dumbshow | incredibly indulgent shipping post

[Even if they didn't ask questions, Paolo would probably tell them. It's a good thing he doesn't stay long enough to chat with the guards and maids. And... well, they don't capture his attention like their boss does.

It's that attention that has him noticing every little change in him, even if he won't voice it. He takes another few seconds of smoking, just to be an ass, before he releases his hand with a low chuckle.]

That's charitable enough for me. [Was he too distracted by him to remember the offer? Probably. He lingers another moment, then chooses to completely undo the flattening of his robe by shrugging it further down his shoulder. Even worse? He's not staying close enough to fix it, he's going to get that wine.]

[He's going to have to go far, because there isn't any wine lying around in the lab. And Jindosh is obligated to follow him, after watching him go for a moment. He'll never let himself get ahead of schedule again if this babysitting his robe (and Paolo) is what he's doomed to.

Of course, none of that stops him from keeping his gaze locked on the curve of Paolo's shoulder, roving over the glimpse of ink and wondering what the full picture looks like. He hasn't bothered to ask, this whole time...

But. Wine.] You're taking liberties with my patience.

You tell me to loiter, you offer me wine, and now you're getting antsy when I make myself at home? I think you need this more than I do. [He was sure he saw a bottle somewhere...

He'd probably be better at looking if he didn't glance over his shoulder with that grin of his. He has no idea he's spent his time observing his ink, and unfortunately, he doesn't look long enough to even guess.] You've been working for like, ten hours straight. The wheels are gonna need oil if you want them to keep turning.

[Concern? For his state of mind? Hm... wine. There's a table somewhere, past the hall with the butterfly casing. You'd think he'd be more covered, stooping to the cupboard for glasses, but he has to pull it over before it really winds up just falling off him.]

[Jindosh's frown has taken up permanent residence on his face by now, and only deepens in response to this... character assessment. There's no way Paolo could know that "ahead of schedule" and "can't think well enough to go on" are nearly the same for how he uses the personal excuse, but he'd rather not be reminded either way.

Fortunately - or not - the dangerous and abrupt dip of his robe down Paolo's shoulder before he adjusts it himself succeeds in fixing his attention on - on, well. That. He's seen no shortage of Paolo's skin in his operating room these past few weeks, but this is a different context entirely.

The man is wearing his robe, for heaven's sake. He is thinking about it, damnable Paolo and the very precise lines of his small frame under the draped looseness of Jindosh's robe. Damn him.]

You're hardly the first to consider me uptight, [he says, coming up to Paolo's elbow to just take the glasses from him so he can look at something else.] My wheels turn excellently, with or without the oil.

[You know, on good days. He'll still have a drink.]

[Paolo knows there is a line somewhere, and it isn't something he wants to cross. There would be no pleasantness in his visits if all Jindosh were to do was cut him open and send him away. It wasn't like a smile came often, unless he was on the verge of discovering something that had Paolo too busy screaming to pay attention. It didn't mean he wouldn't try and strive for it out of the lab.

So he passes the glasses back to him without a follow up on how much oil he thinks he needs. It's only when he's upright, opening the bottle and facing Jindosh does he find voice again. It's more casual, more personal, to match what they had before.]

You know, I thought you had the biggest stick up your ass when I first got here. [Casual, personal, striving for a smile. He likes to think he is, at least, as he pours he first glass.] I didn't think there was much to learn. Knew my men stupid up to venture here probably freaked so bad they skipped down, or they were six feet under. All I cared about.

[When the first is full, nearly to the brim, he'll shift to the next.] So of course, I thought you were gonna just throw hissy fits when I kept coming. Never anything else. Now I'm standing here, highlight of my day wondering if you want this thing off me so bad because it's yours, or you wanna see what's mine.

[Okay, that might not exactly make him smile, but. Paolo will for him. It's fine.]

[Oh, Paolo's bizarre attempts at pleasant conversation. Great. Jindosh stands there holding the glasses, watching the progress of the pouring wine and not bothering to stop his gaze from wandering from the glasses to the bottle, to Paolo's hands. Up his arms to the sliver of skin he can still see after Paolo's half-assed robe adjustment. Paolo is saying something about his men and why Jindosh is annoying, and Jindosh is looking at the wine but really past it to the body barely managing to stay in his robe.

It's another damnable offense by Paolo, he thinks, that for all his mind used to race with numbers and figures and ideas and solutions—now it stumbles and hiccups over basics and, infuriatingly, catches on the line of Paolo's exposed skin and wastes far too many seconds trying to fill in the blanks. Jindosh is nothing if not a creative man.

