[He was having some Vital Thoughts about the shark necklace, and yet, things ended up more hostile than intended, which happens to him sometimes? Often? Sometimes often?]
Don't catch weird guys in the street when you're wearing stuff you wear all the time.
[So lectures drunk Keith, while having went 'undercover' with the exact outfit he wears everyday minus his jacket and weird spacelike boots.]
You're the one who shouldn't be wearing pants either. [A firm..a...ccusation? With his lecture-voice, still holding the dull tooth at his chin.] You smell like that place.
[He's tipping forward, in spite of his words. It's easier to stress his words when he's closer, get his point across...]
Edited (it's easy to make quick gay excuses, i find) 2017-08-23 00:47 (UTC)
[ a situation with keith?? winding up more violent than expected??? what a plot twist...
you know what's also a plot twist? this sudden proximity. in that it really isn't that much of a twist, because any moron with a brain could have definitely seen this coming. sadly, this particular moron, while totally possessing a brain (he swears), had been a little too preoccupied with that harsh accusation thrown in his face.
why does anyone have to not be wearing pants all of a sudden?! ]
I—
[ okay, he has no actual defense prepared for this... because he has no actual defense at all. could he have tried a little harder with his undercover get up? yeah, for sure. a wig... sunglasses of his own, even if it was nighttime... sure... tbh now he's wondering why he hadn't, for someone who was so gung ho about the mission in the first place. but what's done is done, there's no use bemoaning it at this point okay! ]
Whatever, I was going to change, but someone decided to overdo it on their own mission.
[ the ferocity of his own accusation tapers off a pretty weakly, since he's suddenly leaning as far back as he possibly can while still being tugged forward by the neck, which means he really isn't leaning that far back at all but boy is he trying. keith's so close now that he can feel the boy's breath on his chin, minty fresh. his hands come up, curling firmly around keith's arms. it neither pushes the other boy back or keeps him in place, a spike of bewilderment (and maybe just a touch of concern) making the gesture ultimately useless. ]
[Not wearing pants is just what one does at night -- sometimes. Not Keith, because Keith's usually a decent, respectable teenage boy, but it definitely ties into the fact that Lance hasn't been fully briefed (lol) on what he should've worn and what he's wearing now.
Which is the same thing, but it's also deep like evangelion.
He'll finally release the necklace, because he's too close to bother poking at his chinthroat with it anymore. That, and he never actually meant to get pokey with it -- with him, with it. That's just how his brain translated it's nice to see you wearing that despite the risk of being exposed, even though that's not even a problem since the guy you bagged has been bagged. He could use a better interpreter.
A sigh, and he's using Lance's shoulders to steady himself, sit himself up straight...which only works because Lance has a tender grip under his arms.]
Do whatever you want. [Re: changing.] I was just -- No. I was thinking about apologizing.
[So he probably is dying. He shakes his head a few times, trying to arrange his messy bangs away from his eyes, just so he can have a better view into Lance's. His breath might be minty fresh, but a reminder of his current mindset lingers on his skin somehow just as well as the way he's handicapped the flow of their conversation at every turn...]
[ for as wild a night as lance has already had, where one unexpected moment piles onto another unepexted moment, this one has got to be the most unexpected of them all. it's made evident by the height the crawl of his brows reach, because as every scientist will tell you, the level of wtfery of a moment is directly correlated to how far into one's hairline one's brows reach. and right now they're pretty high up there. ]
Apologize, [ lance repeats, because his mom always said putting voice to something gives it more power, but he still can't quite seem to fully digest it. ] To me.
[ his eyes narrow a little, and one of his hands crawls up the side of keith's neck to settle over the boy's brow. it would be a nurturing, even tender gesture, if it weren't for the blatant uncertainty written all over lance's face. ]
[Dabbling in the High Arch tends to recede ones hairline earlier than expected, so says the polls.
After all of that effort, he closes his eyes and tilts his head, favoring the side where Lance's hand lingers. Alcohol poisoned...maybe not? It sure felt that way prior to vomiting, but he hadn't had enough to do that sort of damage. This is just a classic example of a rookie making rookie mistakes.]
Remember when we were practicing together?
