bakerstreet | taken from a prompt on rpanons

taken from a prompt on rpanons

TRAPPED TOGETHER
a fuck or die smut meme

You don't remember falling asleep, but now you're waking up, and it's nowhere familiar. The room is white from top to bottom, clean and sterile. There is no visible door or other means of escape. Fluorescent lights embedded in the ceiling provide the only light.

The room is mostly empty, but not entirely. A large monitor sits recessed into the wall opposite you. A chest of drawers sits on the wall to your left, and a closet in the wall to your right. You are sitting on a large, white bed, and you are not alone. Do you know this person? Are they a friend, an enemy, a lover? Or are they a complete stranger, someone you've never met before in your life. There is a strange collar around their neck, and with a start, you realize you have one on around your throat as well. Try as you might, you cannot remove it.

Whatever the case, the person you are stuck with is awakening as well, but before you two have time to so much as introduce yourselves, the monitor comes to life, and text appears on the screen.

YOU'RE FINALLY AWAKE.
THE GAMES WILL NOW BEGIN.
DO AS YOU ARE TOLD AND YOU WILL LEAVE ALIVE.
ONCE WE'RE DONE WITH YOU, THAT IS.
IGNORE YOUR ORDERS AND DIE.
DO NOT ATTEMPT TO CHEAT. WE WILL KNOW.
AND PLEASE, TRY TO HAVE FUN.

The message remains for a minute, just to make sure you both have time to read it, before fading away. Moments later, your first orders appear. Ignore them, and your collars will begin to constrict until you comply. Finish, and new orders will eventually appear. Between the chest of drawers and the closet beside the bed, everything you need is provided to you to perform, including toys, tools, special medications of various effects, and even food and drink.

Is your collar getting tighter? Better get busy. Remember, they're watching.

HOW TO PLAY

Comment with your character information and preferences in the subject, as usual.
OOC communication is extremely important in this meme, the orders your characters are given are determined between the two of you. They can be tame, or they can be extreme. Plan out what you want to play ahead of time, or surprise each other, just get a feel for what each of you want! Leaving a kinks list and/or an example of what kind of orders you like in your comment is a terrific idea.
Keep on going as long as you please! If you really want, your characters can escape after a single smooch, or they can be going at it all day long.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

[ Miyuki stares at him for a long moment, the genuine fear he sees melting at the edges of his demeanor and making him ease back, despite himself.

Whatever he thinks is best, huh. No pressure there... ]

... I think you're too scared.

[ Of the situation, and possibly of Miyuki now, too. He could kick himself if he didn't think a breaking point wasn't inevitable, now. They couldn't keep up an unending cycle of trying and failing and if there's a better, faster way to finish this, then he'll do it. Miyuki shifts himself to step off the left side of the bed and heads for the drawers. Just the distance and movement helps him clear his head, and for the first few drawers he searches silently. ]

Do you touch yourself? [ He questions, finally. ] If there's something that usually gets you off, it could help.

[ Just in case he doesn't find anything. The drawers so far have been relatively empty and what he does find isn't anything the kid needs to know about. ]

[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.]

[ Miyuki stops entirely just to turn back to the boy and show him how little he trusts that answer, leveling the flattest of looks at him. ]

You sure it's not "lying"?

[ Ah, but then he'd be hard by now! His words cut a bit with obvious annoyance for the boy's insistence on making things difficult in a dire situation. ]

I don't care if you like guys, you know. [ Jeez, even if he was touchy about that, he'd have to abandon that mode of thought in the face of death. Miyuki turns back to the drawers with a muttered: ] I kinda figured.

[ Or at least that's how it seemed when the boy was trying to touch his cock voluntarily. No — he did explain he didn't truly want to touch him, didn't he. From what he'd said, it seems like some kind of weird coping mechanism. There was not enough time to care or suss it out, but now that Miyuki thinks about it...

He's still confused, and is unwilling to ferret out an answer from a source that might just lie to him again. But in case the other boy thinks he's abandoned the backup plan, Miyuki calls back over his shoulder as he opens another drawer: ]

Try again! It doesn't have to be something you think about. If you're sensitive somewhere, we could use that, too.

