Bel, Erskin, and Jethro: Be celebrities.

"Hey!" you snap, twisting away from the attempt. "The hell was that?" Kneeing somebody in the junk isn't blackrom foreplay. It's an action calculated to have the opposite effect. "Enough mixed signals, are you in or out? Make up your damn mind!"

You're sure as hell not going to press your suit if he's acting like he doesn't want it. It was bad enough when he was acting like he did want it but what he wanted was someone besides you. You're never going through that again.

 

You push him out to arm's length but hold him there, still panting, and try for some sort of coherence. "Don't— I'm— I, I want— you, I want you, but, but I can't– don't bite like her if you aren't, ar-aren't going to be her, aren't— won't take me, have me like that, don't... do that to me."

 

"I wasn't," you snarl. "I wasn't doing anything I haven't done before. Don't you blame this on me." You poke his chest fiercely, your voice growing louder with each sentence. "You decide! Are you here with me or not? I'm here! Are you??"

 

"Fuck you!" you snarl. "I'm trying to bloody well— use my words and, and communicate with you, you addle-panned, self-absorbed fussy bulge-brained jerk! It's not— we're not the fucking same, as, as before, we agreed on that, I'm telling you, you need to not FUCKING BITE ME."

You give him a hard shove. "If you're going to listen to me as exactly not at all as you ever fucking did, you can get out of this pool right now, and, and throw yourself off the balcony, for all I care!"

 

"Wait --!" You swallow hard, take a breath, trying to calm yourself. Back away, but only enough to sit on the edge of the pool. "Fine. All right. I hear you. 'Don't bite like her' isn't the same as 'don't bite at all' -- and how should I know what it was like when you were with her, Erskin? All I know is she scrambled your thinksponge, she almost killed you, and you still think the moons rise and set on her." You throw up your hands in frustration, angry tears stinging your eyes but not yet falling. "Am I making things worse trying to still be with you? Can you even consent anymore, the way she twisted you? Look at it from my perspective! Everything is fine and then suddenly you, you go limp, like I snapped your neck -- I feel like such shit for not stopping last time, I'm disgusted with myself."

 

You growl, full throated and exasperated, and wade over to sit beside him. You stubbornly rest your cheek against his shoulder.

"I told you I wasn't who you wanted me to be," you challenge him. "I told you I hadn't been before and certainly wasn't now. And you don't ever listen. You said, oh, Erskin, always, always, I want you no matter what, and here's some what, you don't like what happens when you bite me now, and I said, well then don't fucking bite me now, and now you're up here saying I'm too pathetically insane to screw and it's all over and you're disgusted to have touched me."

You prod his jaw with your horn, and add, scathingly, "Dick."

 

You shove him good and hard in reply. "Now who's not listening? I said I'm disgusted with myself because I kept going while you were --whatever, pretending I was Cloris. That hurt like fuck and it was gross and if it happens again I don't know if I can stay with you. I love you but I'm not your wank rag."

Shoulders hunched, you glare at your knees. "So here we are again. I only hear the words you say out loud, you asshole. If the words don't make it out of your mouth, they do not get to me. Can you fucking understand that? You said 'don't bite me like her' and I didn't, because I'm not a goddamn leech who treats you like a soda can. Fuck you for expecting me to read your mind and fuck you for pretending you can read mine."

 

"Alright, alright. I'm trying here! So I don't get everything out in the right order and with the exact precise level of nuance you'd like, so cull me." You shove him back. "I amended 'don't bite like her' to 'don't bite me at all', alright? I'm allowed to do that, aren't I? I don't want to respond to you as if you were my Lady, it doesn't feel great from my perspective either, I— I-" miss her, need her, I feel like I'm starving for her, "I don't know. It's wretched, is what it is, and we're both actually in agreement here about that, you dolt. I want... I want it, but not from you, and I don't want you to go making me want it— when— when I want you— rrrgh!"

You rub your marks again, deeply frustrated. "If you'd ever... If you'd ever felt it. What it felt like. When you... when you're called to give yourself up like that, how sweet it is... You'd know. It's not something you can just stop... wanting, I don't think. It's not something your heart forgets. Didn't you ever talk to your clown about it?"