[It wouldn't hurt to be more descriptive, but it's good enough in his mind. It's not like they've put serious effort into practicing many things together in their time here.
He may fall asleep in the middle of all this, btw.]
anyway if keith falls asleep in the middle of his apology he's just gonna wind up owing lance two apologies, and then where would you be! be strong, man, you can do this. in the meantime, lance is racking his brain for this particular moment, somehow completely forgetting to factor in that time in the dojo. mostly because, to him, that had been less "practicing together" and more "who the heck even knows."
so excuse him if he continues to look a little lost, especially in the midst of his steadily growing concern. keith is starting to feel even heavier in his hands, and he's beginning to wonder if he'll even be able to keep them both upright at this point. never mind the awkward angle, but when someone decides to dead weight on you, all bets are off. ]
Uh.. Let's say I do. [ remember, that is. ] What about it?
It's his brain. It's his brain soaking in all the alcohol that's making his head heavier -- and also him bobbing between conscious and unconscious. The eventual response has him returning to Olympia, shaking his head just slightly -- almost like he's trying to arrange Lance's fingers in a more comfortable way. Lazy pillow fluffing.]
I knocked you over on purpose'n....
[Blinking to full attention (though not without a glazed, distant look), he brings a hand up to touch lightly at Lance's hairline. Specifically brushing his bangs in reverse once, twice...]
[ ah riiiiight. okay, okay. the pieces are coming together now. but he finds himself focusing on the wrong thing, as he's wont to: ]
So wait, you were mad at me?
[ he tries to focus, even though keith is back to being weird again, even though their faces are literally inches apart at this point. he gets it into his mind to maybe straighten (hahahahaha) keith out a little, lest he tip over completely, but doing so is roughly the equivalent of trying to lift up some tubing filled with water, so keith just kind of flops and wobbles around a little as lance tries to figure out how much strength to use to prop him up a little better. spoilers: he doesn't ever really figure it out, which just leads to a tighter grip on those arms than he would have liked. he should have been deep into his rem cycle by now...
his brow furrows at the touch along his hairline, both in apprehension and... anticipation? that same weird anticipation he'd felt back in the dojo, keith looming over him with a crazy look in his eyes, the kind of look that spoke of rash decisions about to be made, only this time keith's eyes are glazed, heavy-lidded. probably not even seeing him at all. ]
[First of all, Lance's hair is soft. Maybe there is some merit to all his complaints about needing to use the shower longest so the conditioner can fully sink in. It's not baby kitten soft, but silky, like a Christmas ribbon or maybe like a woolly caterpillar? His fingers follow the length, sliding down a temple and flexing his thumb over the longer strands there. Unintentionally ignoring the question in prioritizing his inspection. He's looking from Lance's eyes to his handiwork, shifting to and fro--
Keith?
Immediate response comes in form of a hiccup. A second comes just after:]
Huh?
[Startled himself back into the moment; doesn't mean he's not a still a giant mess.]
[ weird, lance keeps thinking. this is so weird. he suddenly can't remember the last time he'd been this close to someone, and held their eyes for this long. keith's doing this weird petting thing with his hair, and it's like two inches south of the kind of comfort you'd get from when your mother runs her fingers through your hair when your sick, so it's both calming and also very not. the softness of his voice is distracting too, but at least that makes a little more sense for the situation. as close as they are, there's no need to talk that loudly. if the lights were off, they could talk even softer...
but maybe the weirdest of all is how much he doesn't mind it. ]
But you were?
[ maybe he shouldn't even press it anymore. keith looks about two seconds away from passing out, and a better friend would probably already start tucking the poor guy in for a long night. but now he's kind of hooked, desperate to know what had really been up that day. it's so very rare to catch keith in a chatting mood. can he be blamed for wanting just a little more of it?
[Keith has probably never sat so close to anyone in his life. Maybe his reflection, one? And yet, here he is, cozy and acting like this is totally normal.
Even being affectionate?? Mimicking Lance in a way that didn't even start as an imitation, but a way to express himself where his words are...feeling more alphabet soupy than usual. Subsequent to the longest 'blink' in history, he's reopening his eyes with a nod, though their lids seem heavier than before. His thumb flexes in place, ruffling his hair a bit before falling to the crook of his neck.
