[ That most "conventional girls" would shy away from him is something he suspects, and he chalks it up to that for why he lacks cards from women. Whether it's a true or false assumption doesn't concern him much—while he doesn't often reject advances, he doesn't involve himself on the side of seduction and courtship, finding only distaste in the ritual of trying to make oneself appealing to others. If they happened to be the right people to play the game, then the time might eventually come around—like now.
He registers the brush of her fingers against his hands, though he doesn't unfurl to receive her just yet. The repression of arousal leaves him tensed and avoidant, his attention devoted to restraint like the dams holding back a flood. He sucks in a breath through his nose. ]
You didn't do it on purpose, did ya?
[ He sounds neutral, if gruff in his distraction: it might be half a joke, half suspicion. Maybe Tohsaka would be the type to try something like that, but even if it were intentional, he wouldn't find himself overly bothered. Such is life in the Golden Peacock, playing their hedonist game. And since the answer doesn't truly matter, he finally moves, a twist of his wrists ending with hers held firmly in his grasp. His index remains lifted on his right hand—the side which still has that finger—as though in habit, despite the casual certainty in his strength. ]
Get on with it, then.
[ There's a strain to the thin curl of his lips—the challenge it should bear wavers, thanks to the sense of urgency. No qualms with letting his partner lead, as long as the stakes aren't high. Perhaps it might telegraph reservation and modesty in some, but for him, Tohsaka's earlier read would be correct—the kind of nonchalance yielded by a particular mix of laziness and unwavering self-assurance. ]
no subject
He registers the brush of her fingers against his hands, though he doesn't unfurl to receive her just yet. The repression of arousal leaves him tensed and avoidant, his attention devoted to restraint like the dams holding back a flood. He sucks in a breath through his nose. ]
You didn't do it on purpose, did ya?
[ He sounds neutral, if gruff in his distraction: it might be half a joke, half suspicion. Maybe Tohsaka would be the type to try something like that, but even if it were intentional, he wouldn't find himself overly bothered. Such is life in the Golden Peacock, playing their hedonist game. And since the answer doesn't truly matter, he finally moves, a twist of his wrists ending with hers held firmly in his grasp. His index remains lifted on his right hand—the side which still has that finger—as though in habit, despite the casual certainty in his strength. ]
Get on with it, then.
[ There's a strain to the thin curl of his lips—the challenge it should bear wavers, thanks to the sense of urgency. No qualms with letting his partner lead, as long as the stakes aren't high. Perhaps it might telegraph reservation and modesty in some, but for him, Tohsaka's earlier read would be correct—the kind of nonchalance yielded by a particular mix of laziness and unwavering self-assurance. ]