And now he's holding these glasses, leaving neither hand free to reach out and fix that robe for him again. Whether fixing it means pulling it shut and putting an end to these thoughts of his or pulling it open and giving in, he hasn't decided. He raises an eyebrow again, giving focus to Paolo's words just in time to hear him wondering almost the same thing.]

Your persistence is almost admirable, [he says, raising the full glass to his lips to take a sip.] This quest to find an answer to your biggest question is intriguing, but you approach it with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

[Which is a criticism or a statement of endearment or both, he hasn't decided about that either, but his next sip of wine smooths out the irritated lines in his brow at least somewhat. Hmm. Perhaps he won't declare that while Paolo is in his house, he's just as much Jindosh's as the robe he's wearing. That might end with wine being spilled all over. But he thinks it.]

You have more tattoos than I suspected. [Let's start there. He wants to see some subtlety, some finesse. Thrill him, tiny slumlord.]

Sledgehammers break walls down faster. [Paolo muttered, more or less to himself as he set the bottle aside. He could add that he's been beating them down for the past few weeks, if Jindosh could stop building more. But like the fact he absolutely is his in the inventor's home, that's more than he's willing to share.

He's taking his first sip when his tattoos come into the conversation. No, he didn't choke, shut up. He's just wiping his chin in, uh, thought. Not to prevent from it dripping down on the robe or anything.] That's what you're staring at?

[Yes, he noticed. Was it all on purpose, to provoke this question? He's not going to act like it.] There's two reasons I don't turn my back to you in there. [Is it necessary that he put a finger on Jindosh's chest rather than he just point at him? Absolutely not.] One, you'll stab me. [Another jab,] Two, you'd shut up and get lost in counting them. As it turns out, I like talking to you too much.

[Jindosh blinks when Paolo definitely does not choke on his wine. He's been staring at quite a few things, but those tattoos are the easiest ones to strike up a conversation about. He can't put into the correct words his very sudden and gripping desire to slip his hand between the folds of his robe and feel each one of Paolo's ribs under his fingertips, to see if he's warmer or colder than a living body should be to satisfy more than just his intellectual curiosity— no, tattoos are much easier.

Ah, but there's a finger pressed against his chest, and he's torn away from that line of thinking again. He makes a sound, less there than the accompanying shake of his shoulders is but undeniably a laugh. Yes, okay, he has been known to stab first and ask questions later. That's true.]

I do possess the capacity to multitask. [His voice still has that low and quiet quality to it, so maybe he's stopped obsessing about that. Maybe Paolo being so close to him tempers his tendency to shout until he gets what he wants.] If I've stopped talking to you, it's much more likely that you've started to bore me.

[There, that's the asshole comment everyone was waiting for. He sips his wine again, brushing at Paolo's hand with his free one ostensibly to push it away, but the touch lingers anyway.] But here we are, still speaking. Such a marvel.

[Paolo's smile falters, though for once it isn't because he's being insulted. Jindosh's shoulders seemed to be just as interesting, however briefly he was laughing. Laughing. And it wasn't at his expense.

Was he talking? He was talking. Paolo redirects his attention back, choosing to take a longer sip of the wine with a nod of acknowledgement. Well, he didn't want to wind up being boring, did he? Does that mean he has to step it up? Probably not, but he will.]

You wanna marvel? Here. [He starts, setting his glass down on the... table. Whatever. It didn't matter, what mattered was he fact he is purposely shrugging both shoulders of the robe off. He's slow, needlessly so, just to keep him waiting as he elaborates.] Get one every time someone is stupid enough to fall by my blade. There's a lot of stupid people in this city.

[Did he really think he was gonna be half-naked tonight? Maybe, but not in this context.]

[He sure is laughing and talking, almost like he's a normal person. His eyebrows raise slowly when Paolo freely offers his marvels, like perhaps he expected the man to require more alcohol in him before he'd turn his back on Jindosh, after what he just said. But he isn't about to question that, the whole of his attention focused now on the shifting fabric of his robe and the slow exposure of Paolo's body underneath.

Intellectual curiosity has no place in this situation. He's watching Paolo now purely out of interest, without that urge to press a scalpel into him for once. Having to sip his wine in concentrated amounts to stop himself from yanking the back of his robe down himself is completely inconsequential, here. Totally normal.]