...He should probably elaborate, explain why, but he....cannot. Even with the freedom of drunkenness, because even now he's confounded by it. Weird feelings are weird feelings, drunk or sober. Such is the life of a gremlin who hasn't experienced love.......................]
[ well so much for enlightenment. he supposes he could try asking again later, when the other boy's got a bit more of his wits about him, but he has a feeling there's no real way this particular conversation is ever gonna be productive. unless maybe they were both drunk, but not yet to the point of passing out.
ah well. he figures he may as well cut his losses. keith said he wasn't mad now, which is what really matters, right? right. so he sighs, trying not to get tickled by the hand lingering around his neck. ]
Alright, c'mon... let's get you to bed.
[ he technically already is, but you know what i mean.
he shifts, attempting to coax keith to lay back... except he realizes half-way that the pillow is on the other side, so he grunts and starts to pull backwards instead, but doing so essentially involves him tugging the boy towards him, and seeing as how lance no longer has his balance, he winds up tipping backward the moment enough weight flops onto him.
[That's right, ask later, when Keith can confidently pigeonwalk his way out of the conversation...avoid him for days...
There's a groan of a hum at Lance's suggestion. Which, of course, he knows he's in bed, but Lance makes it sound like they're gonna move around which is a terrible thought. Like bringing up poop at the dinner table. He slips his hand more fully around Lance's neck as he starts moving, sans any ambition to help him out in any way.
However, tottering forward is something he's okay with. In hindsight, this is probably all he meant? Another hiccup's stifled against Lance's cheek and, thereafter, he's pushing himself onto an elbow -- the same one he'd just tried to hug the boy's neck with.]
Whose bed is this?
[He'd push himself up further if having his legs entwined? With Lance's was more uncomfortable. It's not. This entire arrangement is fine, because he's lying down and Lance feels warm. It's like their night in the tent -- so his weird temper tantrum/bipolar outburst has come full circle.]
[ lance is beginning to sense a pattern, of bony bodies falling on top of him, those aforementioned bones somehow finding the exact softest spot in his gut to jab into on the way down. he winces, he oof's, he doesn't properly respond because that managed to somehow knock what little wind he'd had. ]
Like there was any way I could've gotten you up a ladder like this.
[ keith's question, while valid, just makes lance exasperated at this point. if he were being more fair, he wouldn't be quite so terse, but he probably shouldn't be expecting too much of a drunk person at this point...
he groans again, trying to shift so that he isn't quite so sprawled like a heap, but with the extra weight and his legs all tangled up it proves... pretty pointless. he stops trying with a frustrated huff. ]
[--Sounds like home, just as he'd suspected. With that affirmation, he's sliding back down, scooching a bit further down Lance's body to tuck his head under Lance's chin, effectively headbutting him in the process. He's heavy now, just wait until he dozes off.]
Pick something.
[Semi-muffled, half because he's mushed against him, half because his mouth isn't cooperating now that he's comfortable, like a naked koala clinging to the last eucalyptus branch in Australia.
He's idle or approximately two seconds in anticipation of Lance's demands, before sitting up in a rush, like he's suddenly remembered that the stove was left on?! There's a scowl as he's riding Lance's midsection, lacking the sense to to ease off the guy's gut.]
This is itching me.
[This being Lance's mesh shirt...which is probably not making him feel itchy at all, but it's the only word that came to mind. For emphasis ('emphasis'), he'll cram his forefinger into Lance's side.]
[ the reprieve lasts all of seven seconds, really. seven sweet, blissful seconds wherein lance has already managed to conjure up eleven (yes, eleven) favors the other boy could grant him, many of which involve being errand boy (and benefactor, lbr) for all of his skin and hair care products. it's both productive and petty, which works out just fine for lancey lance. so fine, in fact, that he apparently doesn't even have time to worry or be concerned about suddenly being used as a human mattress, because keith's finally calm and quiet now, and that's always better than the alternative right...?
anyway, he's begun work on formulating his twelfth when mr. useless drunk (so useless he can't even pass out properly) props himself back up again, earning a preemptive heavy sigh from his human cushion. ]
It's not even— ah! H-Hey!