[ He's trying and mostly succeeding at being as matter of fact about this as possible, but still he has to frown to himself a little there. ]

[Doesn't care if he likes guys? What sort of person is Miyuki? Alois squints at him suspiciously, but his gaze sidles away soon enough, and while Miyuki goes back to looking, the younger boy on the bed idly moves to the edge of it. In his own small way, he tries to help from here, going onto his stomach to hang off the mattress and peer under the bed for a possibly missed escape.

Miyuki's telling him to try again by the time he sits up and onto his own calves, blowing his hair. Sensitive some— It's not the pleasantest of realizations, what occurs to him, and for a moment, he's left either staring owlishly with creeping humility at the back of Miyuki's head or perhaps his very own face if he's looked back. How can he put it where it isn't so... flagrant.

It could be that it's only a little addition, and not at all necessary, which would be, in this situation of no ideal outcomes, the most ideal outcome. This is too much. If Miyuki was a noble visiting the estate before Father's demise, he'd be a cool breeze, unflustered at all, trying to get under Miyuki's skin, if not to embarrass him, then to drive him to violence. Any reaction is nice. But that stupid... The stupid whatever-it-is that's imprisoned them here has left the spotlight on him, and he can hardly stand it. Why didn't they wake at the same time, so he could interrogate Miyuki for similarly shameful answers.

Going over all this in his head, he mechanically reaches over for one of the pillows, slipping the white case off, and then pulling it over his head. There. He can't see Miyuki, so he won't be able to see his expression when he surely says something that's bound to make him vomit.]

The only times I can remember it happening, [shares little Halloween ghost from the bed,] besides waking up to it accidentally, is when I was... very... um. I was overwhelmed, and— [The boy-shape under pillow case hunches, covering his mouth unseen, but must be heard by newly muffled voice:] not able... to think of anything else, because it was too much at one time... And I didn't even like it, it just happened! I didn't mean for it, so whatever you're thinking, stop thinking it right now, I didn't like it.

[ Miyuki hears him moving but doesn't look to see, focused on scouring each inch of each drawer as he moves down the set of them. But again, there isn't much there and it makes it all the more obvious when he doesn't see something useful, when he has to move to the next drawer, and the next, until they dwindle to the last.

Until he's crouching on the floor with nothing but his hands to help him.

Miyuki only looks back over at the sound of shifting fabric, with enough time to see the boy hiding himself. He creates an almost comical image, not unlike a child too young playing hide-and-seek that is unable to imagine the perspective of the seeker and see for themselves they only hide in their head.

It takes but a moment for him to realize the odd action is from embarrassment, and Miyuki allows him it as he listens to the attempt of an explanation. Now, it's all the more important to let him have his securities, as long as Miyuki can extract what he needs. It's not as though the way it muffles the younger boy makes his words any harder to understand than they already are as, for a moment, the vague language leaves Miyuki in complete confusion. But it continues and his brows furrow deeper, as though discerning an outline through a fog. Seeing the beginnings of something incredibly foreign to him, but which he can still recognize.

It was something... beyond the boy's control. Something he didn't want, that was too much for him. That overwhelmed him. ]

... What overwhelmed you?

[ Even his question pulls to free itself from the conclusion he's already drawn, mind lining it all up — the odd vacillations in the boy's behavior and snippets of his words. Though he desperately wishes it wouldn't fit so neatly.

Then he finds himself glancing to the thick words on the monitor again, and yet for the first time as he sees what it truly asks of him. He wasn't to cut a fresh wound, but to revisit one. The moment in which he waits for an answer, heat angry, sick, outraged boils up inside and all the logic of an analytical mind starts to fall apart. That can't be what the boy is saying, can't be what the monitor is ordering him do. This can't be happening.

He doesn't want to fucking believe. ]

Edited (:')) 2017-01-06 23:45 (UTC)

[Once the words are out, he's uncertain what response he's hoping for. Something like, Let's try what we did before. Maybe patience is the key. Whatever the case, this alone is bordering on unbearable, he's never been this close to the truth before. Indirect confession, teetering around it. One can always grow more afraid than they already are, and the realities he's tried to suffocate and bury under the ground with Jim keep rising to meet him. When you don't know who's punishing you, whose temper do you mollify?

