[ There'll be plenty of time for banter and brusqueness and blades; right now, Setsuna is just testing Mello's limits, indeed, pushing his buttons, but he's doing it purposely this time. He knows what he's doing, or at least he'd like to think so. Mello is a loose cannon at best and a potential murderer at worst, but as he told him before, he'll take his chances. You only live once, right?
Setsuna is glad being second place isn't enough. It's not enough for him, either, not in situations like this. He should realize that just because Setsuna may seem calm, reserved, and impossible to ruffle doesn't mean he actually is. He's simply accustomed to tailoring the nastier sides of his personality down. Mello lets it all hang out, so to speak. It's his style, and he won't judge him for it, but they differ in that sense.
Setsuna moves in time with the gun, up, down, up, down, a low purr slipping free, and then there's a jerk, a trigger, not in Mello's gun but in Setsuna's muscles. Mello's arm goes up along with him, an attempt at a strike that Setsuna catches with the hand not clutching his blade, a wrist seized firm in his grip, but Mello does successfully manage to force his way to the top, settle himself firmly on his hips. Setsuna grunts, pinned beneath Mello's weight, but they're evenly matched—he could break his arm if he so pleased in this position. Mello has escaped the knife, which now rests at Setsuna's side, but it could easily be retrieved at a moment's notice. Assuming Mello doesn't make a foolish attempt at swiping it. His blade, his hands, no one else's. Those are the rules. ]
Got you.
[ Straddling him might not have been the best of plans, as Setsuna proceeds to rub their crotches together, what's an obvious erection on his end against Mello's jeans. He's guessing he'll get smacked for that, too, but it'll be worth it. And he can take a beating, as Mello may have deduced already. ]
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Setsuna is glad being second place isn't enough. It's not enough for him, either, not in situations like this. He should realize that just because Setsuna may seem calm, reserved, and impossible to ruffle doesn't mean he actually is. He's simply accustomed to tailoring the nastier sides of his personality down. Mello lets it all hang out, so to speak. It's his style, and he won't judge him for it, but they differ in that sense.
Setsuna moves in time with the gun, up, down, up, down, a low purr slipping free, and then there's a jerk, a trigger, not in Mello's gun but in Setsuna's muscles. Mello's arm goes up along with him, an attempt at a strike that Setsuna catches with the hand not clutching his blade, a wrist seized firm in his grip, but Mello does successfully manage to force his way to the top, settle himself firmly on his hips. Setsuna grunts, pinned beneath Mello's weight, but they're evenly matched—he could break his arm if he so pleased in this position. Mello has escaped the knife, which now rests at Setsuna's side, but it could easily be retrieved at a moment's notice. Assuming Mello doesn't make a foolish attempt at swiping it. His blade, his hands, no one else's. Those are the rules. ]
Got you.
[ Straddling him might not have been the best of plans, as Setsuna proceeds to rub their crotches together, what's an obvious erection on his end against Mello's jeans. He's guessing he'll get smacked for that, too, but it'll be worth it. And he can take a beating, as Mello may have deduced already. ]