[ his sharp yelp is cut off, surprise at being so suddenly poked quickly replaced by the stuttered, wheezing pants of a man trying not to give into the urge to giggle while another man pokes his side relentlessly. his body jerks beneath keith's, hands flying up to try and swat and/or grab the offending hand away. ]
[He gives Lance a look. It's like when a dog either hears a new sound, or a noise so entirely familiar to them they tilt their head in an effort to fully comprehend. It's as if he's never heard Lance yelp before, which is untrue, just...the manner of which...
His hand's attacked as a secondary result, which is fine, because he has another. He could fend off Lance's own, but that's a lot of effort when he's got another open side. Why would he ever relent when Lance explicitly asked him to, anyway? This is clearly what Keith was trying to prepare him for back at the dojo. This time, he'll run his fore and middle fingers from Lance's hip to his ribcage, the puppydogish look growing more amused with the amount of pressure he's jabbing into his skin.
[ ok but keith is the actual wORST. see if he ever does anything nice for you ever again! like a true heathen, keith blatantly ignores the bro code of "never tickle a bro when he makes tiny little girl sounds" because that's definitely where lance is now, his sharp giggles muffled (or at least attempted to be) by a firm bite to his lower lip. he had caught only a brief second of that Look, the rest swallowed up in black when his eyes instinctively shut, which is stupid because now that he's down one sense, all the others (like touch!!) are heightened! et tu, brain!!?
caught at both sides, he starts thrashing beneath the shorter boy, hoping those one or two inches grants him enough extra weight or build to idk throw the boy off or something. like some tittering bucking bronco. and because his stupid mesh shirt is mesh, all his tossing around is just getting fingers and elbows caught in everywhere, to the point one side's drawn all the way up to his armpit, and the other is caught at the point of his elbow, moving around in his attempt to half ward off those wriggling fingers and half act as shields to his sides. spoilers: neither attempt is working.
he'll get you for this keith... revenge will be hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis....! ]
[At one point or another, while Keith's extremely successful in tickling both sides (especially when Lance decides to wrap himself up like a shark trapped in a tuna net), he can't maintain his balance. On a better day, he'd do it with ease. Currently, it does seem Lance is a wild bronco.
While his dad may be straight out of Brokeback Mountain, Keith hasn't had enough practice taming wild stallions, sober or inebriated. He's knocked off and crumples over to Lance's side, laughing all the while, arms criss-cross clutching his tummy. Twice in one night. A new high score.
Because, as if it weren't funny enough to ruin Lance's night in making him squeal like a girl (etc), the fact that he's wrapped up in himself in his disguise is comedy gold.]
[ by the time it's all over, and he's granted sweet, sweet relief, part of lance's dumb shirt has wound up caught along the bottom row of his teeth. the experience of wearing that mesh shirt officially ruined, he grumpily wriggles it back down over his torso, but he doesn't much care enough to fix it over his arms, so it remains pushed up and stuck around his elbows. whatever... ]
Yeah yeah, have your fun...
[ he hadn't really paid attention to it the first time it happened (some thirty minutes to an hour ago), but there's nothing to draw his attention away from it now. keith's laughter, like a unicorn's tears, is a strange phenomenon to behold, precisely for its rarity. he cannot help but grow quiet in it, still until it tapers off into a sigh.
then he's jabbing one of those bony elbows to keith's own gut — albeit gently, so as not to spark another puking round 2.0 ]
[The teeth thing is probably the best part of this??????
Unicorns tears, aliens gathering at area 51, a lunar eclipse. Keith probably won't laugh for another ten years. By the time he settles, Lance is apparently trying to get the jump on him. It could be worse, an in some far stretch of his mind, he's aware that the boy's going easy on him.
So he's sitting up again, breathing unevenly, hair ruffled from flopping over, prompted to do so by Lance's skeletal limbs. He's also doing his best to find the ends of that shirt which...really...truly is like a fish net. So that's where the name comes from.
Here we go, finally approaching the opening to a cheesy porno.]
Hold your arms up.
