[ Enri is smirking under Daddy's praise, though he hides it behind the rim of his glass. Even then, his expression veers impish with pleasure and self-satisfaction, eyes fixed on Sen. No, no, of course not because he knew about how he broke his nose, but rather because he's gotten away with something apparently incomprehensible.
Reading Daddy's texts.
Of course he reads Daddy's texts. He wants to know everything about his love, and what better way to learn while Darius is resting, or showering, or preoccupied with mail, than by reading his conversations with other people? (He has unlimited access, really. What with Darius allowing him to handle the rotating phone numbers, he can request transcripts of every text he's sent.) (Not that he has. Not that he's really that diligent about the reading. It's more of a pastime. He just happened to catch that particular conversation - the teeth, the broken nose, the 'fuck that failed abortion'. Lucky him.)
His smirk becomes a radiant grin when Darius musses his hair. He tilts back his head and casts that winsome smile upside-down at Daddy, warm with being coddled. Warm with Daddy's approval. (Warm with being favored, trusted, loved perfectly.) (Again, a sing-song thought: Daddy loves me.) (In his head, he sing-songs it at Sen.)
(He's. Kind of tipsy. Oops.)
He passes his drink (their drink) up without hesitation, because what's his is theirs, and what's Darius's is theirs, which is why he reads those texts. Daddy trusts him. Daddy knows he'll never use any of those secrets to drive harm.
Not to Darius, anyhow.
He's leaning his cheek (so recently kissed) (he smells honey and love and Daddy's cologne) back against Darius's thigh when a remark from the man above him hits a sour note. Not in the room, but - between Enri and Rin. Or maybe just for Enri. He shifts a little, his eyes flickering away from Sen in time to catch a movement from them, a stretch that maybe isn't a stretch.
Darius is calling his attention back, and he looks up with another smile, though this time it wavers the moment he settles back again. He does try to keep up with the conversation, of course, with a brief - ]
Heard that one before. The olive oil thing. But I mean, I also heard you'll die if you drink Coke and eat pop rocks.
[ He means something about not believing everything you hear. He means only kids believe that shit. He was going to elaborate, and maybe chase the question of Sen's oft-broken nose, but his eyes are on Rin again, and a feeling of leaden guilt settles over him.
Sen's talking again, sounding his indignation about the third broken nose incident. (His indignation seems, Enri thinks, to be largely performative.
He's happy. Having Darius and Rin and - sure. Maybe even Enri, here in this room, has made him happy and expansive.)
Enri's eyes shift to his waning drink, and he tilts the glass back and forth a little, watching the remaining amber liquid. He starts to raise it to his mouth to finish it off.
But there's a pause in the conversation, and it's into this that he quietly, gently interjects, as though while Darius and Sen verbally spar, he and Rin have been having a conversation all their own in the silence -]
You're more like a cocktail.
[ A pause here, in which he can sense Sen staring at him, trying to sort out what he means. And then sorting out what he means, and shifting imperceptibly nearer to Rin.
Enri purses his lips, letting them pull slightly right, and his eyes follow to drift along shelves, displays, the notebook and pen, before flickering to Rin and away again. ]
You're not shitty coffee. I don't think that. I did think you were like a cocktail, though. Not really the things that make it up anymore; something better.
[ And you know what? Since he's talking, and he can't really keep hold of his train of thoughts thanks to the grey and the whiskey, he stares up at the ceiling (why isn't that purple?) and continues: ]
Pumpkin spice lattes are kind of a cocktail, huh? Not pumpkins or coffee anymore. Frankencoffee. Stupid and kinda sad. The guy, whatsit. Jaeger.
[ Is in fact a walking Pumpkin Spice Latte, he thinks, but doesn't actually say. He's looking at his drink again. Hums and holds it up to Darius again. Thinks, want the rest?
And he smiles up at the beautiful man caressing him, feeling warm all over again. ]
I'm good.
[ Something about. Something about the whiskey and maybe he's had enough.