Imbeciles are everywhere. [He's the smartest man in the world!!!! They agree on volume of stupid people, how nice. But now, with Paolo baring half of himself to him, hmm. He doesn't put his own glass down but shifts it to his other hand, with the pipe, because he knows himself and knows his free hand will be on Paolo's skin in record time once he's had a first look at his tattoos.]

Ink spilled for blood spilled? How romantic of you. There are quite a few. [He's not surprised, but goddamn. And there's his fingertip, pressed lightly against one, tracing a line to the next and then the next after that—a nonsense constellation, here on Paolo's back. Jindosh doesn't know much about the tattooing process, but he knows how flesh holds ink, and if each of these stars were etched onto him in the same way, then...

Well, his roving touch here is looking for something, until he stills over one particular star and taps it twice.] This one must be the very first. I had a feeling you were sentimental.

[Paolo expects the cool touch of ceramic, to be analyzed and impersonal as most of their interactions were. So he understandably tenses when he feels skin on his, furrowing his brows as the other man starts tracing lines. When was the last time he was vulnerable like this? It'd been awhile since he had to use his blade, and Mindy was different. Mindy gave them to him, heard every reason behind them. Mindy knew them all, and didn't linger longer than she had to. Mindy alone.

It was a rare time Paolo would be anywhere but behind the Crone's Hand bar after his first death. It was even more rare for him to be showing anyone the marks, his pride and regret. The only other person he'd told about it was through her dead mother's heart. Yet here he is, actively exposing himself, showing a man that killed him again and again what was one his most guarded things. His weaknesses.

Paolo was stupid. But he didn't have to try and look behind him to know what spot he's found.] It was an accident. Felt like the worst thing in the world. But that was back when I didn't know how much shit the world had to throw.

[He rolled his shoulders in some effort to relax the tightness in them, but to little avail. He heaved a disgruntled sigh, taking up his glass. His next drink is long enough to take it down to half.]

I used to do it because it hurt. Felt like I had to pay for it. They don't hurt anymore.

[Men like Kirin Jindosh are missing something. In exchange for the intellect that makes Jindosh the smartest man in the Isles, something else had to be taken, or at least never awoken in the first place. For Jindosh, as anyone can see and many have openly discussed, it is a moral center. An empty heart that feels nothing as Paolo details his earliest murder, an accident, the guilt.

The ceramic piece of engineering that is his left thumb scrapes slightly against his wine glass as he tips it back for another sip, and that is all Kirin Jindosh understands of accidents. A machine that slips, and those things that get in the way.

He's always thought of people in the same way, as it happens. But Paolo standing before him is not a machine, and the guilt and pain of his past that he's sharing are a puzzle Jindosh will never be able to solve.]

What are they for you now? A bad habit? [Tattoos and murder, but never mind the distinction. Jindosh has no pretty words to offer and Paolo would laugh in his face if he bothered, anyway; no one has time for fake overtures of sympathy from him. But for a moment the world has shifted, and a little speck of color has found its way onto the blank puzzle pieces that make up Paolo when Jindosh looks at him.

Sympathy still eludes him, but there's something haphazardly methodical about the stars all over Paolo's back that appeals to him in a different way. So. His wandering finger leaves that first star, dragging up to a spot between Paolo's shoulders and pinching there with two more.

He understands anatomy. This is helping.] I don't think you've relaxed at all. Do I make you uncomfortable?

[ha ha]

Everybody deserves to be remembered. Whether you're a mark on a gang leader's back, gang leader that's just gonna be replaced when he kicks the bucket... or a man with a crazy house that'll have people visiting decades after he's gone.

[He's had this answer prepared, it seems. Was he thinking about having this conversation before? Probably. He thought more about him more than he'd like.

And he knows talk like this isn't going to have much of an impact on Jindosh. Still, it feels nice to talk to someone instead of a dead witch's hand. Hands... feeling nice... What is he doing back there? The weight he's been carrying all day, all week was melting in seconds. He won't forgive himself for how his breath hitches.]

Hardly anybody but my second knows I have these. If you made me uncomfortable, you'd just keep on wondering what's under my clothes. [Well, since it's confess time,] I also wouldn't stay here, in the grip of a man who can take my last life if he so chooses.

[There's a raised eyebrow behind Paolo's back as he talks, Jindosh not missing that reference to himself. Paolo thinks about his memory? That's a surprise—Jindosh's reach extends out of this house and all over Karnaca, bleeding into the rest of Serkonos, and as Anton Sokolov's technology becomes obsolete, the rest of the Empire will know him as a household name, too. He's planned for it.