[If he sets Lance free from his frogskin shirt, surely he'll be down at least one favor. He can't recall what the first is from, but at least he's not arguing about it.
He's being...proactive. Bonus points for not just ripping off of his body like a savage.]
[ unfortunately, lance can't read keith's mind, and so he isn't able to follow this particular train of thought (if one... can even call it that...). mind still stuck on that last little tickle romp, he can only regard keith's sudden command and resolve with a look of utter wariness.
he shifts, but it's to place his arms firmly at his sides, doing the exact opposite of what keith wants and refusing to leave himself wide open. ]
[Lance is so unreasonable. Nevermind that his sides are probably still tingling. Of course, Keith doesn't think to reason with him or otherwise explain his plans, because Lance should just get it.
Where he doesn't, and it doesn't occur to him to explain himself, Keith moves to stand up, using Lance's shoulders as a crutch to proceed, because gaining height on him should provide enough influence for him to get the pesky thing off...higher ground is always advantageous, after all.
Except that, once he tries to stand at full height, he bonks his head on the underside of Lance's mattress, which isn't painful or even audible, but he flops back onto the mattress below like a ping pong ball, oof-ing in a way Lance had just earlier, splaying himself partially ontop of the blue paladin once again...for the millionth time tonight.
of course lance only has about a split-second to revel in that (mostly in the form of a triumphant ha!, which is so short-lived you can barely even call it a laugh) before he's suddenly got a grown teenager tumbling back down over him. consider the wind fully and effectively knocked out of him, emphasized by a sharp oof! that seems to deflate his entire body. it doesn't hurt as much as it could have, but it sure as heck ain't the most pleasant of experiences. he can do no more than rumble and groan beneath keith's full weight, and any shifting he does is really just his own poor body's attempt to get comfortable. spoilers: nothing works. ]
I quit, [ he whines. ] Game over. You win. Get off me...
[Lance must be up to some pretty nefarious things, or he was just a terrible person in his previous life. Whichever it may be, Keith is kind enough to lift himself onto all fours at the forfeit. He wasn't even trying to get him to surrender anything -- in fact, he was just trying to...
What was he doing again?
Doesn't matter. The sound of Lance handing him a metaphorical prize is enough to have him shift elsewhere (his shirt still feels weird, too). He's crawling to his pillow at the pace of a wounded badger, and flops down once he's able to properly, fully bury his face into it.
Hopefully he won't suffocate or puke. Worst slumber party 2k17.]
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Don't catch weird guys in the street when you're wearing stuff you wear all the time.
[So lectures drunk Keith, while having went 'undercover' with the exact outfit he wears everyday minus his jacket and weird spacelike boots.]
You're the one who shouldn't be wearing pants either. [A firm..a...ccusation? With his lecture-voice, still holding the dull tooth at his chin.] You smell like that place.
[He's tipping forward, in spite of his words. It's easier to stress his words when he's closer, get his point across...]
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you know what's also a plot twist? this sudden proximity. in that it really isn't that much of a twist, because any moron with a brain could have definitely seen this coming. sadly, this particular moron, while totally possessing a brain (he swears), had been a little too preoccupied with that harsh accusation thrown in his face.
why does anyone have to not be wearing pants all of a sudden?! ]
I—
[ okay, he has no actual defense prepared for this... because he has no actual defense at all. could he have tried a little harder with his undercover get up? yeah, for sure. a wig... sunglasses of his own, even if it was nighttime... sure... tbh now he's wondering why he hadn't, for someone who was so gung ho about the mission in the first place. but what's done is done, there's no use bemoaning it at this point okay! ]
Whatever, I was going to change, but someone decided to overdo it on their own mission.
[ the ferocity of his own accusation tapers off a pretty weakly, since he's suddenly leaning as far back as he possibly can while still being tugged forward by the neck, which means he really isn't leaning that far back at all but boy is he trying. keith's so close now that he can feel the boy's breath on his chin, minty fresh. his hands come up, curling firmly around keith's arms. it neither pushes the other boy back or keeps him in place, a spike of bewilderment (and maybe just a touch of concern) making the gesture ultimately useless. ]
Are you dying? What's wrong with you!