His heart is trying to squeeze out of his ears. He wants Claude. He wants to laugh (doesn't, but his respiration shortens and quickens again with the desire) and say, I mean, of course, without me it couldn't have happened, I lead it that way. What I mean is: I didn't actually mean for it to get to that point. It was all about making him (or, him, or him) crazy, completely mad, and stupid! And I did accomplish that much. Miyuki will surely understand that he isn't pathetic, that he unforgivingly urges grown men into tantrums, to lose control. He's in total control, forget what he said before. It was semantics.

Running from the truth isn't quite the same as effectively hiding from it, and he's stalled because he knows he'll keep pushing, not until he hears Alois tell him exactly what vile and grotesque things he gave himself away to. He'll be trapped in a room with someone who's revolted by him, who will be understandably sick by the things this stupid little body responds to.

He's not sure of his next thought, only a little flash of light, but he must've scrambled out of the pillowcase because he sees it soaring at Miyuki now, and he's on his toes on the middle of the bed shrieking,] stop it!

[Leaning only to grab nude pillow corner and chunk it.]

This must be so easy for you! You got to stay in dreams, nobody was asking you—[second, and last, pillow is flung from his hands]—what gets you off! I don't know what does it for me, do you understand? I don't think about it, I don't want to think about it!

[ Naturally, he has the reflexes to but doesn't react to the pillowcase, nor the first pillow that hits him in the leg. Only when the second sails toward him does his arm come up without thought to grab it tight with one hand, wide eyes stuck on the boy and staring unblinkingly at what is too much.

Even harder now he tries to hide, and Miyuki can see him all the clearer for it. The other boy's indignant denial makes it impossible for him to deny that this is a boy too young, who's gone through more than he should have, to whom Miyuki is being ordered to inflict even more. And it's not so surprising the second time the collar begins to tighten around his neck, how fast his mind recoils once more from the act he'd reasoned as necessary before.

His gasp is belated, cuts rough into the air as his chin jerks down and hand abandons its grip on the pillow to hover uselessly by his neck. Miyuki's face contorts, blood rushing and pumping and body vibrating with utter rage, so much that he can barely see anymore than he can breathe. It happens so quick, but is an eternity of pushing away and yanking forth the decision to save them and damn them at the same time. An eternity too short to think it through, to find some way to circumvent it all.

Until he's taking short breaths. Until he's coughing, choked noises he hears as he's staring dizzy at his own hand with fingers clenched down against the floor. There are no more options. He's with a boy who's been altered, who can only remember being aroused in one way, who can't take it when Miyuki has tried a different way. Would he be able to coax a reaction when so far he has earned absolutely nothing? Can they survive anymore failures, with no guarantee of success should they keep trying? When the boy's been rewired in a way he can't hope to understand and has even less hope of figuring out to trigger the desired reaction?

No — he knows what would do that. He knows he has the ability to save them, what to do. And Miyuki has never felt so utterly, pitifully powerless.

Finally, shaky and panting, he rises to his feet to walk a step. Another. To stride forward and lift his face to the boy on the bed with a speed that doubles every step, until he's easily stepping up onto the bed and grabbing the younger boy by the arms to bring him down.

It feels as though he's there, but he's not. His body is as it always is, with firm muscle that goes well beyond just the abdomen that had been felt before. He knows he's holding the other boy down, pinning his legs with his own and ultimately leaving one forearm pressed down across the other's chest to handle what struggle may come from the upper body. He knows he's yanking at clothes enough to grip him again, palming with roughened hand and pumping in the next second, tight and fast and desperate. But through it, he tries to stay focused on the goal.

Miyuki's head is bowed slightly, expression aimed to the boy's torso and still tight with an anger that doesn't match the fear, the dead sadness deep within his eyes that shows he's failing in that, too. ]

[He hates it—instantaneously, those bespectacled widened eyes focused on him, staring him through. And his own fury trips into doubt; he could be imagining it, the truth mirroring itself in Miyuki, but not really existing there; but if he knows, Alois has got to backpedal, to cover it up.

There's no time to figure out how to assuage his imagined worries, to convince him that he's a normal, sound boy, even with his attraction to men, because in less time than he'll ever be prepared for the collar is robbing the other boy of his own oxygen. Alois is only in the process of meaning to go to him, heading to end of bed, not quite lowered but bending at knees, but it's over already: Miyuki's recovering. The younger one hesitates, wondering if he ought to commit, still leave the bed despite his uselessness.

