trashfire | CALL ME OUT!

ONE | TWO | THREE

MAKE OF THIS WHAT YOU WILL.

[ She irritates him. He doesn't find her irritating because of how she always acts. She annoys him because she doesn't behave how he wants. He dislikes not understanding things, including people. But, the fact that he can't predict her makes her interesting. He doesn't hate her, but he also doesn't really dislike her. She's simply there, allowed in his home and space. And he doesn't make efforts to rid himself of her.

He works in his office, and his house is mostly quiet. There's the occasional sound of footsteps in his house. Finally, he stands from his desk. Artist's block is cruel to him very rarely, but it happens to be a rare day. He needs something new. Something different. He'll have to step away from what he's doing for now.

He makes his way out of his office to find her. He knows she's around because he invites her there, but he also doesn't enjoy people hanging over his shoulder while he works.

He doesn't care if she hears his approach, he's not making any attempts to hide it. But when he gets close, he grips her shoulders and shifts, turning so that they are now facing one another. ]

You're distracting.

[ As if she's the reason he can't get work done - she isn't, but he needs to blame someone. ]

[It's only the fact that she does hear him coming, that she knows it's Rohan Kishibe approaching, that prevents him from winding up a heap of bruised limbs on the floor after his hands touch her shoulders. She didn't get to be where she is now by letting people get the drop on her, much less by letting people get close enough to actually put their hands on her.

But physicality is just another dimension of the nebulous connection she has with Rohan. They push each other around like it's another form of conversation. They take liberties like they're daring each other to interject or protest. The first one to stop is the one that implicitly loses, and they've never actually laid out those rules, but they're both familiar with them anyway.

She's in the kitchen making herself a cup of coffee when he finds her. It's old habit to always put what she drinks in takeaway cups with lids, even when she's just in someone else's house; it's reflex to make it that much harder to slip something into what she drinks, even if she doesn't run any risk of that here.

Now, it also has the benefit of keeping the beverage from splashing when he turns her, initiating another round of their game. He's close enough, leaving little enough space between them, that her implication is deliberately insulting in the way she slowly raises her cup and sips at it before answering him.]

And that's my fault?

[He's talented, with those nimble long-fingered hands of his. It's hard not to feel a thrill when they're touching her.]

Maybe you should learn to focus better.

[ She's such a nuisance, but despite that, he enjoys their game. Neither of them are the types to admit defeat. He likes that about her, though. He likes that she plays as intent to win as he is. It's no fun to play with someone who folds so quickly, after all. As far as he's concerned, as long as he never pulls away - he never loses. But he wants to undeniably win. He wants her to admit that he's won. And then he wants to be invited to another round of games. He wants to keep her around. He wants to keep her returning to him. Because though he'd never say it, he'd be pretty disappointed and bored without her.

The way she's drinking her coffee - it's a power move, he notes. She's treating it as the more important entity here. It's an invitation to push her harder. Tease her. He takes it because he won't lose this round.

His fingers relax on her shoulder and relax there for a moment. ]

I focus plenty.

[ Usually. Not today. Inconvenient as it may be, it seems. It's truly not her fault, but he needs something - someone to blame for his failings of the day. And she's here. ]

Of course it's your fault.

[ Because she's here, of course. He shifts his hand finally, teasing one finger over her collar bone before his hand loosely grips her chin. It's less there as an effort to grip her and make her focus on him, and more to let her know that he can and will. ]

I guess I'll just have to take some time away.

[ Get some new inspiration, perhaps. Or just enjoy himself. ]

You should put your drink down.

[It's undeniable that Kirigiri is good at masking her reactions; it's hard to surprise her and harder to make her show it. But it's one thing to steel herself against verbal provocation, and quite another to keep a straight face when the provocation is physical and teasing. To her credit, the mask of her expression doesn't change, but there's no helping the faint pink flush that rises in her cheeks when his hand starts to move. All the training in the world can't suppress physiological reactions to external stimuli. She couldn't keep the heat out of her cheeks any more than she could will her heartbeat to slow down.

What she can do, at least, is continue to stare at him even after he takes her by the chin, ceding the appearance of control but using her silence to dare him to do something with it.]

I'm drinking it.

[As though the coffee warrants higher priority. She knows how he'll hate that.]

Why? Is it going to get in your way?