A star on Paolo's back, by contrast? He sees the point, sure enough, but to say living on as a splash of ink on one man's guilty tapestry is enough is... laughable. He prefers his house.]

Hmm. Then that will do in a pinch. [Get it, in a pinch, like what he's doing to the tension in Paolo's shoulders. He does it again, shifting his fingers to another spot, kneading his fingertips into the next knot he finds.]

However, it won't do to have you dismissing my mansion as a "crazy house." You stand in the heart of an ode to natural philosophy, a dedication to the innovation of mankind and the endless, relentless pursuit of knowledge.

[He didn't put his house on top of a cliff just for fun. Like, yeah, that contributed, but the mansion has always been a shrine to intellect first and foremost.]

Do you think these walls turn simply to amuse visitors? No, Paolo, no—when I am finally laid to rest, this mansion will stand here as a testament to possibility. One day some touched mind may even figure it out without being told.

[He's still working his way across Paolo's back, pressing in harder for emphasis as he speaks. But now that he's rattled off his ode to his house, a pause, his fingers in the silence wandering further down Paolo's spine. It's as if he's only just processed everything Paolo said—] Your last life?

Well, I ain't smart enough to comprehend all that. So I'm gonna keep calling it a crazy house. [A lie, he knows. He'll probably repeat Jindosh's words back to another Howler recruit that's confident they can make it out of the place unscathed. It'll probably be followed by "or some boring shit," but it's the thought that counts.] Maybe a nice, but absolute batshit crazy house.

[He shouldn't laugh, but it's so easy to. Jindosh's ministrations make him forget the fact that hand was holding him down just an hours before, doing unspeakably painful things in a way that was just too much for Paolo to like. His shoulders shake with no restraint, no careful control with how he acts around most.

His loose tongue could be the end of him, but he doesn't mind dancing on that edge anymore. Not with him.] Any step out of that lab can be one of my last. This uh... gift of mine has its limitations. [He won't tense up, he can't tense up during this, but the amusement in his voice significantly dies down.] I get a freeby, before sundown. 's why I come before it sets. You can kill me once before, once after, but I'll be waiting until it's dark before I come around again.

[He sighed, choosing to swirl what was left in his glass. Or maybe he's trying to catch his reflection, who knows.] You don't know how much I lay on that table everyday, Kirin Jindosh. You don't have any idea.

[A nice, batshit crazy house... Paolo is lucky that Jindosh's opinion of himself and his house extends much higher than snippy comments like that. He's lucky, too, that Jindosh is finding it particularly enjoyable to touch him like this and feel his body move and shift under his very fingertips. It's different from cutting him open in the operating room, and this time he almost feels that spark he expected the first time, weeks ago, when Paolo's hand brushed against his around the stem of a glass.

He doesn't realize he's been chasing it, but he knows it's there.]

You trust my hands not to slip before sundown. [That's what he's getting out of this. Not trusting Jindosh himself, hah, who would—but trusting his ability to kill with precision and purpose. And because it's Jindosh,] Shall I take that as a compliment?

[He already has, don't worry. There's a shift behind Paolo and a clink as he sets his glass down, the cool ceramic touch of his other thumb pressing into Paolo's back a moment later, joining the ministrations of his fingers. Paolo is letting him do this, no matter how much of him Jindosh owns as long as he's here, and he is certainly taking advantage of it.]

Most men lie on that table once, and never have the opportunity to try again. [He's just saying... he doesn't care much, but most people only get one try, Paolo. Cheater. At this point he's half listening to see how many of his questions Paolo will answer freely, without being asked, and half listening to stall him from stopping Jindosh's hands studying his back.

He's just learning so much right now, it's lovely, like he's learning that pressing between Paolo's shoulder blades just so will make him shudder, and doing that again. Hmm.]

[He asked a question, Paolo is sure of it. He just isn't sure of what that question was anymore. He stopped paying attention to anything when he felt the second hand at his back, and before he could stop and think, he was leaning back with a far more pleased sigh escaping his lips.

Yeah, there was some touching between him and Mindy. They might have gotten some level of intimate before, but those days were long since past. She didn't spend any time after the ink set, and Paolo wasn't seeking someone to relax with. So this? This was pure bliss.] You're... uh... you...

[Something. Jindosh sure was something, something that ran a shiver down his spine. He sets his glass down next to the other, keeping a hand on the table in an effort to stay upright.] Most men don't get you like this either, right?