Miyuki stands, and Alois still hesitates, until the second or third step, when he realizes his pace is swiftly increasing. It's then that he's standing again, backing where the head of the bed meets the wall, plans of dropping off one of the upper corners, but Miyuki is quicker than he anticipates, and has his arms, and Alois is giving him one word after the other which are only getting lost in the air between them. Or this seems to be the case, because the older boy is unresponsive.

As he pulls him down where needs him, Alois apologizes, says let's try the first way, apologizes, and apologizes, asks him to not be angry, it's not like this, and he's sorry, sorry, sorry. He tries to twist arms free with the shaky hope of grabbing Miyuki's hands back to move them aside. And before he knows it, his legs are trapped under the other captive's—whose very own self is also trapped in his private way—and his little heart is a canary throwing its feathers and circling the cage of his ribs, under the pressure of Miyuki's arm to keep him still.

He does fight at first; and does it look like a show, considering everything? He's sincere, he's afraid. His legs cannot move, but his lower body still tries to lift, and he grapples with Miyuki's arm, trying to shove, trying to pull. He says, over and over, he'll try it like the first time. But Miyuki's already rubbing, then pumping his hand around him, and it starts painful and he's trembling, but there's no room for Claude, for a certainty in neglect, for abusing himself when mind and nerves have come together to reason out the the intensity of sensation.

Little by a little, steadily, what Miyuki set out to accomplish happens. The signs of it begin with guilt of himself, his anxiousness, his pleading first being concealed by thin arms giving up their struggle to cross over his own visage when the youth beneath him feels himself pulse excitedly within Miyuki's hard and hopeless fingers. A calm overtaking him, the rigidity in his formerly resisting self melting away. All but small, gently panting mouth is left masked, and he shivers under him, warm blood flooding through him to awaken his arousal completely.]

[ He has to ignore it all, and that should be easy enough. He can barely hear above the thumping in his ears, and the physical resistance against him is no match for a body that trains for hours nearly every day.

It should be simple, but there's a tremor in his shoulders with the effort to keep pressing on, like trying to break a hole in the very wall with his bare hands. Trying it like before won't work, he wants to say. It'll be over soon. They'll be finished, and the boy can hate him then, but at least they'll both be free and alive. Miyuki has to remember that, focused and silent beyond his own labored breaths.

It should come as relief as well when the flesh in his hand surely swells, but he can't feel much over the churning in his stomach. It's over. It's over. Please, let it be over.

The light in the room changes after so long, briefly, as the monitor finally switches face. And Miyuki stops, lifts his hand away as he turns his head and catches sight of that thick font. Just a glance, before his gaze drops and he's moving away from the other boy. If he doesn't read, he can't say no, and for the moment that seems to be the case as Miyuki slips lifelessly back over the side of the bed and onto the floor. He sits with his back to it, arms on his bent-up knees for a place to rest his forehead upon. To breathe in and out for a moment and stop his gut from lurching.

There won't be any tears here, as there never are. Not even when he was little, and felt as alone as he does now. Really, he hardly has the right when the boy above and behind him is so much worse off, and Miyuki finds a bit of his voice again to answer the deafening echoes of all the protest he didn't hear. ]

It's not your fault.

[ I'm sorry — except, ten times the sorries thrown at him so desperately wouldn't be enough. He wasn't angry at the boy, and he wishes he could let him know it wasn't out of a sense of retaliation or punishment or whatever the other might interpret it as. Does he understand? Can he, when Miyuki himself is having trouble taking it all in? ]

[It's over, and Alois' cognizance slowly follows these clues: absence of calloused fingers, cool air, the bed shifting when Miyuki removes himself from it. He still lies on his back in that same shamed position, arms crisscrossed, huffing little breaths. His respiring would have an easier time, if not for all his protesting moments before. This is not the worst that can happen. It's not the worst that has happened.