[ He likes to have this bit of control over this situation. In part because he gets to watch that soft blush rise on her cheeks that she just can't stop herself form having. He enjoys that, it's a small point to him. (But it is a point to her when that irritation starts to show on his features, and his ears get hot with the frustration.)

Why must they always be tied from the jump. Why can't he take a quick lead when counting points in his head. It only pushes him forward. His eyes are locked on, unblinking as they settle on her facial features.

She's decided that she's going to make him mad. He hates it and it shows. He wishes he were cool and able to keep it from showing. But he's not like that. He doesn't shift his attention towards the drink in her hand because he wouldn't let himself dare lose focus on her as his fingers tighten, an effort to hold her attention on him. ]

You know that it is. Discard it. You can have more later.

[ It's his turn. ]

It's better when your attention isn't split.

[ He appreciates the focus, he wants the focus. ]

I'm capable of multitasking.

[The one unfortunate thing about the way he's gripping her chin is that she can't easily get her arm up to sip her coffee again; if it were possible to, she would, just to be absolutely deliberate in her defiance.

But she can't, so she resorts to the next best thing — running her tongue over her lips to wet them, ostensibly to pick up the last traces of coffee that might still be clinging to them, but with the added benefit of all but openly taunting him.]

You're the one who can't handle not having my undivided attention.

[But slowly, slowly, painstakingly slowly, she reaches behind her to blindly set the cup on the kitchen counter — not for his sake, but to free up her hand. When she brings it back forward, her leather-covered palm comes to rest against his chest, up near his heart.

This time, when she speaks, her voice is soft and tantalizing, breathy with implication rather than with challenge — low-hanging fruit just begging to be snatched.]

You can't stand it...can you.

[ He can't stand it. He really can't stand it. If she's here with him, that means she's his right now. Not something - someone - else's. He wants, no deserves, undivided attention. Even if it is only split between him and a coffee cup. And maybe she can multitask, but he often can't because it's his nature to focus so intently on a task. If his attention is solely on her, he deserves to have the same returned.

He leans into her - brushes his lips against hers in a tease again. He feels his ears and cheeks get warm and curses internally. He should be able to deal with her when she is like this, shouldn't he?

It's not like this is the first time they've played. ]

I ask only to be given the same courtesy that I grant to you.

[ His eyes flicker a little dangerously. ]

Is that so difficult?

[He makes it easy on her, when he leans in close; the hand that was resting on his chest, that winds up pushed back toward her when he moves in against her, is able to easily slide up and hook fingers into the collar of his shirt. It won't do anything while he stays close, but it'll certainly prevent him from getting away if he tries.

Did he move in to take, or did she lure him in herself? Is he staying put because he wants to, or has she just ensnared him? That, too, is all part of the game.]

You call it a courtesy. I call it a demand.

[This time, the lip she runs her tongue along is his, not her own.]

And you wouldn't like me if I wasn't difficult.

[ He knows she has him right now, even if only for a second, when he feels her tongue over his lips. His lips instinctively part just slightly, and he barely represses a sigh. He's glad he doesn't, though the action itself is more than enough indication of what she's just won here.

He doesn't dare think about stepping away because he wants to be there. His hand shifts, laying flat against her cheek in an almost too soft movement for them. It's intentional, of course, an attempt to regain and refocus himself. ]

You're right.

[ She's more fun as a challenge than if she just gave him what he wanted. She gives him something to chase, something to earn, something to work for. He always asks himself if it's worth it and only can conclude that it is. He'd miss the way she plays.
He'll take the closeness as a chance to press his lips to hers, his hand on her cheek moving just slightly, to tangle in her hair. If he had wanted, he could - would - tug, but he doesn't yet. She knows, too. ]

Obviously.

[Like she'd be wrong? Ridiculous. But she also knows that no victory against him is ever anything but short-lived; she claims the upper hand only for him to take her by the wrist and relieve her of it, they push and they pull and on average it all balances out, but she knows better than to think this will really do anything other than spurring him on to get her back in return.

But there are ways she can influence even that. Putting ideas in his head, for example.]

If you want me to behave, sooner or later you're going to have to make me.

[Her mouth moves against his as she talks, each word forming another kiss as she shapes the vowels and consonants pressed against his lips.]

I won't cooperate any other way.

Make you.

[ He repeats it, saying the words slowly and carefully. It's as if he's evaluating how exactly he would make her do anything. But, it's not an impossible task. They don't operate on polite requests. She challenges him. So, making her really is the only option anyway. Isn't it?

