trashfire | CALL ME OUT!

[ 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.

CALL ME OUT!

bless.

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i return from beyond.

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