Although, he still feels miserable, like Miyuki suctioned the unbearable truth from him with a syringe, sidestepped his only defense. Why couldn't you play along? But this is blaming him, and Alois knows better, is absolutely certain he knows better. It's an inevitable thing. The soul-removing serenity from before is just as quick to disperse, and he burns his own cheeks with his own mute weeping, and feels all the more stupid for it.

Miyuki says it isn't his fault, and Alois can't comprehend how this plain fact evades his grasp. It is his fault, he thinks with such conviction, that he has to muffle it into a squeak under his palm, turning onto his side. For some time, Alois doesn't bother to glimpse the monitor himself, only lies curled and wonders how to make Miyuki feel as rotten and soured as he does. Not for holding him down, not for ignoring him, because he deserves all of it, but for figuring him out. At heart, Alois isn't this sort of boy. The desire to cause suffering is idle and short-lived, an abstract way to make himself feel better, less weak.

But he knows he cannot wish misery inflicted when Miyuki did what he thought he must, and he himself is to blame. He comes to wondering how long he's been lying there, minutes, longer? He's not home. His breathing's settled itself, and he pushes himself into a slouch, apprehension seeping into him when he catches sight of Miyuki. What is he doing?

What is this, guilt, regret? He can't understand this kind of reaction. There are two of him, bickering: one who wants to kick the back of Miyuki's head, and the other that wants to hold his hand, pat the knuckles, tell him, It's inevitable. I'm disgusting. He hasn't worked at cheering someone up in so long, what does he do? Would it even be possible, what with his own self most likely, and understandably, making him nauseous? He's mulling over whether to ask him what he means by sulking, or suggest a Mother Goose rhyme (they always got Luca giggling), or kicking his head when a glance up leaves the younger boy reading new, pixelated instructions:

WELL DONE. WE'RE ONLY GETTING STARTED.
HAVE YOU NOTICED THE CLOSET YET?
INSIDE IS AN ASSORTMENT OF OUTFITS AND FINERY.
CHOOSE SOMETHING FOR EACH OTHER.

Has Miyuki seen yet? He could've lifted his head and Alois not noticed at any point, but there's been no indication of his choking. He wonders if he ought to wait for him to notice, not wanting to bother him, his identity wound so tightly into being attractive, that he hasn't any idea what he'll do if Miyuki looks back at him and gets sick.

How is he supposed to behave, now.]

Um, [croaked whisper. He clears throat, tries again:] sorry, I— [And, veering away from intended topic, voice urgent]— Oh, please, don't get sick. I know I'm deplorable, I've tried to scour it out, but— I didn't mean for this to happen. [Ah, stupid, he's so stupid, hiccuping into tears again.] Please, please, please don't be revolted by me. Please, don't leave me alone; please, don't think you'd be better off dead than looking at me again.

[ He doesn't understand, or it seems as much as Miyuki listens to the unthinkable — the boy apologizing for being assaulted. For Miyuki assaulting him, forcing himself on him and not even fucking saving them for the trouble. And how he describes it is so similar to his hesitant words under the pillowcase, how he didn't mean for it, that it yanks at the older boy's stomach treacherously hard. Ah, and he almost had it under control...

He's quiet for a long moment more, trying to find the right words as he pulls himself together. ]

I'm not... disgusted by you. I'm disgusted by what I did.

[ It's impossible not to be, no matter how much he reasoned it out. He still feels weak and exhausted and it shows, but when Miyuki turns there's this burn of determination in his eyes that has either sparked again, or hadn't ever gone out. It hurts still, and it really is hard looking at the boy with clothes askew, wet cheeks, and eyes stained red. Because it all reminds Miyuki of what he's done. ]

But we're not dying in here.

[ Not him, not the boy. He stares straight at him now with that conviction, holding back his weakness and holding up his armor for the sake of them both.

And even more, to show his words are not just that and to give the boy greater faith in him, he finally looks over to the screen and reads the new instructions. It's... surprisingly easy, really. So innocent the heaviness inside of him is kicked up in a little jump, his lips even managing the slightest of upturns when he glances back to the other boy. ]

Wanna go first? [ He can handle being the one undressing better than him, Miyuki thinks — and there he goes, already thinking again. He's still sitting on the floor, face looking up to the younger boy but body only half-turned his way. He gestures to the closet with his eyes and a short movement of his head, good-natured, gentle teasing attempted in his voice, ]

Pick something nice out for me.

