1886/Was he seriously

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Was he seriously
Date of Scene: 28 August 2016
Location: Earth Court Frat House
Synopsis: Zoisite and Kunzite talk about things, including Zoisite speculating that Mamoru might be flirting with him. And of course no other flirting was going on in any other way. Obviously.
Cast of Characters: Kunzite, Zoisite


Kunzite has posed:
If nothing else, Zoisite knows immediately on waking that there were no major emergencies while he was out. Because he is still leaning against a shoulder.

(He knows that Kunzite has not fallen asleep, because said shoulder has moved enough in that time to keep the sleeper from developing a crick in his neck.)

On the other hand, some things have changed during Zoisite's nap. Specifically, there is a heavy, warm thing weighing down his lap. It takes opening eyes, though, to discover with any certainty that Mamoru apparently decided Zoisite had a good plan. And sprawled across both of them before going dead to the world.

Being in public around these two is all too likely a way to become furniture.
Zoisite has posed:
Contrary to what some people might believe of him napping, Zoisite was out cold. The strawberry blond blinks as he wakes up- somewhat slowly, to be honest. The young Shitennou yawns quietly, conscious of the weight across his lap in a semi-conscious, fuzzy way. The exact cause of the weight across his legs hasn't quite reached thinking brain yet, but it's enough that he isn't bothering Mamoru's sleep. Still, it also means he is well and truly stuck until the Prince decides to wake up.

Which is fine, because Zoisite isn't exactly fully conscious himself. Instead, he mumbles something inarticulate in a language that is obviously a Romance language, and burrows against Kunzite's shoulder a little more, still blinking sleepily and yawning occasionally. "...what time is it?" His voice is soft, out of respect for not waking Mamoru.
Kunzite has posed:
"Don't know." The familiar deep voice is likewise quiet. No whisper, but no urgency. "Nephrite went up to the roof a little while ago."

So, somewhere around the middle of the night, then. Or the small hours. Hopefully not as far as 'Kunzite usually leaves to go running in an hour.'

The shoulder Zoisite is burrowed against shifts a little, and there's the whisper of page on page as that book Kunzite was reading is put back down again. One-handed. The other one's still half-draped around Zoi.

He doesn't try to push for coherence too quickly. There are better things to do with an evening than taunt someone in biting range.
Zoisite has posed:
Zoisite yawns widely again, nestling closer. "What're you reading?" There's mild curiosity in his tone, even as much as there's a great deal of grogginess. It's pretty clear that Zoisite takes comfort in Kunzite's half-hold of him, though he seems to want to hold hands instead.

"I just need to be up early to run with Naru. Don't think she'd let me live it down if I quit on her this soon." It's half a grumble, but the irritation is more directed at himself for taking such obvious bait.
Kunzite has posed:
Kunzite reaches again, and sets the book in Zoisite's lap, tucked between his body and Mamoru's side. The dark-haired boy stirs a little, makes a half-hearted complaining noise, and settles back into unconsciousness.

"Mn. She might let you live it down. But one comment at the wrong time would put it into the girls' gossip circle, and then." There is no need for further words after the 'then.' Rei alone could probably target needling little asides for years.

Kunzite lifts his hand to run it over Zoisite's hair, smoothing it unnecessarily. Which gives Zoisite, in turn, a reasonable opening to intercept that hand and shift it around on his owner, if he so chooses. "Past whatever had you out of sorts last week, then?"
Zoisite has posed:
Zoisite nods a little, leaning into the hand in his hair. "Yeah... I'd rather not deal with that." Even if it means that he's now prone to taking afternoon naps. Zoisite looks at the title of the book and smiles faintly.

At the question, Zoisite shrugs. "I guess I am." He's still a little out of sorts- the idea that he could have potentially gotten his Prince killed is still weighing heavily on his mind, but he has plans to deal with that. Uncomfortable plans, granted, but plans all the same. Instead of saying anything about that, he just leans against Kunzite more. "...question. Does he pull on your hair, or is that a stunt he's reserving for me?"
Kunzite has posed:
It's the same book Kunzite's been reading in spare moments for a few days, on the Syrian revolution and contributing factors. Before that it was a history of modern Turkey. Before that ... it's a pattern Zoisite can pick up on easily enough.

Beryl set Kunzite in charge of gathering energy in the Middle East. The complex of situations there dates back to centuries, maybe millennia, before Beryl did that; there's no possible way that Kunzite blames himself for everything going on. But trying to study and sort out what he might have made worse --

-- well. He wouldn't be doing that unless he were also considering whether and what he might be able to do to ameliorate it, someday.

Considering how busy one teenager in Tokyo is keeping them, that's probably not in the near-future plans.