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Which is the same thing, but it's also deep like evangelion.
He'll finally release the necklace, because he's too close to bother poking at his chinthroat with it anymore. That, and he never actually meant to get pokey with it -- with him, with it. That's just how his brain translated it's nice to see you wearing that despite the risk of being exposed, even though that's not even a problem since the guy you bagged has been bagged. He could use a better interpreter.
A sigh, and he's using Lance's shoulders to steady himself, sit himself up straight...which only works because Lance has a tender grip under his arms.]
Do whatever you want. [Re: changing.] I was just -- No. I was thinking about apologizing.
[So he probably is dying. He shakes his head a few times, trying to arrange his messy bangs away from his eyes, just so he can have a better view into Lance's. His breath might be minty fresh, but a reminder of his current mindset lingers on his skin somehow just as well as the way he's handicapped the flow of their conversation at every turn...]
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Apologize, [ lance repeats, because his mom always said putting voice to something gives it more power, but he still can't quite seem to fully digest it. ] To me.
[ his eyes narrow a little, and one of his hands crawls up the side of keith's neck to settle over the boy's brow. it would be a nurturing, even tender gesture, if it weren't for the blatant uncertainty written all over lance's face. ]
Were you alcohol poisoned?
no subject
After all of that effort, he closes his eyes and tilts his head, favoring the side where Lance's hand lingers. Alcohol poisoned...maybe not? It sure felt that way prior to vomiting, but he hadn't had enough to do that sort of damage. This is just a classic example of a rookie making rookie mistakes.]
Remember when we were practicing together?
[It wouldn't hurt to be more descriptive, but it's good enough in his mind. It's not like they've put serious effort into practicing many things together in their time here.
He may fall asleep in the middle of all this, btw.]
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anyway if keith falls asleep in the middle of his apology he's just gonna wind up owing lance two apologies, and then where would you be! be strong, man, you can do this. in the meantime, lance is racking his brain for this particular moment, somehow completely forgetting to factor in that time in the dojo. mostly because, to him, that had been less "practicing together" and more "who the heck even knows."
so excuse him if he continues to look a little lost, especially in the midst of his steadily growing concern. keith is starting to feel even heavier in his hands, and he's beginning to wonder if he'll even be able to keep them both upright at this point. never mind the awkward angle, but when someone decides to dead weight on you, all bets are off. ]
Uh.. Let's say I do. [ remember, that is. ] What about it?
no subject
It's his brain. It's his brain soaking in all the alcohol that's making his head heavier -- and also him bobbing between conscious and unconscious. The eventual response has him returning to Olympia, shaking his head just slightly -- almost like he's trying to arrange Lance's fingers in a more comfortable way. Lazy pillow fluffing.]
I knocked you over on purpose'n....
[Blinking to full attention (though not without a glazed, distant look), he brings a hand up to touch lightly at Lance's hairline. Specifically brushing his bangs in reverse once, twice...]
no subject
So wait, you were mad at me?
[ he tries to focus, even though keith is back to being weird again, even though their faces are literally inches apart at this point. he gets it into his mind to maybe straighten (hahahahaha) keith out a little, lest he tip over completely, but doing so is roughly the equivalent of trying to lift up some tubing filled with water, so keith just kind of flops and wobbles around a little as lance tries to figure out how much strength to use to prop him up a little better. spoilers: he doesn't ever really figure it out, which just leads to a tighter grip on those arms than he would have liked. he should have been deep into his rem cycle by now...
his brow furrows at the touch along his hairline, both in apprehension and... anticipation? that same weird anticipation he'd felt back in the dojo, keith looming over him with a crazy look in his eyes, the kind of look that spoke of rash decisions about to be made, only this time keith's eyes are glazed, heavy-lidded. probably not even seeing him at all. ]
...Keith?
[ he better not throw up again. ]
no subject
Keith?
Immediate response comes in form of a hiccup. A second comes just after:]
Huh?
[Startled himself back into the moment; doesn't mean he's not a still a giant mess.]
...I'm not mad at you.
[What was he even saying?]
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but maybe the weirdest of all is how much he doesn't mind it. ]
But you were?