By— [but he stops his question before it's barely begun, caught off guard by the spirited little fire looking out at him from Miyuki's gaze. His own dampened eyes turning to surprised-nervous-hopeful moons in response. For a little more, he's left staring with a kind timid buoyancy at the older boy on the floor. An unfledged optimism born out of relief that perhaps he won't be ill, picking up scraps of that amiability, intentionally or unintentionally scattered. He sits tight in himself, however, still wary of the lack of sick, even warier of the lack of worsened violence. Casual, gentle, friendliness is brand new, and frightening for it.

His gaze is delayed in following Miyuki's gesturing, and he blinks at the closest from the bed, gradually catching up with himself and Miyuki both.] O-okay. [Bit firmer,] okay. [He crawls to the edge of the bed, takes a moment or so to press wrists to his eyes, finally releases a restrained breath, fixes himself as best he's able. On the way to the closest, he hesitates for a quick second to look back at Miyuki, like he's trying to piece together a mysterious puzzle, and then he's gone, disappearing inside. The door left open reveals a mirror.

Inside the closet is lined with clothes, costumes, accessories hanging from either side, and from brief examination, it appears one side is supplied with things in his own size and the other, considering the clothes are lengthier or bigger, must be for Miyuki. An additional creepiness, to be sure. Less than a moment later, articles start sailing out of the closet—rejects, though he does dump some on the floor, too. This is simply habitual by now.]

Do you think we could be in Hell? [he calls, chattily from the closet. It would make everything a good deal less shocking, he thinks to himself. But if he's in Hell, then Claude broke— Something catches his eye at exactly the most opportune time. Either he speaks up again before Miyuki has time to answer, or he's interrupting him:] What! What— [he stumbles back into the room with half-hearted, but no less genuine laughter.]

You have to see, I can't believe my eyes, I've never seen—[here, he holds up... a vest with iridescent sequins,] look! Can you believe it? It's like something off a mermaid. [What!] You don't think it is, do you! I'll be inconsolable if they're slaughtering mermaids!

[ Miyuki doesn't see him look back. He's already turned his head away to take as many of the precious moments of privacy he can to bolster that level of okayness he presented, but which he's not actually at quite yet. He does stand after a moment, though, calmly walking around the end of the bed to perch on the right side while the closet spits color out onto the floor of the otherwise monochrome room.

Hell... ? That would explain some things. But then, they needn't worry about death anymore, and all his decisions thus far could have been far easier. Not that he thinks it impossible that he wound up in hell, but Miyuki has some trouble subscribing to the theory. He can feel the warmth of his own thighs through his pants now, as his hands rest there, and it seems to him like he's still alive and this is real.

Further thoughts are interrupted by an exclamation, and the closet spitting out a giddy boy along with the next piece of clothing. Miyuki just stares at him, his words harder to take in than the glittering travesty he lifts up for his appraisal. ]

Mermaids... ? [ His voice wavers on the word, as though saying it for the first time. Then his weak smile cracks up at one side, spreads across, makes it to his eyes, and —

There are the tears, only able to come out when he's laughing. Though they don't quite escape and remain stinging at his eyes as Miyuki clutches his stomach, shaking with contained hysterics that flood his tension-tight body with relief. ]

Y- yeah, that'd be awful. They're already an endangered species~!

[ Oh god, mermaids. He can't stop laughing. It doesn't help that, fashion unsavvy as he is, even Miyuki can see that thing is so offensively garish it's funny. ]

You... you better dump it. I don't wanna wear mermaid skin.

[ Snrk. ]

You laugh, [Alois is saying, holding the horrible thing up to face himself for a second inspection,] but it really would be possibly the worst thing. One of them, at any rate, [while slipping sadly-loud vest on, little satin bowerbird, over his button down. And back into the closet he wanders, thoughtlessly taking his time. There's plenty of choice of things he's never seen before, and he wants a good look.

Piles are made, awed gasps are peeped, and some minutes later—longer than ten, at least—he's revealing himself again, vest and all. Only this time, he also has on white rabbit ears, and behind those are felt pale antlers with fake flowers, and somewhere between them are sparkly alien boppers. And, he's draped a sheer scarf embedded with bits of glitter over his shoulders, and added on small bat-wings in the back.

