[ Everyone here is already annoying by default, but like, even by those standards, this guy is so extra super condensed annoying? ]

Haa?

[ Of course the teasing, combined with that pretense at languid disinterest, promptly have Fuuta baring his teeth in a little growl, even as heat flickers in the pit of his stomach. ]

The hell's even your problem, you -- ow! [ Except his protest cuts off with a little yelp when the waistband of his swim trunks first snag against the sharp angle of his hipbone, digging into his waist. ] -- wait, don't just pull it, gimme a -- ow, ow! [ Each additional tug just has the fabric scuffing against his skin, and Fuuta yowls loudly before shoving sharply at Narumi to disengage for a moment. ] -- stop, I'll do it myself! What the hell!

[ But still. Even as he says that, just stripping down and revealing how hard he already is is an embarrassment he doesn't want to endure alone, so. Fuuta shoots Narumi a stare even as he scoots back out of arms reach to start shimmying out of his swim trunks: ]

And let's see how unlame you look, then. Prove you're so much better than me, dumbass.