[ Narumi doesn't seem flushed. So that's a good sign, right? This isn't the resort fucking with them with laced foods yet again? It's just that the spices aren't a type that he's used to. ... right?
Too bad Fuuta's just settled on that comforting line of thought and tried to convince himself of it when the sudden grab at his shirt collar has him second-guessing himself. The hard yank at his clothes is enough to shake a wobbly yelp out of him, and -- right, this fucker is unfairly much stronger than he looks, because he can't even put up much resistance as he's dragged along. ]
What th -- what competition?! [ It's a struggle just to keep up, and his slides catching against the sand has him stumbled a step, almost falling over before managing to regain his balance. ] N-not that I'm scared?! I'll fucking do it, but you can't just ... !
[ All that yanking at his hoodie's not only stretching the fabric, but also tugging it where it sits against his body. If Narumi looks back, he might spot the way it's come off one shoulder, exposing where Fuuta's T-shirt underneath is practically plastered against his body with sweat, damp and dark. But also ... Fuuta's face flushes hotter as he tugs down the hem of his hoodie, trying real hard not to visibly walk funny as he tries to keep pace.
-- it's gotta be the food, he tells himself. It's purely the food. It's not that the sensation of an obnoxious asshat like Narumi practically yanking his clothes off him sends a little tingle down his spine. ]
no subject
Too bad Fuuta's just settled on that comforting line of thought and tried to convince himself of it when the sudden grab at his shirt collar has him second-guessing himself. The hard yank at his clothes is enough to shake a wobbly yelp out of him, and -- right, this fucker is unfairly much stronger than he looks, because he can't even put up much resistance as he's dragged along. ]
What th -- what competition?! [ It's a struggle just to keep up, and his slides catching against the sand has him stumbled a step, almost falling over before managing to regain his balance. ] N-not that I'm scared?! I'll fucking do it, but you can't just ... !
[ All that yanking at his hoodie's not only stretching the fabric, but also tugging it where it sits against his body. If Narumi looks back, he might spot the way it's come off one shoulder, exposing where Fuuta's T-shirt underneath is practically plastered against his body with sweat, damp and dark. But also ... Fuuta's face flushes hotter as he tugs down the hem of his hoodie, trying real hard not to visibly walk funny as he tries to keep pace.
-- it's gotta be the food, he tells himself. It's purely the food. It's not that the sensation of an obnoxious asshat like Narumi practically yanking his clothes off him sends a little tingle down his spine. ]