Psii glanced briefly down at his shirt, as if affronted that Signless would stain it, even when he didn't give any shits about his clothing anyway.
"Don't make me punch you, Vantas, I thwear I goddamn will—platonically!" he added belatedly.
He still had no fucking clue whether Signless wanted to to pap or punch him in the grand scheme of things. If it weren't for his low view of himself, he'd suggest doing both things simply because of duality. Psii flip-flopped his moods at the drop of a hat, and this dichotomy made it easy for him to mix up red and black when flustered, even while not realizing it.
The breadth of Signless's feelings for others crossed quadrants he never toed to begin with, and it left Psii feeling far from up to the task of fulfilling any of his wishes. He'd stuck by him for so many sweeps. First he was his savior, then he was his friend. Psii felt he could never repay that, least of all with the balance a lover should provide. But now Signless was telling him quite plainly what he wanted, which answered at least one of the questions bouncing around in Psii's think pan. His close friend, with whom he shared many an argument, wanted to have sloppy fanged makeouts. This at least made some sort of sense. Psii could handle that, maybe. Just casual hatekissing between bros, no big deal. He already thought Signless was being a giant pile of putrid leavings.
He touched his own mouth and found cherry blood there. He resisted the urge to lick his lips. Psii stared at the red on his fingers, his own blood boiling until it hit a switch in his head. His eyes flicked back up to his friend. Then he carefully, deliberately wiped them down Signless's shirt. The corners of his mouth twitched upward.
He leaned close and breathed, "Make me, shitlord."
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"Don't make me punch you, Vantas, I thwear I goddamn will—platonically!" he added belatedly.
He still had no fucking clue whether Signless wanted to to pap or punch him in the grand scheme of things. If it weren't for his low view of himself, he'd suggest doing both things simply because of duality. Psii flip-flopped his moods at the drop of a hat, and this dichotomy made it easy for him to mix up red and black when flustered, even while not realizing it.
The breadth of Signless's feelings for others crossed quadrants he never toed to begin with, and it left Psii feeling far from up to the task of fulfilling any of his wishes. He'd stuck by him for so many sweeps. First he was his savior, then he was his friend. Psii felt he could never repay that, least of all with the balance a lover should provide. But now Signless was telling him quite plainly what he wanted, which answered at least one of the questions bouncing around in Psii's think pan. His close friend, with whom he shared many an argument, wanted to have sloppy fanged makeouts. This at least made some sort of sense. Psii could handle that, maybe. Just casual hatekissing between bros, no big deal. He already thought Signless was being a giant pile of putrid leavings.
He touched his own mouth and found cherry blood there. He resisted the urge to lick his lips. Psii stared at the red on his fingers, his own blood boiling until it hit a switch in his head. His eyes flicked back up to his friend. Then he carefully, deliberately wiped them down Signless's shirt. The corners of his mouth twitched upward.
He leaned close and breathed, "Make me, shitlord."