*The words weren't especially raunchy, but the throaty hum that delivered them more than made up for it. Cesar straightens, and his face and ears are burning, and he won't immediately meet the other man's gaze. Great: Cesar, 1. Ryuzaki, 3.*
*He doesn't understand why it isn't working. It's like he's firing shots point-blank at Ryuzaki's chest, but they're passing through like smoke. Why isn't he distracted? Why isn't he losing even a little bit of control, and why is Cesar the one thinking about the feel of Ryuzaki's breath, and how it smells of alcohol and faint licorice? He'd watched the man's lips while he talked, trying to hear the words under the deafening synthetic beat, and the shapes they took were mesmerizing.*
*Cesar's fingers are work at the Molly tablet without his attention, turning it around once or twice. He stops doing this to sign.*
{Your accent is shit.} *No it's not. Jesus, Cesar doesn't even know how to sign in Spanish. It's the first time he's ever wanted to, and it grates that he can't.* {You should know that before you embarrass yourself.}
*His free hand goes to the nearest shot glass--but it's empty, isn't it? He presses the hand flat on the counter instead, taking the moment to stand up again. He's done here. He needs to get away from whisky and licorice, and eyes that pin him like an exposed bug.*
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2015-09-21 10:12 pm (UTC)*He doesn't understand why it isn't working. It's like he's firing shots point-blank at Ryuzaki's chest, but they're passing through like smoke. Why isn't he distracted? Why isn't he losing even a little bit of control, and why is Cesar the one thinking about the feel of Ryuzaki's breath, and how it smells of alcohol and faint licorice? He'd watched the man's lips while he talked, trying to hear the words under the deafening synthetic beat, and the shapes they took were mesmerizing.*
*Cesar's fingers are work at the Molly tablet without his attention, turning it around once or twice. He stops doing this to sign.*
{Your accent is shit.} *No it's not. Jesus, Cesar doesn't even know how to sign in Spanish. It's the first time he's ever wanted to, and it grates that he can't.* {You should know that before you embarrass yourself.}
*His free hand goes to the nearest shot glass--but it's empty, isn't it? He presses the hand flat on the counter instead, taking the moment to stand up again. He's done here. He needs to get away from whisky and licorice, and eyes that pin him like an exposed bug.*