He tugs on a few strands of hair. Its not really in an effort to hurt her, of course. Just a reminder that his hand is there. His attention doesn't divert from her. His eyes are locked on - even this close.

He could find ways to make her do as he wants fun. There's always ways. But, he also enjoys her pushing him back and challenging him in ways that no one else really ever has. He doesn't find her resistance nearly as irritating as he puts on. It's all part of the game. His fingers trace along her jawline, and he grips her chin. Not that he needs to, but he enjoys teasing her with light touches periodically. ]

I may have to, especially if you insist today.

[ He presses his lips to hers briefly. And he shifts his attention to the corner of her mouth, along her jawline, before he whispers: ]

Even if this is a lot of fun.

It could be more fun.

[He's focused on her now. Has been for a while, actually, but the focus is gradually shifting into fixation, and that's what she wants. That's the natural outcome of this game they play, where he demands and she pretends not to surrender. The longer she plays hard to get, the closer he'll draw her in, and — she likes that. Likes his eyes, when they seem to see nothing but her.

She shifts her weight subtly, rocking it onto one foot while her other shifts outward, making just enough space between her legs for, perhaps, a thigh to fit comfortably. And that's what she does, moving her hands to his hips and digging them in none too gently, but possessively, and makes him come forward until their legs are interwoven, one of hers between both of his and vice versa.]

Unless you're scared to do something about it.

I just found a huntsman spider in my house and thought of you.

Are you up to anything?

Why is that something that would remind you of me?

Because it's a pest I wouldn't necessarily invite in, but I'm still not kicking it out.

So you're going to leave it to inhabit your house, doing as it pleases whether or not you're watching?

This analogy, as it corresponds to me, gets more interesting by the minute.

Well, it's a spider. How much damage can it do? And it eats cockroaches.

I'd rather have the spider than cockroaches.

Who are the cockroaches in this analogy, exactly? I presume your fans.

Among them, yes. It's not like you have the friendliest face.

[ look who's talking ]

Ah, I see. Then what you're saying is, my face isn't the reason you tolerate me, is that it?

And it can't possibly be your personality.

So, does that mean you're going to treat me the way you would treat a spider?

You mean let you linger around my house and scare away worse pests?

I suppose I am going to. At some point, though, you'll have to leave.

I meant are you going to gut me open and lick inside me.

That's what you do with spiders, isn't it?

That's a pretty unlucky fate for a spider. Surely you want better for yourself, Kirigiri-chan.

Surely, you'd want me to be a little kinder with you than with spiders.

I think the more important question is, what do you want for me, Kishibe-sensei?

Have you thought about the kindness you want to show me?

I know better than to think that what I want for you matters all that much to you.

But for the sake of this discussion, I have considered what kindness I'd show you.

[ an active imagination doesn't hurt either ]

Soft touches instead of nails, tongues instead of teeth. Not too much kindness, though, it could get boring fast.

And we can't let it get boring.

Be careful, Kishibe-sensei. You'll almost start to sound like a romantic.

It would be more interesting to touch if I were wearing something soft, wouldn't it? That would be unusual for me, too.

A cashmere sweater, perhaps. Warm beige. How would it feel to touch me through that?

I will think better of my words next time, Kirigiri-chan.

Soft. No, too soft. I'll have to rid you of that sweater. It's a distraction, and we don't deal with distractions.

[ He could have easily killed the mood with a comment about 3000 touch receptors in human finger tips, but he keeps it to himself. Because it's a game with her, after all. ]

Hm. That's awfully forward of you. Won't I be cold?

[The benefit of text, here, is that she can take as much time as she needs, and come off as impassive as she wants, through the benefit of careful word choice. She doesn't have to let on the way her lip catches behind her front teeth, or how her thoughts drift to the memory of his long fingers.]

I'll have goosebumps, being exposed like that.

Forward? I'm not going to play around. You may be at first.

[ He likes text for the same reasons, really. He can take his time, be careful with his words. And while he doesn't always think very hard about the things he says and does, he is right now because while he's saying he doesn't play around, this is still a game. He thinks of his fingers over her skin, that bare flesh under his finger tips. And it causes pause, as well. The next text comes a couple minutes after the first. ]

You know, my hands are always warm. I won't make you wait long, though I may admire before my fingers trace over your skin. I can't take it too easy on you, after all. That would be far too easy.

I know what your hands feel like.

