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The Excitement of Home Computing...

𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍, 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃𝐒 with amorous desires beneath. Soft things. What is their endless chattering if not the Mousai's singing with iridescent emotions? Only a sinner and a fool would turn from them, no? But sometimes, he finds himself to be the both. Sometimes, he nay wants to hear nor feel anything related to them; even his own desires refuse to be edged. And tonight, is one of those rare times. Tonight he has made himself a nice nest at the very dimly lit corner of the bar, enjoying the earthy bitterness of the freshly poured genshu from his ochoko. His ruby eyes catch the dark tones of his silhouette reflected in the murky shade of the sake; dancing to the light, swaying motion of his hand before the rim of his cup finds his lips.

It is exactly when his lonesome times comes to an end. A stray fox has set their eyes on him, it seems. Him, the prey. Can you believe it?

For he definitely can't. Neither to the question nor to the sly lips that have stolen his own is able to offer a decent answer, other than the deepening shade of crimson that has, perhaps never, ever touched his face before. Still lingering, it would be an utter lie had he were to say something within his chest didn't just skip -- like a beat of a heart, or if he were to say the soft yet persistent sensation didn't cause embers of desire to bite at his skin. His open eyes though, widens not by the lack of air but by the reality of the situation. Or perhaps, to be more frank, what the fuck are these embers, hey! And the twitching of his lips, well that can easily be mistaken for the motion triggered by his apparent frustration. But alas, before his hand can latch onto them, they are already out of reach. With that smirk tugging at their lips. Those lips that were against his seconds ago.. Damn.

❝ Oi, what the hell d'you think you’re doing?! Don’t screw around like that. ❞

An angry growl escapes him as he forces his gaze away from.. Ahem. Quietly, he sinks back into his seat and is quick to bring his round cup to his now wet lips; hoping to erase the lingering, tempting sensation from prompting him doing something stupid. To soothe the tinging warmth, to reduce? the deepening red. Ah stop staring, will you.