[Arms drawing him closer, he blinks at the back wall, going without any effort whatsoever, not expecting it. This leaves him with hands planted gently on chest, fingertips resting where clavicles are hidden, and unless he's to unwind his legs, furled as they are now, in this position, those heels don't rest on the floor at all. While no mind-reader or genius, he's still had to be acutely observant, to anticipate needs and reactions, and to adjust himself to expectations. Miyuki has his full scrutiny, with nothing else to deviate his attention.
He can see that he's at least trying to see if there's any changes in the screen plastered within the wall, and he watches him, and wonders what he's thinking, how much he secretly resents what's occurred between them. The younger's gaze strays beyond him to look as well, also privately wishing for something different, a Go Home Now would be good.
For his thirst for approval, of appreciation, of being liked for who he isâthat's the thing, too, isn't it? That he thinks he's not himself without thisâeven with all the horribleness that encases his sincerity, he's only thirteen. That desperation is utterly pure and raw, and he will always want the approval of anyone, especially someone older. He feels like he's spread his hands open, and said as much as he can without actually doing so, This is all I am, and it's all I can do, and I really hope it pleases you. Who knows when they'll go, who knows how long they'll be stuck together, and deprived as he is for affection, barely knowing at all the wholesome sort he should have had for much longer than he did, he feels hinged on convincing Miyuki to be fond of him in some way. What would be worse than being trapped with someone who detests him? It's different than the way he sometimes lays still, staring at the back of Claude's head, begging him inly to just look over his shoulder at him, and yet the parallels are undeniable.
If he could peel back all the layers of his neediness, he'd sneer at himself, but as it is, he only and simply wants that.
Miyuki is distraught, and Alois stares at tie again, pondering how to soothe. Being strangled to unconsciousness is not something he wants again, but the desire to die is ever-present. He's afraid of how much it hurts, but if he could close eyes, feel nothing, never wake up again, he'd do it. As far as he's concerned, there's no Claude any longer, and so his single motivation is seeing Miyuki through this, who is a fairy-tale of a boy, with his determination for life. For all of his liveliness, Alois is tired of living, of losing, of having hope for nothing, and without love. What's the point: without love?
He is apprehensive about doing something to upset Miyuki again, to worsen his repulsion, make him angry. Stomach in knots of being comparable to those he's encountered, as he's awful enough as he is, right, he doesn't want to be like them. Nothing like them. Will Miyuki see him that way? Someone has to seize and stay on a flow, though. They're getting nowhere with their stuttering.
And, from his end, the most highlighted instruction is to seduce gang leader. Maybe that's their current dilemma, he's not doing a good enough job. Tears sting in his eyes for a moment while he tries to stifle the self-loathing that wants to erupt out of him, and he's able to blink it back before it starts to drop down his face. Shaky breath let, he summons the girl out again, everything he's been taught.
Palms press down over fabric, sliding down torso as much as they're able, and Alois and girl lean up to jaw, quietly murmuring against the skin there.]
You've mistakenly thought I was sweet at all. [And she dots the edge of the gangster's face, the top of his neck with drowsy kisses, readjusting legs little by little to finally be sitting astride his lap.] Would you prefer me that wayâsweet? [Clenching into firm rib, fingers roaming idly. All the time, lips fluttering against him, tongue tip swiping between certain words for a fraction of a second.] Want me to give you reasons to call me a good girl, hm? Butter you up and all that. Those the kind of girls you like? I'll be whatever you want, mister, if you just tell me.
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He can see that he's at least trying to see if there's any changes in the screen plastered within the wall, and he watches him, and wonders what he's thinking, how much he secretly resents what's occurred between them. The younger's gaze strays beyond him to look as well, also privately wishing for something different, a Go Home Now would be good.
For his thirst for approval, of appreciation, of being liked for who he isâthat's the thing, too, isn't it? That he thinks he's not himself without thisâeven with all the horribleness that encases his sincerity, he's only thirteen. That desperation is utterly pure and raw, and he will always want the approval of anyone, especially someone older. He feels like he's spread his hands open, and said as much as he can without actually doing so, This is all I am, and it's all I can do, and I really hope it pleases you. Who knows when they'll go, who knows how long they'll be stuck together, and deprived as he is for affection, barely knowing at all the wholesome sort he should have had for much longer than he did, he feels hinged on convincing Miyuki to be fond of him in some way. What would be worse than being trapped with someone who detests him? It's different than the way he sometimes lays still, staring at the back of Claude's head, begging him inly to just look over his shoulder at him, and yet the parallels are undeniable.
If he could peel back all the layers of his neediness, he'd sneer at himself, but as it is, he only and simply wants that.
Miyuki is distraught, and Alois stares at tie again, pondering how to soothe. Being strangled to unconsciousness is not something he wants again, but the desire to die is ever-present. He's afraid of how much it hurts, but if he could close eyes, feel nothing, never wake up again, he'd do it. As far as he's concerned, there's no Claude any longer, and so his single motivation is seeing Miyuki through this, who is a fairy-tale of a boy, with his determination for life. For all of his liveliness, Alois is tired of living, of losing, of having hope for nothing, and without love. What's the point: without love?
He is apprehensive about doing something to upset Miyuki again, to worsen his repulsion, make him angry. Stomach in knots of being comparable to those he's encountered, as he's awful enough as he is, right, he doesn't want to be like them. Nothing like them. Will Miyuki see him that way? Someone has to seize and stay on a flow, though. They're getting nowhere with their stuttering.
And, from his end, the most highlighted instruction is to seduce gang leader. Maybe that's their current dilemma, he's not doing a good enough job. Tears sting in his eyes for a moment while he tries to stifle the self-loathing that wants to erupt out of him, and he's able to blink it back before it starts to drop down his face. Shaky breath let, he summons the girl out again, everything he's been taught.
Palms press down over fabric, sliding down torso as much as they're able, and Alois and girl lean up to jaw, quietly murmuring against the skin there.]
You've mistakenly thought I was sweet at all. [And she dots the edge of the gangster's face, the top of his neck with drowsy kisses, readjusting legs little by little to finally be sitting astride his lap.] Would you prefer me that wayâsweet? [Clenching into firm rib, fingers roaming idly. All the time, lips fluttering against him, tongue tip swiping between certain words for a fraction of a second.] Want me to give you reasons to call me a good girl, hm? Butter you up and all that. Those the kind of girls you like? I'll be whatever you want, mister, if you just tell me.