[ Oh, yup, those sure do look like some hickies along his collarbone.
Fuuta can't help giving a weary groan at the sight of them, because ... really? Did he really have sex and then completely forget about it? Granted, he's sure he was drunk, but even so. Even if this place is starting to mess with his head after a year, isn't that kinda -- crass? Sure, it's 'just sex,' but to have zero memory of it still feels kinda messed up ...
And distracted by those thoughts, Fuuta's a second late to respond to realize the bed's jostling because Beowulf is peeking over his shoulder. In an instant he whips around and scrambles back an armslength, hurriedly pulling his shirt's top closed once more with his face red, looking very much like a shy maiden trying to hide her bosom. ]
Wh -- I told you to stay there!
[ In truth, though, it's less that he's trying to hide his chest (scrawny, nothing to see anyway), and more ... what's on his skin there. Because Beowulf might have caught a glimpse of some severe bruises discoloring his skin a bit lower down, splashed over his sternum and extending beneath his shirt.
Fuuta, of course, tries to pretend nothing's amiss, just giving a huffy grumble as he does the buttons of his shirt once more. ]
But yeah, there's h -- marks. So. I guess. Maybe we ... did.
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Fuuta can't help giving a weary groan at the sight of them, because ... really? Did he really have sex and then completely forget about it? Granted, he's sure he was drunk, but even so. Even if this place is starting to mess with his head after a year, isn't that kinda -- crass? Sure, it's 'just sex,' but to have zero memory of it still feels kinda messed up ...
And distracted by those thoughts, Fuuta's a second late to respond to realize the bed's jostling because Beowulf is peeking over his shoulder. In an instant he whips around and scrambles back an armslength, hurriedly pulling his shirt's top closed once more with his face red, looking very much like a shy maiden trying to hide her bosom. ]
Wh -- I told you to stay there!
[ In truth, though, it's less that he's trying to hide his chest (scrawny, nothing to see anyway), and more ... what's on his skin there. Because Beowulf might have caught a glimpse of some severe bruises discoloring his skin a bit lower down, splashed over his sternum and extending beneath his shirt.
Fuuta, of course, tries to pretend nothing's amiss, just giving a huffy grumble as he does the buttons of his shirt once more. ]
But yeah, there's h -- marks. So. I guess. Maybe we ... did.