[ He should probably have been more concerned about it -- the worry of barging into an already-occupied cabana and needing to find a new one, or, worse, interrupting the occupants in the middle of something and things escalating into an argument. Should probably still be concerned about the fact that they're clearly settling into a cabana that someone's already tried to claim, given the belongings scattered around.
But also -- there's no room in his brain for those pesky thoughts when the entirety of his focus is on Dabi. The sight of him, the warmth of his skin, the way he moves. Whatever vague observations his brain makes concerning the state of the cabana are completely null the moment he feels those long fingers latch around his hips, feels those sinewy arms squeeze tight around him as he's lifted off his feet. Whatever crumb of indignation he might normally feel about being picked up and carried like he's some sort of child is utterly squelched by the satisfaction of knowing that Dabi is the one doing it, paying attention only to him in the moment.
It feels right. Feels fair. Given what secrets they've shared this evening, of course Dabi should be paying as much attention to him as the other way around.
A shell or two goes clattering to the floor when Fuuta braces a hand back against the tabletop to stabilize his balance, a fact that goes entirely unnoted. And Dabi might be reminded of months back, those sweltering hours at dawn they'd shared in one of those Mating Season pods, given the demanding way Fuuta tugs at his shirt to get him to duck his head down for a kiss. Again, the click of teeth on teeth; again, he kisses hungry and a little hasty, nipping at Dabi's lower lip before pulling back for air. ]
Make it harder, huh ...
[ But this time, he doesn't immediately hook his leg back against Dabi's thigh. The hand he'd wound into Dabi's shirtfront loosens, then drifts down, fingertips dragging against the fabric as he thinks the assignment over for a moment. ]
... 'kay. [ Then he pulls a leg up, shifting aside to slide off the table. Not to pull away, but so he can lean up to say, ] You sit down, then. I'll -- do the work this time.
[ Saying that kind of thing is still difficult for him, evident in the way the words catch at his tongue before he can spit them out. But he means them. Seriously. His fingertips skim down Dabi's front, pulling away only after reaching the waistband of his swimtrunks, before Fuuta steps away briefly. Thankfully, it doesn't take long to find what he's looking for; of course every place on this beach is stuffed to the brim with lube and toys in every nook and cranny. He grabs up the first bottle with one hand, using the other to tug his T-shirt up off over his head as he steps back to the table -- obviously starting to grow impatient, excited. ]
no subject
But also -- there's no room in his brain for those pesky thoughts when the entirety of his focus is on Dabi. The sight of him, the warmth of his skin, the way he moves. Whatever vague observations his brain makes concerning the state of the cabana are completely null the moment he feels those long fingers latch around his hips, feels those sinewy arms squeeze tight around him as he's lifted off his feet. Whatever crumb of indignation he might normally feel about being picked up and carried like he's some sort of child is utterly squelched by the satisfaction of knowing that Dabi is the one doing it, paying attention only to him in the moment.
It feels right. Feels fair. Given what secrets they've shared this evening, of course Dabi should be paying as much attention to him as the other way around.
A shell or two goes clattering to the floor when Fuuta braces a hand back against the tabletop to stabilize his balance, a fact that goes entirely unnoted. And Dabi might be reminded of months back, those sweltering hours at dawn they'd shared in one of those Mating Season pods, given the demanding way Fuuta tugs at his shirt to get him to duck his head down for a kiss. Again, the click of teeth on teeth; again, he kisses hungry and a little hasty, nipping at Dabi's lower lip before pulling back for air. ]
Make it harder, huh ...
[ But this time, he doesn't immediately hook his leg back against Dabi's thigh. The hand he'd wound into Dabi's shirtfront loosens, then drifts down, fingertips dragging against the fabric as he thinks the assignment over for a moment. ]
... 'kay. [ Then he pulls a leg up, shifting aside to slide off the table. Not to pull away, but so he can lean up to say, ] You sit down, then. I'll -- do the work this time.
[ Saying that kind of thing is still difficult for him, evident in the way the words catch at his tongue before he can spit them out. But he means them. Seriously. His fingertips skim down Dabi's front, pulling away only after reaching the waistband of his swimtrunks, before Fuuta steps away briefly. Thankfully, it doesn't take long to find what he's looking for; of course every place on this beach is stuffed to the brim with lube and toys in every nook and cranny. He grabs up the first bottle with one hand, using the other to tug his T-shirt up off over his head as he steps back to the table -- obviously starting to grow impatient, excited. ]