[ maybe he shouldn't even press it anymore. keith looks about two seconds away from passing out, and a better friend would probably already start tucking the poor guy in for a long night. but now he's kind of hooked, desperate to know what had really been up that day. it's so very rare to catch keith in a chatting mood. can he be blamed for wanting just a little more of it?
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Even being affectionate?? Mimicking Lance in a way that didn't even start as an imitation, but a way to express himself where his words are...feeling more alphabet soupy than usual. Subsequent to the longest 'blink' in history, he's reopening his eyes with a nod, though their lids seem heavier than before. His thumb flexes in place, ruffling his hair a bit before falling to the crook of his neck.
...He should probably elaborate, explain why, but he....cannot. Even with the freedom of drunkenness, because even now he's confounded by it. Weird feelings are weird feelings, drunk or sober. Such is the life of a gremlin who hasn't experienced love.......................]
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ah well. he figures he may as well cut his losses. keith said he wasn't mad now, which is what really matters, right? right. so he sighs, trying not to get tickled by the hand lingering around his neck. ]
Alright, c'mon... let's get you to bed.
[ he technically already is, but you know what i mean.
he shifts, attempting to coax keith to lay back... except he realizes half-way that the pillow is on the other side, so he grunts and starts to pull backwards instead, but doing so essentially involves him tugging the boy towards him, and seeing as how lance no longer has his balance, he winds up tipping backward the moment enough weight flops onto him.
d'oh... ]
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There's a groan of a hum at Lance's suggestion. Which, of course, he knows he's in bed, but Lance makes it sound like they're gonna move around which is a terrible thought. Like bringing up poop at the dinner table. He slips his hand more fully around Lance's neck as he starts moving, sans any ambition to help him out in any way.
However, tottering forward is something he's okay with. In hindsight, this is probably all he meant? Another hiccup's stifled against Lance's cheek and, thereafter, he's pushing himself onto an elbow -- the same one he'd just tried to hug the boy's neck with.]
Whose bed is this?
[He'd push himself up further if having his legs entwined? With Lance's was more uncomfortable. It's not. This entire arrangement is fine, because he's lying down and Lance feels warm. It's like their night in the tent -- so his weird temper tantrum/bipolar outburst has come full circle.]
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Like there was any way I could've gotten you up a ladder like this.
[ keith's question, while valid, just makes lance exasperated at this point. if he were being more fair, he wouldn't be quite so terse, but he probably shouldn't be expecting too much of a drunk person at this point...
he groans again, trying to shift so that he isn't quite so sprawled like a heap, but with the extra weight and his legs all tangled up it proves... pretty pointless. he stops trying with a frustrated huff. ]
You better not forget any of this. You so owe me.
no subject
Pick something.
[Semi-muffled, half because he's mushed against him, half because his mouth isn't cooperating now that he's comfortable, like a naked koala clinging to the last eucalyptus branch in Australia.
He's idle or approximately two seconds in anticipation of Lance's demands, before sitting up in a rush, like he's suddenly remembered that the stove was left on?! There's a scowl as he's riding Lance's midsection, lacking the sense to to ease off the guy's gut.]
This is itching me.
[This being Lance's mesh shirt...which is probably not making him feel itchy at all, but it's the only word that came to mind. For emphasis ('emphasis'), he'll cram his forefinger into Lance's side.]
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anyway, he's begun work on formulating his twelfth when mr. useless drunk (so useless he can't even pass out properly) props himself back up again, earning a preemptive heavy sigh from his human cushion. ]
It's not even— ah! H-Hey!
[ his sharp yelp is cut off, surprise at being so suddenly poked quickly replaced by the stuttered, wheezing pants of a man trying not to give into the urge to giggle while another man pokes his side relentlessly. his body jerks beneath keith's, hands flying up to try and swat and/or grab the offending hand away. ]
Don't!
[ or he'll... laugh even harder! so there. ]
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His hand's attacked as a secondary result, which is fine, because he has another. He could fend off Lance's own, but that's a lot of effort when he's got another open side. Why would he ever relent when Lance explicitly asked him to, anyway? This is clearly what Keith was trying to prepare him for back at the dojo. This time, he'll run his fore and middle fingers from Lance's hip to his ribcage, the puppydogish look growing more amused with the amount of pressure he's jabbing into his skin.