[Of course she does. She's always hung up on his hands, on the way that he touches her. He bares his so easily, while she hides hers beneath her leather gloves; he explores his world with his fingers while she always maintains a barrier around hers. So of course she notices them. Of course she remembers the feeling of his skin on hers. Of course she's memorized what it feels like when he runs his fingertips over her collarbones, when he dips them into the hollow at the base of her throat.

She's going to need to sit down. Find a quiet corner and curl in on herself. He's affecting her too much, just like this, and she wants to savor it while she's got it.]

You like it when I blush, don't you? It makes you feel like you've won something.

You like what they feel like.

[ He thinks of those pale pinks on her pale flesh. For him, it's a win, because even the smallest crack in her nature to be still underneath his fingers. That she can look him in the eye and say things to defy without hesitation. Without those smallest reactions, he wouldn't enjoy her. ]

Of course I win. I enjoy those reactions form you.

[ A pause. ]

I don't forget the way you feel, either. The heat off of your skin under my fingertips. When I trace them over your breasts, down to your stomach. Your side, your hips.

[ He never really thought about how much he would enjoy this sort of exchange with her. But he does. It's a different type of game for him. He lives alone, but all the same, he'll settle into a chair in his office - no one enters here without his explicit permission. ]

I remember how they feel in my mouth. When I close my teeth around them after you push them inside.

[It's almost tempting to mirror what she's saying for herself, to text with one hand and toy at her own lips with the other. But she's busy at the moment, and this isn't the time or place for that. So she finds a quiet corner and sinks down until she's seated on the floor, biting her lower lip to replicate some of the sensation.]

It's like you're exploring me. It's hard not to wonder what you'll find when you do.

It's always like you are ready to simply devour me.

[ Which is cleary, very clearly, not a complaint. He takes a deep breath, remembering the sensation. He moves one finger over the tips of his hand, as if tracing along where she'd close her teeth around them. He remembers what it feels like all too well. He can't replicate the sensation, of course. She's the only one who can give him exactly that. ]

Your skin is interesting. If I move slowly enough, if I change where I touch you every time - I learn something new.

[ He catches his breath. He can't replicate the feel of her skin, either. But he can remember it. The soft dips, the way it feels when he feels her inhale - exhale. ]

Does that sound too romantic? I think it might. Don't worry. I won't let it stay that way.

I still won't take off my gloves for you.

["Still won't" is the operative phrase there, and one she deploys intentionally. She knows full well that he's as addicted to exploring mysteries as she is to unraveling them, and there's no better way to keep him tempted — not that she really needs to, but that's half the game, isn't it — than to dangle an unknown in front of his face and pull it away at the last moment.

It's fair play, in light of what his words on her phone screen are doing to her. There are so many different fantasies her imagination can craft around the thought of him exploring her skin. He could be on top of her while she lies sprawled across a mattress, her hair fanned out like a halo while his knuckles trace the line of her collarbone. They could be standing like seeming strangers on a magnet train while his hand works up under her skirt.]

Kishibe-sensei

[— she sends, and realizes too late she doesn't know how that phrase even ends. She'd only touched the first few letters before her phone autofilled the rest; she'd sent it without thinking. It's as close to an unexpected gasp as a text can probably get.]

you're making me heat up.

I know. I don't need you to.

[ He doesn't seem to mind. If he knows everything about someone, they get boring a lot more quickly. The secret under her gloves isn't what keeps him playing with her, but it definitely doesn't hurt. The image of her body pressed against a wall in his office as his his hands explore her. A break from work to get inspired, he might say if he were smooth, charming. Or maybe they've made their way to his bedroom, and she's under him. He likes that, too. He sometimes feels like he's caught her - like he's won, when he has her there. He's not always a soft touch with her, but he knows that the teasing is effective to get the sort of responses he enjoys from her. ]

I thought maybe so.

[ While not impossible to tell via text, it's much easier to know when he's there with her. When he can see and feel it. However, her text, the spontaneous Kishibe-sensei did tell him quite a lot. ]

Ah, Kirigiri-san.

[ Usually, he'd be a little more familiar with her. But that's part of the game, too. ]

My lips will find your throat. Your skin is soft, I haven't forgotten. I never forget.

[ He remembers how she tastes and feels there, too. The way those memories are connected to her through sensations like this. ]

CALL ME OUT!

☆ ROHAN

bless.

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i return from beyond.

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SIGHS DEEPLY

i'm so sorry.

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