abstracts | Alternative Methods.

"I swear your pain will be over soon," Neil responds, wanting the same death held in Arcade's mind. "Was suggested and promptly rejected."

And here would be where Arcade frowns, annoyance and concern warring. "Really," he asks. "Your partner is that much of a jerk to refuse to switch roles?"

Oops. Neil hadn't meant to give that impression. "Hey, now," he starts. "No one's being a jerk. Alex more just said it was unlikely for that to happen. Probably because I have nothing in terms of experience."

Edited 2016-11-13 08:17 (UTC)

"Yeah, but you could try," he grumbles, still not comfortable with the defensive abused spouse thing Neil was wearing. He tries to put it out of mind. "As your friend, I would tell you to switch it up. As your medical advice person... Try something non-penetrative or get a different partner altogether."

He could try. Likely botch the deed in the process. Or Alex, the topper extraordinaire, would offer enough critique to turn Neil off to it for a fucking long time.

Arcade, bless his soul, edges into a territory Neil's looking for, and the younger man sets aside his thoughts to instantly jumps on the opportunity. "Not looking for a different partner, but... Could you gimme an example of non-penetrative stuff?" he asks.

Too bad, in the end. It'd probably save the kid a lot of trouble. Arcade starts to wear a helpless expression. "...Handjobs?"

...Geez. Arcade looks like he's reaching the end of his rope, and well, Neil's crossing that border where people start to cut off the annoying things in life. Namely him. Need to start wrapping this up.

Neil pushes away the urge to press both hands to his face in dismay. "Apparently, handjobs aren't very intimate," he mutters before shaking his head. "Thanks, Arcade. I owe you a shitton for this. Just name the price, and I'll pay it."

"They can be, depending on how you..." He trails off, seeing the escape Neil is giving and weighing it. He wants to run at this point, really run fast and far, but that helpless expression is really overdoing it.

He groans, loudly, and turns to the cabinet nearby, rummaging until he finds a large bottle of tequila that Raul had given him for his last birthday and two shot glasses. He fills both, then downs both in a quick succession. He sputters incoherently. "I hate tequila," he says by way of explanation, then fills two more and repeats the act.

The response to his generous offer is four shots of hated tequila going straight into Arcade's mouth. Neil finds himself watching, confusion setting in. "...You getting information overload?"

Duh.

Edited 2016-11-14 06:57 (UTC)

He ignores Neil, and waves his hand in an exaggerated motion. "This is an area of discretion, correct? As much as a tent with a flap for a door can be...." He trails off, a moment of dismay, then continues. "So let's be discrete and practice blatancy, shall we? It will be fun."

He says this with all the enthusiasm of a dead man, and makes the number go up to six in a moment more.

Oh, boy. Neil might have pushed the envelope a bit too far. Arcade downs his fifth and sixth shots as the younger man considers where things are headed to. He continues to watch the other, the bemusement changing into curiosity.

"Hit me with your blatancy, then," says Neil.

Ah, good. An open and willing mind. Arcade hates tequila but Neil is cute. "God, I hope I didn't say that out loud." I don't think I did. Maybe-- "That was probably too much," he says, staring at the shot glass. He squints. The glass is blurry. Or dirty. "I don't remember if this was clean." What had he been doing? Oh, right. Neil.

Neil who has the sex problems of a boyfriend with a too high appetite. "I told you it'd be better to look elsewhere," Arcade says, pointing the glass at Neil. "Now look at this... coming to me for advice. You know the last time I had sex was... Probably five years ago. You were probably underage then. Now I just have sex with myself." Too much information. Too much. But. "But hey. That's what you want information on, right? Jerking the gherkin."

Before Neil could ask exactly what Arcade hopes he didn't say aloud, the older man continues. He slides into that lovely territory where alcohol begins to take away the harsh edges and general coherency and damn if it isn't hard as hell for Neil to keep a straight face.

He quirks a small smile, managing not to chuckle. "Jerking the gherkin? Seriously?" Another shake of the head. "Besides, I wasn't planning on going to people for advice until...it was recommended to me. And you were named as one of those men."

"One of them?" he sputters, placing the glass down a little too hard as he misjudges the distance. "Are you telling me Mr. Courier Six himself told you to come to me?"

He should kill him. He hates him. "Why does Alex hate me so much?"

Neil raises both hands, his palms out. "Don't look at me," he starts. "He probably just thought you were a good choice. Or is trolling the hell out of you."

"It's always pain and mocking with him," he soliloquizes, face a visage of pain. "I don't understand why he can't just like me and be friends with me."

Instead of sending his hot boyfriend to ask about sex. Arcade probably... shouldn't have drank in these circumstances.

That admittance has a ring of pain, and Neil feels a guilty tinge somewhere within him. Probably shouldn't have pushed Arcade to drinking, yeah.

"He's your friend. He likes you," Neil retorts. "I was kidding about the trolling. This is a favor from me, not him. You can blame the pain and mocking on me."

Staring. Staring at the pretty words that are probably lies.

"...You said there was a list. And I was on it."

"Of course, you were on the list," Neil continues, as if speaking of something simple. "Alex is my only resource for sleeping with people. He has more resources. Of course, he'd have you as a resource."

He sighs. "It doesn't mean you're depraved. Just means you know more about the subject than either of us."

Edited 2017-01-29 21:40 (UTC)

"You're trying to win me over, Neil Park, and it's working. Your charisma is at an all time high." Or something. Arcade (carefully) repours the shots again, and this time holds one to Neil.

"Interesting handjobs, was it?"

The compliment (sorta) has Neil Park scratching the back of his head in an attempt to kill the awkward rising within him. He continues the conversation, nevertheless, with his other hand taking and accepting the drink.

"I believe you said 'jerking the gherkin,'" he says. "I'm assuming that's what you call an interesting handjob?"

Edited 2017-01-29 21:51 (UTC)

"That's a lonely handjob," he replies with a self-mocking grin, before drinking the remaining one. He winces, dropping the glass on the table. He (does not stumble) moves to a stool nearby and perches atop it. Mostly. Has to straighten himself.

"Interesting ones involve wetness and texture."

"Oh." Neil looks at the liquid swirling in the shot glass, assessing the contents. He politely ignores any unnatural movements coming from the other man, and with a shrug, he tips the glass back into his mouth. The tequila burns slowly down his throat, leaving behind a funny aftertaste.

Neil makes a face at the glass. Tequila, unfortunately, is no whiskey.

"Wetness and texture?" he echoes to Arcade, wiping his mouth.

Edited 2017-01-29 22:00 (UTC)

"Digression and blatancy," he reiterates, shaking his head.

"It's more comfortable when you or your partner's fluids are making things easier, correct?

Neil doesn't need (nor want) to think back to the past to consider this question. "So basically, wetter is better?"

Yes, it's cringe-worthy. No, he's not going back on that description.

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