[Oh, no. Oh, he can feel his face burning. He can feel his ears an his neck and his shoulders burn like they're on fire. His fingers twitch helplessly against Fugo's stomach, and his breath is just--it's stupid, it's a stupid mess.]
[All of him is a mess. His breathing has lost all semblance of normal rhythm and his heart is beating so fast it almost hurts and his mouth won't work. He has so much he wants to say and no idea how to say it. What is he supposed to do with himself when Fugo asks him something like that? Please, Giogio, please, and he wants so badly to respond with something coherent, but all he can manage instead is to press his face against Fugo's neck and gasp.]
I don't know--I don't know how to say it, I just--Fugo.
[His fingers are digging in too hard now, he knows, but he feels so frantic, so betrayed by his own lack of eloquence. He wonders if he should do what Fugo did and then just does it, shifts the angle of his hand so his nails dig against Fugo's stomach just a little, because he can't think anymore.]
[Maybe that's for the best, though.]
I do feel good, [is what he manages eventually, in fits and starts.] Everything you do feels good, and I want you so much, and I want you to want me--I'm so greedy for you, Fugo, always, but I don't know the words. Please.
[He doesn't even know what he's asking for. Mindreading? Permission he's already gotten? More, probably. That's almost always what he wants.]
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[Oh, no. Oh, he can feel his face burning. He can feel his ears an his neck and his shoulders burn like they're on fire. His fingers twitch helplessly against Fugo's stomach, and his breath is just--it's stupid, it's a stupid mess.]
[All of him is a mess. His breathing has lost all semblance of normal rhythm and his heart is beating so fast it almost hurts and his mouth won't work. He has so much he wants to say and no idea how to say it. What is he supposed to do with himself when Fugo asks him something like that? Please, Giogio, please, and he wants so badly to respond with something coherent, but all he can manage instead is to press his face against Fugo's neck and gasp.]
I don't know--I don't know how to say it, I just--Fugo.
[His fingers are digging in too hard now, he knows, but he feels so frantic, so betrayed by his own lack of eloquence. He wonders if he should do what Fugo did and then just does it, shifts the angle of his hand so his nails dig against Fugo's stomach just a little, because he can't think anymore.]
[Maybe that's for the best, though.]
I do feel good, [is what he manages eventually, in fits and starts.] Everything you do feels good, and I want you so much, and I want you to want me--I'm so greedy for you, Fugo, always, but I don't know the words. Please.
[He doesn't even know what he's asking for. Mindreading? Permission he's already gotten? More, probably. That's almost always what he wants.]