[Well, Jindosh is taking all of this as a compliment too, for the record. He doesn't expect Paolo to all but melt under his hands like this, especially after the violence he's inflicted on him with absolutely no remorse, but to hear him sigh like that from such a simple touch—should he presume he's forgiven for his extremes, as well?

Jindosh isn't nearly collapsing against the table, but Paolo's response more than stirs the fire in him. This is new to him - touching someone for a reason besides natural philosophy or to cause harm - and he's suddenly enamored by this very new and interesting thing that seems to light up every corner of his brain that's been silent for too long now.

So he supposes he can be honest when he answers that question,] No. No, you would be the first.

[He shifts his hand, the whole one, so it lays flat against Paolo's spine and inches down, pressing with the heel of it and curling his fingers against his skin when he reaches the bunched up fabric of his robe. An idle curiosity turned to action turned to needing to see what will happen if he gives in to his simple desire to put his hands on Paolo, and here they are.]

After all your time spent talking yourself up, I expected you would do more than stutter and get acquainted with another table of mine.

[Paolo might taking support from the table, but he'd like to think he deserved the break. He's spent hours getting turned inside out, as stiff a board one minute and writhing with pain in the next. If this were any other evening, he'd go home a hell of an ache in his chest. He'd wished it was out of some misplaced feelings, but no, it just hurt like hell.

So yes, he won't hide the fact he's balling a hand into a fist at Jindosh's explorations, or how he's pressing further back the longer his hands were on him. It was nice. He didn't get nice things.]

After all your time talking me down, I expected you would be spending less time with your hands all over me. [He doesn't miss the opportunity at a comeback this time, but he's hoping it's distracting from the fact his ears are turning as red as his face must be.] I don't think this is one of your... pursuits of knowledge, Kirin. You asked what I wanted besides wine when I propositioned you, yet now you're doing the squeezing. I think that's a little more surprising here.

[Has he really been hanging on the words of that conversation, all these weeks later? He has. The only downside to having his back turned is that he can't study his face this time.]

[What narrative has Paolo constructed for himself about all of this, Jindosh wonders. Is this the part where he, Jindosh, promises to never put Paolo on that table again and instead welcomes him seductively into his bed? The very notion is ridiculous.

He's not going to promise anything about the table. Honestly.]

I wouldn't say that. [This with another pinch, another squeeze, his hands relentless at turning Paolo into putty while he stands there in control. He finds that an added bonus of the situation, that he can unravel Paolo using only his fingertips. The leader of the Howlers, pleasant and pliant and chatty under his thumbs. How exciting.

There isn't a word that accurately captures what he hopes to get out of this - even "hopes" is too strong, "wishes" too... needy. He wants, quite simply. He wants Paolo to do this to him. Sex has always been a useless distraction from more important things, his work, but he isn't impotent. His body can want and crave just fine without the aid of his sputtering brain, and for too long for his comfort now it—he—has been wanting and craving Paolo.

His taste in partners is somewhat questionable, but it is what it is.]

You've been batting your eyes at me for weeks, and still you haven't taken a single step toward me I did not ask of you first. [Taking drags off his thumb was something to consider the first time it happened, but when will Paolo put his money where his mouth is? Jindosh moves a half-step closer to him, leaning not quite into his ear but close. If they're going to discuss Paolo being hung up on that ancient conversation, then,] Sooner or later I will have you howl for me.

[when ya bf is a furry so you gotta play along]

[Any retort Paolo had on his tongue was lost in seconds. He didn't know what he really expected from a man that had his hands so far down his back, but who allowed him to say things like that? Who allowed him to step up his game? Jindosh was looking for sparks, and at this rate, he was going to try and be as electrifying as a wall of light.]

Well, [He's reluctant in his turn. It meant the impromptu massage was coming to an end, and, well, he'd have to look up. At least he's found his voice enough to prevent from another stutter, lest he want to lose all his pride.] I've been a distinguished guest in your home, Kirin. It'd be awful rude of me to do anything you don't ask of me.

[No, he isn't standing on his tip toes, ignore that. He's placing a hand at Jindosh's side and taking his white collar out of fondness, not the fact he's too short to reach otherwise. Taking up and tugging, as it so happens, to lean far enough that his lips are just over his, so close to brushing.] So if you wanted me to fuck you between our little sessions, all you had to do was say so.

[He may not want an invitation, but that's just because a command was much more enticing. Paolo is a furry and takes orders, but he'll try to distract from that by following it with a kiss.]

