[--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.]
[ ugh, finally. now lance is finally gonna get his peace and quiet...
even if, technically, he's in the wrong bed. even if, technically, there still isn't that much space between them, the two now essentially made to share the full width of the twin-size side-by-side, though lance's head misses the pillow by just an inch.
it wouldn't take too much effort to climb out and up, and settle into his own bed, but it takes just enough effort that the thought of it is already too daunting for his lazy butt. it's so much easier just to let out a sigh, close his eyes. keith's side is pressed up right against his shoulder, pinning his arm to his own side, but it's not so bad...
[It's cramped but fine. Keith could have fallen asleep in any position at this point. Face down and squashed next to Lance would be one of the top tier options. If Lance hadn't come along where he did, for example, he'd be face down in a puddle of vomit in the living room.
Not in any shape he'd like to be discovered in by anyone.
The goodnight sentiment isn't returned, only because he'd probably fallen unconscious just as his head hit the pillow. Don't hold it against him..............]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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even if, technically, he's in the wrong bed. even if, technically, there still isn't that much space between them, the two now essentially made to share the full width of the twin-size side-by-side, though lance's head misses the pillow by just an inch.
it wouldn't take too much effort to climb out and up, and settle into his own bed, but it takes just enough effort that the thought of it is already too daunting for his lazy butt. it's so much easier just to let out a sigh, close his eyes. keith's side is pressed up right against his shoulder, pinning his arm to his own side, but it's not so bad...
yeah.
he could fall asleep just like this. ]
...Good night.
[ see: other tag i literally just sent you. ]
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Not in any shape he'd like to be discovered in by anyone.
The goodnight sentiment isn't returned, only because he'd probably fallen unconscious just as his head hit the pillow. Don't hold it against him..............]
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