But also, he is good. He's a good puppy. And he's good here on the floor. This is a good apartment. Good people. He's settling back against Daddy's thigh with a sigh and a contented smile, thinking that's good, too. ]
no subject
Reading Daddy's texts.
Of course he reads Daddy's texts. He wants to know everything about his love, and what better way to learn while Darius is resting, or showering, or preoccupied with mail, than by reading his conversations with other people? (He has unlimited access, really. What with Darius allowing him to handle the rotating phone numbers, he can request transcripts of every text he's sent.) (Not that he has. Not that he's really that diligent about the reading. It's more of a pastime. He just happened to catch that particular conversation - the teeth, the broken nose, the 'fuck that failed abortion'. Lucky him.)
His smirk becomes a radiant grin when Darius musses his hair. He tilts back his head and casts that winsome smile upside-down at Daddy, warm with being coddled. Warm with Daddy's approval. (Warm with being favored, trusted, loved perfectly.) (Again, a sing-song thought: Daddy loves me.) (In his head, he sing-songs it at Sen.)
(He's. Kind of tipsy. Oops.)
He passes his drink (their drink) up without hesitation, because what's his is theirs, and what's Darius's is theirs, which is why he reads those texts. Daddy trusts him. Daddy knows he'll never use any of those secrets to drive harm.
Not to Darius, anyhow.
He's leaning his cheek (so recently kissed) (he smells honey and love and Daddy's cologne) back against Darius's thigh when a remark from the man above him hits a sour note. Not in the room, but - between Enri and Rin. Or maybe just for Enri. He shifts a little, his eyes flickering away from Sen in time to catch a movement from them, a stretch that maybe isn't a stretch.
Darius is calling his attention back, and he looks up with another smile, though this time it wavers the moment he settles back again. He does try to keep up with the conversation, of course, with a brief - ]
Heard that one before. The olive oil thing. But I mean, I also heard you'll die if you drink Coke and eat pop rocks.
[ He means something about not believing everything you hear. He means only kids believe that shit. He was going to elaborate, and maybe chase the question of Sen's oft-broken nose, but his eyes are on Rin again, and a feeling of leaden guilt settles over him.
Sen's talking again, sounding his indignation about the third broken nose incident. (His indignation seems, Enri thinks, to be largely performative.
He's happy. Having Darius and Rin and - sure. Maybe even Enri, here in this room, has made him happy and expansive.)
Enri's eyes shift to his waning drink, and he tilts the glass back and forth a little, watching the remaining amber liquid. He starts to raise it to his mouth to finish it off.
But there's a pause in the conversation, and it's into this that he quietly, gently interjects, as though while Darius and Sen verbally spar, he and Rin have been having a conversation all their own in the silence -]
You're more like a cocktail.
[ A pause here, in which he can sense Sen staring at him, trying to sort out what he means. And then sorting out what he means, and shifting imperceptibly nearer to Rin.
Enri purses his lips, letting them pull slightly right, and his eyes follow to drift along shelves, displays, the notebook and pen, before flickering to Rin and away again. ]
You're not shitty coffee. I don't think that. I did think you were like a cocktail, though. Not really the things that make it up anymore; something better.
[ And you know what? Since he's talking, and he can't really keep hold of his train of thoughts thanks to the grey and the whiskey, he stares up at the ceiling (why isn't that purple?) and continues: ]
Pumpkin spice lattes are kind of a cocktail, huh? Not pumpkins or coffee anymore. Frankencoffee. Stupid and kinda sad. The guy, whatsit. Jaeger.
[ Is in fact a walking Pumpkin Spice Latte, he thinks, but doesn't actually say. He's looking at his drink again. Hums and holds it up to Darius again. Thinks, want the rest?
And he smiles up at the beautiful man caressing him, feeling warm all over again. ]
I'm good.
[ Something about. Something about the whiskey and maybe he's had enough.
But also, he is good. He's a good puppy. And he's good here on the floor. This is a good apartment. Good people. He's settling back against Daddy's thigh with a sigh and a contented smile, thinking that's good, too. ]
Good Puppy.