You are rude, [Jindosh says simply, first, letting his hands fall back to his sides when Paolo turns.] A hoodlum. You've already stolen my robe and drank more of my wine than anyone with polite sense.

[He says all of this casually, like they're discussing the weather, but the bored aridity that detaches his words from anything he might say to another guest in his home is gone. That doesn't mean much, given how he's always been more excited about guests who show up uninvited, who might wind up on his tables as test subjects, but there's an edge to his tone that carries a different kind of excitement. He's as enticed by Paolo reaching for his collar as Paolo is by his giving orders (and honestly, he's enticed by giving orders too).

He doesn't actually know what he's doing. Intimacy is an unexplored territory, something he's always turned away from due to lack of interest or plain distaste (Luca Abele's orgies? Not the ideal place to meet the Grand Inventor). But they've established at least two things, he thinks: first, that this is happening, and second, that no matter what he says, Paolo will likely just laugh at him and egg him on.

Good enough. He leans down only precisely the correct amount to reach Paolo's lips, inwardly cursing himself for the way his traitor heart thuds heavy against his ribcage and suddenly his tongue feels thick and paralyzed in his mouth. For a fleeting moment he mistakes the fluttering in his stomach for fear and nearly shoves Paolo away, nearly stops all of this and steps away from the precipice and away from being close to another person. There is a greater than zero chance that this is a bad idea, certainly.

But he doesn't, and somehow Paolo's words before their lips meet settle the discomfort in Jindosh's chest. He frowns into the kiss, unsure of what to do now that he's done this. It lasts a moment long enough for Jindosh to take another half-step closer, one hand seeking out the table behind Paolo and completely disregarding any personal space Paolo might have as his leg bumps into his hip and nudges back. (It's okay when he does it, of course.)

Ah, but before he rearranges this kiss into a more successful one—] Don't be crude.

[Paolo is distantly aware that his back is hitting the table, and he would curse Jindosh's height if he were paying more attention. But he's more focused into the kiss, into the frown. He can take their closeness as a good sign, but it's still fresh on his mind, and it wasn't something he'd just shove to the back.]

Don't be prude. [First, he has to answer that, but quelling any trace of discomfort was the goal here. It'd been awhile for him, but he wasn't so far gone that he wouldn't take the time to make sure they were both relaxed. He releases the collar, dragging his fingers down to the thin sliver of skin before he was just tracing more fabric.

Sure, his heart had nearly been beating out of his chest. But there wasn't any laughter at Jindosh's inexperience, and his "egging on" is following the first kiss with a gentler, briefer one, testing the waters he'd just wanted to dive into. Some thug he is.] Don't tell me I'm the first of anything.

[A little condescending to suggest, maybe, but he probably needs to know. Here, he'll follow it with a third press of lips, but this time it was to the corner of his mouth. No diving.] Anything at all.

[Wow, alright. He is a prude, but don't point it out. It's difficult to reason with himself all of a sudden—he hasn't changed his mind, evident from the way Paolo's simple touch to his skin makes him shiver and his grip tighten on the edge of the table, but... Well.

"I don't relax." If Paolo hadn't planned on a crash course in Jindosh's neuroses, he's about to get one anyway. His pride makes him take Paolo's gentleness with him as an insult, because of course it does, and he's frowning again before he can help himself. The line of his mouth twists, like he's trying not to look like this because that makes everything all very obvious, and he hates the uncertainty that pulls at him even as he compels himself to put his other hand on Paolo's hip.

This was easier when he only had to speak, when only Paolo's body had to cooperate. He feels suddenly stiff and mechanical, and really, this happens now? Now. Of all times.

So with his wooden mouth he tsks and says,] You have a listening problem. I already told you that.

[Having Paolo right here and kissing him is pleasant, though. Can he start there.]

[Paolo knows he did something wrong, but he isn't so sure on what that something is. He holds him into a kiss, Jindosh frowns. He offers a more delicate touch, he frowns more. He's sure he still wants this, given that it'd be no easy feat to get away at this point.]

Then you just tell me if I make you.... uncomfortable. [Sincere, but matching the teasing tone Jindosh had with his hands down Paolo's back. The fingers at his neck gripped tighter, holding him still as his kisses trailed down his jaw.

They only move when he finds there is too much leather against bare skin, down to the buttons holding his jacket closed. There's a thought, perhaps maybe this is too fast, perhaps maybe he shouldn't be getting into this at all. But any care for that was out the window, along with the fact the robe they spent so much time debating was bound to slip sooner or later.]

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