply private he could never say it aloud. Any other time he remembers getting off, it was only frustrating, not-so-happy, happy accidents. He thinks he's filth, and won't touch himself if he can help it. He's still a healthy boy, though, and those times he can recall are when dreams probably conjured up something vulgar for him and he awoke in such a state, and had to urge the sensation away.
His expression morphs into guilt again, because if he could think of a lie, they could simply pursue this. But he doesn't know what to say. What gets normal boys off? Tits?
That must be it. Even Jim remembers seeing boys only a couple years older than him peeping at the town prostitute getting dressed.]
—T- tits? [It pipes out more earnest than he intends, and with a tone as though he's about to be graded.]