[Luckily, he's getting pretty good at being mobile from the waist up while leaving his legs reasonably still, so he shimmies his arms out of the hoodie and then pulls it up and over his head, turning his hair into a staticky rumpled mess in the process.
Crumpling up the fabric, he offers it out to Ryn.]
[he removes his own hoodie, which he is wearing a long-sleeved shirt under, in order to take the fat cat hoodie and put it on. his hair's a little rumpled, but he smooths a hand over it to try to nudge the tentacles back into place.
thancred's right-- it's only slightly oversized on ryn, but then every hoodie is a little extra baggy on ryn's body.]
[-oh. he didn't consider that angle-- his ears and cheeks tinge purple, there, as he huffs out a breath and pulls the hood up to help hide his face a bit.
it smells a little more like thancred that way, probably.
You offered me satisfaction, and this is what I'm claiming. You're going to stay right here and submit to being flustered, and when I've had my fill I'll have a picture of it.
'Tis what you would've had more of the other night, but for your clumsy hands.
[Speaking of hands, he leans to catch one of Ryn's by the wrist, angling it so he can run the fingertips of his other hand down his palm, from the heel of his hand toward the curl of his fingers.]
[he half expects to have his hand kissed, the way thancred is going-- he certainly stays flustered, just like thancred wanted, but he doesn't pull his hand back.]
Has it occurred to you that I enjoy doing things like this? Not tormenting you, intriguing a prospect as that may be in its own right. Just expressing admiration.
[He keeps his fingers moving in slow circles, following the knitted ridge where the fingerless gloves attached to the sweatshirt come to an end, idly exploring like he's out to learn the feeling of holding Ryn's hand by touch alone.]
Well, I'm not quite in the right state for a burlesque.
[Every time he thinks he's found the most intriguing aspect of Rynlan, he does and finds an entirely new one to be enthralled by. The ears, the hair, the eyes — ]
Do an impression of me. You're already halfway there, wearing my garb. Show me your very best.
...and then kneels there, a little smirk on his face, shifting so that he's holding thancred's hand instead of thancred holding his. putting on his smoothest voice:]
I'm afraid this is going to have to suffice, in place of being able to soothe your wounds, but mayhap you'll find it a balm regardless.
[smooches the back of his hand. he is playing this up so hard.]
[He'd thought, when he'd put forth his request, that it would be getting Ryn to laugh that made it all worth it. Not a snicker or a smirk, not his usual brand of lofty sarcastic wit, but a real laugh — at the situation, at the absurdity, at the opportunity and invitation to make a spectacle of his own antics, to whatever hyperbolic degree he so chose.
What he wasn't expecting, what catches him utterly off-guard, is how much he's missed play like this. How naturally it all comes flooding back, the banter and mirth and mutual enjoyment of the theatrics. How it feels like slipping back into a comfortable well-worn shirt in and of itself, dishing out such ridiculous spectacle and having it offered back just as easily.
It's funny, is the thing, but more importantly — it makes him feel a little less alone, for just a little while.]
Oh, you wicked, wicked charmer, with your tongue of silver and words sweet as honey — !
[Gods, he's smiling without even meaning to. He hopes it lasts a little longer.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Crumpling up the fabric, he offers it out to Ryn.]
Big as it is, it might well fit you exactly.
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[he removes his own hoodie, which he is wearing a long-sleeved shirt under, in order to take the fat cat hoodie and put it on. his hair's a little rumpled, but he smooths a hand over it to try to nudge the tentacles back into place.
thancred's right-- it's only slightly oversized on ryn, but then every hoodie is a little extra baggy on ryn's body.]
Well? What do you think.
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I like it.
[He looks him over slowly, up and down. Deliberate. Makes sure he can see him looking.]
You, in something of mine.
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it smells a little more like thancred that way, probably.
oh no.]
That wasn't why-!
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[Well, now he's just being mean, himself.]
You offered me satisfaction, and this is what I'm claiming. You're going to stay right here and submit to being flustered, and when I've had my fill I'll have a picture of it.
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[this all does nothing to make him less flustered. fuck.]
Where in the world did all of this come from-
[the hoodie is absolutely staying over his head. hhhh.]
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[Speaking of hands, he leans to catch one of Ryn's by the wrist, angling it so he can run the fingertips of his other hand down his palm, from the heel of his hand toward the curl of his fingers.]
I'm making up the balance.
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Making a show of it, are you?
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[He keeps his fingers moving in slow circles, following the knitted ridge where the fingerless gloves attached to the sweatshirt come to an end, idly exploring like he's out to learn the feeling of holding Ryn's hand by touch alone.]
Would you like to put on a show for me?
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[he keeps his glowing eyes fixed on thancred, watching him over the lowered rims of his glasses.]
Mostly on what kind of show you're thinking of.
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[Every time he thinks he's found the most intriguing aspect of Rynlan, he does and finds an entirely new one to be enthralled by. The ears, the hair, the eyes — ]
Do an impression of me. You're already halfway there, wearing my garb. Show me your very best.
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[he laughs quietly, shaking his head.
...and then kneels there, a little smirk on his face, shifting so that he's holding thancred's hand instead of thancred holding his. putting on his smoothest voice:]
I'm afraid this is going to have to suffice, in place of being able to soothe your wounds, but mayhap you'll find it a balm regardless.
[smooches the back of his hand. he is playing this up so hard.]
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What he wasn't expecting, what catches him utterly off-guard, is how much he's missed play like this. How naturally it all comes flooding back, the banter and mirth and mutual enjoyment of the theatrics. How it feels like slipping back into a comfortable well-worn shirt in and of itself, dishing out such ridiculous spectacle and having it offered back just as easily.
It's funny, is the thing, but more importantly — it makes him feel a little less alone, for just a little while.]
Oh, you wicked, wicked charmer, with your tongue of silver and words sweet as honey — !
[Gods, he's smiling without even meaning to. He hopes it lasts a little longer.]