RIP.]
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caught at both sides, he starts thrashing beneath the shorter boy, hoping those one or two inches grants him enough extra weight or build to idk throw the boy off or something. like some tittering bucking bronco. and because his stupid mesh shirt is mesh, all his tossing around is just getting fingers and elbows caught in everywhere, to the point one side's drawn all the way up to his armpit, and the other is caught at the point of his elbow, moving around in his attempt to half ward off those wriggling fingers and half act as shields to his sides. spoilers: neither attempt is working.
he'll get you for this keith... revenge will be hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis....! ]
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While his dad may be straight out of Brokeback Mountain, Keith hasn't had enough practice taming wild stallions, sober or inebriated. He's knocked off and crumples over to Lance's side, laughing all the while, arms criss-cross clutching his tummy. Twice in one night. A new high score.
Because, as if it weren't funny enough to ruin Lance's night in making him squeal like a girl (etc), the fact that he's wrapped up in himself in his disguise is comedy gold.]
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Yeah yeah, have your fun...
[ he hadn't really paid attention to it the first time it happened (some thirty minutes to an hour ago), but there's nothing to draw his attention away from it now. keith's laughter, like a unicorn's tears, is a strange phenomenon to behold, precisely for its rarity. he cannot help but grow quiet in it, still until it tapers off into a sigh.
then he's jabbing one of those bony elbows to keith's own gut — albeit gently, so as not to spark another puking round 2.0 ]
Now you owe me two things.
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Unicorns tears, aliens gathering at area 51, a lunar eclipse. Keith probably won't laugh for another ten years. By the time he settles, Lance is apparently trying to get the jump on him. It could be worse, an in some far stretch of his mind, he's aware that the boy's going easy on him.
So he's sitting up again, breathing unevenly, hair ruffled from flopping over, prompted to do so by Lance's skeletal limbs. He's also doing his best to find the ends of that shirt which...really...truly is like a fish net. So that's where the name comes from.
Here we go, finally approaching the opening to a cheesy porno.]
Hold your arms up.
[If he sets Lance free from his frogskin shirt, surely he'll be down at least one favor. He can't recall what the first is from, but at least he's not arguing about it.
He's being...proactive. Bonus points for not just ripping off of his body like a savage.]
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he shifts, but it's to place his arms firmly at his sides, doing the exact opposite of what keith wants and refusing to leave himself wide open. ]
No. How come? No.
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Where he doesn't, and it doesn't occur to him to explain himself, Keith moves to stand up, using Lance's shoulders as a crutch to proceed, because gaining height on him should provide enough influence for him to get the pesky thing off...higher ground is always advantageous, after all.
Except that, once he tries to stand at full height, he bonks his head on the underside of Lance's mattress, which isn't painful or even audible, but he flops back onto the mattress below like a ping pong ball, oof-ing in a way Lance had just earlier, splaying himself partially ontop of the blue paladin once again...for the millionth time tonight.
Trying to help him was a bad idea.]
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of course lance only has about a split-second to revel in that (mostly in the form of a triumphant ha!, which is so short-lived you can barely even call it a laugh) before he's suddenly got a grown teenager tumbling back down over him. consider the wind fully and effectively knocked out of him, emphasized by a sharp oof! that seems to deflate his entire body. it doesn't hurt as much as it could have, but it sure as heck ain't the most pleasant of experiences. he can do no more than rumble and groan beneath keith's full weight, and any shifting he does is really just his own poor body's attempt to get comfortable. spoilers: nothing works. ]
I quit, [ he whines. ] Game over. You win. Get off me...
[ just let him sleep 2k17 ]
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What was he doing again?
Doesn't matter. The sound of Lance handing him a metaphorical prize is enough to have him shift elsewhere (his shirt still feels weird, too). He's crawling to his pillow at the pace of a wounded badger, and flops down once he's able to properly, fully bury his face into it.
Hopefully he won't suffocate or puke. Worst slumber party 2k17.]
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