Leaning against Kunzite more is accepted, as always. The question prompts a blink, but it's not as if Kunzite can actually conveniently lean around to study Zoisite's expression just now. "Not often, no." Hardly ever, in fact. "Yours does draw the eye more. Does it bother you?"
Zoisite has posed:
Zoisite glances between the book and Kunzite and snorts softly. He knows the intent behind reading that book, to some degree. The snort isn't exactly derisive or amused, precisely. Or, well, it is amused, but less at the subject matter and more at how utterly typical of Kunzite it is.

It's probably lucky for Zoisite that Kunzite can't look at his expression right now, because Zoisite's cheeks are faintly red. "...No, it doesn't bother me, just." Zoisite grumbles inarticulately. That's about a clear an answer as mud as far as his Prince's intentions go. There's another party he could ask, but no way in hell is he ever.
Kunzite has posed:
The party he did ask is bad enough, in some respects. Because there's an echo, a syllable that prods more effectively than a hand would. "'Just.'"

Apparently this time Zoisite will not entirely be allowed to get away with asserting that Kunzite speaks inarticulate grumble.
Zoisite has posed:
There's a small sound of alarmed discomfort at that echo, and Zoisite shaking his head a bit. "Just-- I don't know." Well, he does, but isn't it enough for Endymion to be in something of a relationship with both Usagi and Kunzite? If that even was the Prince's intent? Which it may very well not be?

Instead of saying anything further, Zoisite burrows as close as he can to Kunzite's side, intentionally burrowing his face so it's hard to hear him speak.
Kunzite has posed:
This is not a subject Kunzite is an expert in discussing. This is not, in fact, a subject Kunzite is even an expert in recognizing. And not even that 'I don't know' makes it clear to him. There's a near-silent laugh when Zoisite tucks his face in, though, and the hand that had stroked his hair comes up to cradle the back of his head; the other comes across to lace fingers together. Not a tight hold. Not one Zoisite can't escape, and not one that does any more blocking of air than he's just done for himself.

"Just don't try to carve your way past the ribcage," Kunzite murmurs down to him after a couple of slow breaths. "I'd have to take exception to that."
Zoisite has posed:
Zoisite tightens his grip on that hand, snorting a laugh at the comment. He turns his head and huffs wryly after a moment. "I just... is he intentionally flirting by doing that?" Zoisite asks. He knows Kunzite is as thick as lead when it comes to this subject, and it's pretty clear his tone is looking for sympathy more than anything.
Kunzite has posed:
He knows. And if there were any doubt whether their escape from the Dark Kingdom might have changed that, Kunzite's absolute failure to catch the phrase "I can see why someone would" a few days ago nailed that answer down securely.

The hand that had just been at the back of Zoisite's head is allowed to fall away with the turn, settling back into the loose half-embrace. Gray eyes glance down at black hair. "Is it intentional, or is it playing along?" Given that Zoisite makes a game out of half-flirting himself, as often as not. "You did make a point of making yourself ... still more attractive to admire, a few days ago. In appearance and otherwise."

That may be as close as Kunzite is ever going to get to voluntarily mentioning what they did to that PI.
Zoisite has posed:
"Well, it didn't seem like it was in response to anything," which, granted, means exactly nothing. It could have very easily been in response to that. "And it's not like I'd mind, I just..." Again with that trailing just of vague frustration.

The comment about making himself more attractive to admire at least provides a distraction from his confusion and frustration. "Oh, did I now?" he asks, his tone suddenly quite interested. He grins a little. "And otherwise, hmm?"
Kunzite has posed:
Kunzite's mouth curves up at the corner rather more markedly than usual, no matter whether it's witnessed or not. "It would be a pity not to appreciate artistry," he says. "Jadeite has his clay, Naru her brush and pencils. You have your manner and your words and your glance. A creation of beauty on the one hand, a precisely-aimed weapon on the other, depending on your mood and your intent. Should one not value the privilege of watching you work?"
Zoisite has posed:
Zoisite practically purrs at the compliment. He nuzzles closer with a small smile. "I think that's a question you already know the answer to," Zoisite offers in a soft, pleasant tone. He fusses at Kunzite's hair a bit, scratching lightly at the larger Shitennou's scalp and occasionally brushing through his hair with fingers.
Kunzite has posed:
Bone-white hair, straight as ever, even if it still cuts off too soon when his fingers stroke through it. Better than it was a few weeks ago. It's a little short of four months since it was burned off, and it's already nearly back to his shoulders. Even in a more or less normal body again, that's still inhumanly quick to come back.

Then again, the way that Kunzite leans his own head into Zoisite's attentions, pushing lightly at fingertips as his eyes close, is for a moment very nearly as feline as Zoisite's almost-purr. Worrying too strictly about only human qualities might not be the best plan in this household.

If Zoisite wanted an escape from the topic, it'd seem he has one.
Zoisite has posed:
Zoisite enjoys the chance to stroke Kunzite's hair, even if it is still too short by far. He smiles, enjoying the feel of it running over his fingers and the fact that Kunzite leans into it like a pleased cat. He hums tunelessly for a moment before settling in bonelessly, hand still lightly scratching Kunzite's scalp.