What he intends to share this time hides poorly behind his back—it's too large, soft yellow, massive skirt, tulle underneath...]

I've narrowed it down to two options, [he shares, proudly, rocking once on heels.] You're ready to see them, right?

[ Miyuki is content to allow him to have his fun, as it does seem like he is from the sound of things. Meanwhile, he wipes at his eyes and winds down from his bout of laughter. Eventually he flops back on the bed, arms behind his head and eyes to the ceiling, settling in with a sigh and a lingering smile.

At some point his eyes shut and for a while his mind stays surprisingly but blessedly blank, something about the whiplash protecting it from lingering too heavily on their reality. That is, until he notices the noises from the closet coming to an end. Miyuki pops an eye open and tips his chin to his collar to see — wait. Both eyes open now, he needs to sit up and really look to grasp what exactly he's seeing. ]

I thought I was...

[ He's not so sure anymore. The assortment of, uh. Interesting treasures the boy's unearthed from the closet's recesses and adorned himself with, plus the very un-hidden thing he has behind him is making Miyuki rethink that. He said two options, though, didn't he? Is the other one still in the closet... ?

And does that make its potential more terrifying or not. Hm.

But he's a brave boy. Whatever terrors the other boy's chosen for him, he'll face with head held high! Or, well. A wry smile as he takes a breath, lets it out like this is some great ordeal, stands and crosses his arms. ]

Alright, let's see them.

[He fidgets while he waits, shoulders practically scrunching, lips pressed hard in a smile. Miyuki gives the go-ahead, and Alois swings a monstrous gown in front of him—] Ta-da—!! [Sing-song, of course.

It's so massive, he can't even lift the skirt off the floor; and the shoulders are puffed and the sleeves are long, there's lace at the chest and a very high collar.]

It's lovely, isn't it, [chirps cheeky little thing, less than serious.] Since I'm so thoughtful, I tried to pick the one with the most modest potential. Well?

[ The back of his hand goes to his mouth, eyes smiling above it as he snickers for the obvious reveal. ]

It'd definitely cover everything! [ The younger boy could probably get lost in its skirt, and the thought triggers another chuckle. ] I'm not sure it's my color, though~

[ Or his anything, really. What is he, a Disney princess? ~~Nevermind being woken from a sleep by unsolicited physical affection.~~ It'd probably miraculously fit him if he tried it on, but the broad shoulders and sideburns would kinda detract from the look.

He asks, hopefully and yet skeptically: ] What's option two?

Don't like it, then? [pinching lips at it, but the unfortunate thing is immediately forgotten, promptly left with other rejects on the floor. Poor dress, it isn't its fault it was created that way. Into the closet he goes, rummaging briefly, and returning with pieces to make a suit: coat and vest sharing a hanger, pants alone, dress shirt neatly packed into plastic box.]

Here you are, [he states, holding them up with a cautious, but serene smile.] I'll get you a tie, shoes, and belt, too.

[ What will he do if the kid comes back with something worse? Ah, who knew playing dress-up could be so harrowing...

But what he offers isn't some poofy gown. Miyuki takes the hanger, pants, and box. It's... a suit? Just a suit. Just a suit — though truthfully, the sleek black and fine fabric is nicer than anything he's ever worn, and it leaves him a bit lost for words. ]

Thanks... [ Miyuki finds them a moment after, along with a genuine smile for the younger boy. ] I think this one'll fit me a lot better.

[ He leaves him to go retrieve the other items, then, turning to set the pieces down on the bed. Again, there's a second to take in the novelty before he opens up the plastic box for the shirt first. His t-shirt is pulled off, revealing quite a bit of definition, before it's replaced with crisp white. Then he's pulling his pants down, left in black boxer-briefs and the socks he came in for a short while before his legs, too, are covered again with straight black and nary a wrinkle. He adjusts the waist before closing up the front, still faced away from the closet. ]

[Alois comes to a standstill in the closet threshold, dress shoes hooked by the heels with the index and middle digits of one hand, and belt and tie draped primly over his other arm, in time to see that definition flexing gingerly, naturally, while the older youth moves to get the shirt from one arm to the next.