 

You can't stay mad, because he's as miserable as you are. You wish you could stay mad. You shake your head. "She wouldn't talk about it. It fucked her up. She --" You cut yourself off with a frustrated growl. "I don't know if I should even keep talking here. So far, when I've mentioned the bad things Cloris did, you don't hear me. It's like you -- you glitch, and for you I never said it. And what you're describing now, it sounds horrible. I'd be furious if someone did that to me."

 

"It wasn't horrible for me, I liked it. I wanted it. I asked for it, she never touched me till I asked. I'd beg her to do it to me. I'd beg you if it would bring her back, she was...." you hesitate. "You don't want to hear it. We're not going to agree about her, and anyway you've won because she's dead and I've got to just buck up and cope with, with everything."

You lean back in and wrap your fingers around one of his horns. Shake it a bit. "...D'you think you can take me on, with biting off the table for a while? While I cope? Do you even want to try?"

 

"Of course I fucking do! I just -- hell. I was feeling so free, like I didn't have to hold back, and then suddenly --" You try to shake your head, but he's still holding on. A bit of a growl escapes you despite yourself. You're whining. You wish he'd shut you up when you do that. You can't afford to be weak. "Never mind. I can handle it. I can handle you. Just stop assuming you know my motives. I won because you're alive. That's what I wanted."

 

"I'll stop assuming your motives if you stop assuming mine," you say, feeling awkward and guilty. "We shall be complete mysteries to one another at all times."

You stand up, stretch, strike a cartoonish fisticuffs pose. "Here, do you know how to box? I have no idea how to box. I've never boxed anyone I wouldn't comprehensively destroy, but you might be sturdy enough. Box with me."

 

"Erskin," you sigh, annoyed. You don't want to goof-box. You don't want to trust him again. You're scared he's going to go into juicebox mode again, so afraid, and so ashamed of how afraid you are. It's not a sexy feeling.

But the fear of losing him is worse. Anyway, a kismesis is supposed to make you stronger. The more you want to run away right now, to preserve your dignity and not show any weakness and keep him from hurting you in the tender feeling parts again, the more you should probably buck up and face the humilation head on. So you force yourself to stand up and look his stance over.

"Do you wanna learn fistkind for real? I'll teach you," you offer.

 

"Oh, you do know. Damn. Well, alright, have at it. Engineer your own destruction." You hop from one leg to the other, popping your fists out at the air, and finally goad a smile out of him that's more amusement than annoyance. Victory. "After I beat you hollow with your own abstratus I'm going to thrash your backside at swords, too. You definitely don't know swords."

 

"I do too know swords, I'll beat you with your own abstratus." You're not as game as you sound, but... fake it til you make it. You feint a couple jabs, poking him instead of punching. "I was going to challenge you to a racing game. I got a racing game." Jab, jab. You lightly slap the middle of his forehead and dance back.

 

"We'll play it after I've trounced you at everything else, and you're confined to 'cupe rest." You watch his fists, collect another smack on the jaw, then bull past his guard and get pretty good shot in at his ribs. You hesitate, waiting to see if he's alright, and rewarded with another bop in the face. "Hey!"

 

"What are you doing, don't watch my fists, watch my core. Watch for the shift before I --" Bop! "Too slow!"

Okay, this is actually sort of fun. You're still mad, but now it's fun and mad at the same time.

 

"Is core a particular euphemism for anything, because I could stand to watch— ow." You chase after him, swinging wildly, but he dodges too lightly. You're too used to scrapping with beasts, who tend to close in and maul, not skip about the room making fun of you. You deflect one of his strikes with more luck than intention, then collect yourself, measure his movements intently, and nail him a good one across the jaw. His teeth clack together and you go "Ha!" before he hits you right back.

((wrap this up? they can call it a draw when they get more interested in kissing than punching))

 

You knock each other around a little more, until the argument no longer feels quite so fresh. Then you duck inside his guard, get your arms around him, go in for a kiss -- stop just short of his lips with a little 'hah'. Because you're reminding yourself not to bite, and not sure what a blackrom kiss is like without biting, but you can pretend you're teasing rather than hesitating.

 

You huff a startled laugh and lean up to kiss him very slowly, all airy, barely-there lips and tongue, teasing him back, enjoying his tense frustration. This is nothing like the devouring passion you shared with your Lady, this is— feinting, playing. You tangle your fingers in his hair and tug on it, sharp enough that you know it'll sting.