He's unfairly handsome, and Alois' eyes and mouth feel peculiarly dry, when he realizes that his instinct is to want to go up to him and cut himself on all that toned sharpness. But Miyuki's already repulsed by him, and he tells his legs, secretly, to stay or he'll break them later for disobeying him. Even more than his own sickness is their ordeal. What must this stranger think of a boy who's only going to make it worse?

It's not unlikely that he's wound up staring, and perhaps Miyuki's said or saying something, and his lashes flutter when he comes back, color warming a bit across small face.]

—These will do, won't they? [abruptly, arms jerking upward in gesticulation.]

[ He's slipping on the vest when he wonders if the boy's still in his search, hands going to the buttons and halting when he turns to meet staring eyes.

Living in close quarters with a bunch of boys around his age, Miyuki didn't think twice before changing right there. But now he thinks, perhaps he should have. ]

You okay? [ He snaps him out of it, brows arched slightly for the staring, the coloring he sees in the other boy's cheeks. Did he offend him? He might not be used to people undressing around him or something. The boy definitely looks to be from some western country, from his features, and his clothing is funny, but Miyuki's not sure if that is where an explanation lies or not. ]

... Yeah, probably. Everything's fit me fine so far.

[ Like it was all tailored, in fact. He takes the offered items and brings them over to the bed before resuming with the vest buttons. It's occurred to him now, that he doesn't know the first thing about this boy. The first thing, being: ]

Hey. [ to get his attention ] What's your name? I'm Miyuki.

[ Westerner or no, he offers his family name anyway. Miyuki doesn't stop dressing as he speaks, going to loop the belt into his pants next. ]

[As he moves away toward the bed to set the last touches of the outfit down, Alois finds a place against the wall next to the closet, flattening his hands behind his back. Occasionally, in leisure youthfulness, he bounces idly on his heels, gaze roaming the room while he waits for him to finish up. He does, of course, look back at his verbal prompting.]

Miyuki, [he repeats, quietly.] I'm— [in this place, does it matter so much if he gives his title?] Alois. [Another delay, but it dawns on him that Miyuki's asking about him, and perhaps he ought to do the same. So, delicately,] how old are you?

Alois. [ And he doesn't affix a pleasantry onto it, as he can't really say it's nice to meet him. Not here. ]

I'm sixteen.

[ Almost seventeen. But then there's a longer than warranted pause before he returns the question, Miyuki unsure whether he wants to know the answer anymore.

He pops his shirt collar up, slings the tie around his neck, and sets to make the knot. ]

What about you?

Six— [eyes glued onto hands winding the knot. Can sixteen-year-olds look like that? He's bound to have seen some in the days of Jim, but. It's just... it's not so far off from his own age. Can he look like that? Does he want to, when he starts thinking of how far looking like this has gotten him— but none of this is important.

He lifts on his toes, detaching from the wall, almost enthusiastically, gaze jumping from tie to Miyuki's,] I- I'm thirteen! [As though it's quite a big deal. See, he's just never really been properly around or had much experience with someone so close to his age before—not since he was kept with other boys under the house, so perhaps it isn't that different. In terms of other experience, this is new. And, in terms of being imprisoned in his own estate by a demon, living among demons, it's not really something he ever expected to happen.]

Three years. It's little! It's close, three years, woh.

[ Miyuki blinks at him wide for that odd enthusiasm. Thirteen. That's... actually a bit older than he'd thought. The face, the way he acted skewed things lower. But as Miyuki considers him again, the boy is as tall as, if not taller, than a couple of guys he knows from school. One of them is even older than Miyuki.

He's straightening the collar and tucking tie into vest with lips quirking as the oddness continues. Wouldn't most kids his age think three years is forever? ]

Little? Three years is an entire high school career.

[ Though Miyuki's halfway through those three years and he's felt it. It depends how one looks at them, whether they are a long time or three years too short.

He turns to pick up the jacket and pulls it on before plopping to sit on the bed again, reaching for the shoes. Alois is thirteen, three years younger, and in light of everything that seems so vast, so young. But he tries not to let the heaviness curl around him again, quick to keep this friendly air going. ]

You're pretty tall for thirteen, aren't you?

[ He flicks his eyes up at him briefly as he leans to fit the shoes on. ]

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