Lollipop [One-Shot, Death Note]
Title: Lollipop
Fandom: Death Note
Characters/Pairings: Female!Beyond Birthday x Male!A (Abstract Align)
Rating: R, to be safe (because, LOL, non-explicit sex).
Status: One-Shot
Word Count: 2900
Summary: Sometimes, A wonders if B is one of those reasons as to why he hasn't jumped out the nearest window yet.
Disclaimer: The original Death Note concept belongs to Tsugumi Ohba, and Takeshi Obata, while Beyond Birthday and A belong to Nishio Ishin. However, I do own this story.
Notes: Good God, do not ask me what I was smoking when I wrote this. I blame aa_lithium for the gender bender and Male!A's personality; our cracktastic RPs from OVER NINETHOUSAND YEARS AGO gave me plot bunnies again. ;DDDD
UH. This is probably NSFW, due to the butchering of B's personality and fade to black hand jobs, so, yeah. B|;;
Sometimes, A wonders why he even bothers.
Sometimes, A is this close to jumping out the nearest window, but he never does because then he remembers the objective (L, always L) and how that would be selfish of him.
And, honestly, A didn't even have any real problems. Sure, he was the number one candidate to become L, meaning that he was stressed like hell, but surely, he could get over something simple like that. Sure, he sometimes felt like he could never, ever meet up to everyone's expectations, but that was only sometimes. And, sure, he had a raging, psychopathic room mate named B who was in denial over her own gender, and--
Oh, wait. That's right.
B was female.
As in, female, with X-Chromosome, premenstrual syndrome, two A-sized lumps of fat and elastin on her chest called breasts, and violent mood-swings that usually meant he was in deep shit.
Yes, yes. That kind of female.
Yeah... So maybe he did have a problem.
Still, it wasn't that bad. He wouldn't have found out in the first place if he hadn't forgotten his underwear in the bathroom and walked in just as she was taking her clothes off, which, of course, ended up in screaming, kicking, the throwing of random objects, and A's head shoved into the toilet bowl before he even realized what had happened.
...In his defense, however, B should have remembered to lock the door. Really.
And, of course, this also brought up another problem.
B was also a cross-dresser.
She was the kind of cross-dresser who doesn't even own her own gender's underwear and never, ever wears any of the clothes acceptable for her gender, even if in a life or death situation. Yeah, B was the kind of cross-dresser that lies through her teeth every time somebody asks about her gender and has no shame "admitting" (if it could be called admitting, anyways, since she hasn't even done it before) that she has "participated" in certain male activities.
"...A."
That was B. The Wammy's House boy who is actually a girl, and cross-dresser, and is in denial over her gender.
"A."
The one who shoved his head into the toilet bowl, almost pushed him into a well when he was fourteen, and would most definitely attempt to push him over a cliff if she were in a bad enough mood.
"Alternative."
The girl who would be (is) able to beat him up senseless in a matter of seconds and wears clothes that are two sizes far too big for her.
"Abstract Align, dammit."
And, of course, his roommate who is standing next to him, with that condensing look she always seems to have on, while looking like she might bash the jar of jam she's holding in her hand into his head any second now.
She wouldn't, though.
There's still a little bit of jam inside of it, after all.
"...Eh?" He says, as eloquent as he has always been around B, and blinks, just staring at her.
B was displeased.
This was not positive for his life-expectancy.
She scowls, tapping the lid of the jar she was holding in her hand with a little more force than usual. "How nice of you to come back to Earth, Abstract Align." She says, with a little bit of well concealed vitriol (or maybe more than just a little. A knew B enough to know when it was there, but never enough to know how much), and the only thing keeping A from backing away slowly is his pride.
B only called him by his real name when she was annoyed, or pissed. As in, I am going to bash your head in with an aluminum bat and stuff your body in the trunk of Roger's car pissed.
A's current life-expectancy: minus twenty years.
"Is... Something wrong, B?" He asks, calmly (because that's how everything dealing with B had to go), setting the half-empty bowl of chips on his desk. Funny. He swore it was full just a few seconds ago.
"Why, yes." She says, all but slamming the jar of jam on his desk, before glancing at him in that way that only someone like B could manage to do. "Something is very, very wrong, Abstract."
"And that is...?" A says, and, of course, the only thing keeping him sighing and asking B to leave was the mere fact that she would most definitely find a way to make his week absolutely miserable if he did.
B was a vengeful person, as A had found out the hard way, and he did not want her to ruin his week when it was only Monday.
She stares at him for a few seconds, almost as if he had said the most idiotic thing she had ever heard (and, knowing her, she probably thought he did), before gesturing towards the jar of jam.
He stares back at her, before glancing at the jar.
...Oh.
"...There's no more jam left in your closet, is there?"
"No." She says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Fix it."
A blinks, before sighing and grabbing a chip from the bowl; he was going to need them right now. "You want me to stop working on this case so I can go to the kitchen and steal more jam for you?"
"Of course." B says, pushing a stray strand of black hair behind her ear before grabbing the jar once again. "Unless you need more detailed instructions? I highly doubt even you can be that daft."
"No." He says, and he just knows he's going to have a migraine before the end of the day. "But why can you--?"
"Now, now, A." She says, slipping her hands into her pockets and shaking her head. "I only ask this favor of you, as you will need to go to the kitchen either way."
He cocks an eyebrow. "And why would I need to go to the kitchen, hm?"
"You need to get something to clean this mess up, do you not?" She says, and A looks at her, just confused.
What the hell was she talking about?
Obviously, she picks up on his confusion, and the only thing B does to react to this is sigh, pursing her lips before looking at something just above his head.
"The chips, A." She deadpans. "You spilled the chips all over the floor while procrastinating on your case."
A opens his mouth, ready to tell her that, no, he was not procrastinating, he was thinking, before closing it just as quickly as it opened.
He looks down at the floor.
So, that's where the other half of his bowl went.
...Oh, fuck his life.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
B laughs.
B laughs and it's not a nice, feminine laugh like one should expect from a sixteen year old girl. No. It's fake and creepy, because when B laughs (or at least, when she's around him), she always has to change her laughter. Sometimes she laughs normally, if not a little (or rather, several pitches) lower than she should, other times, she laughs like a psychopath, or a villain from a bad cartoon, of even Santa Motherfucking Claus, but A should have really gotten used to it by now.
He really should have, because B is laughing right now at his expense and it's really distracting, especially now that he's attempting to finish this case because, oh, he had a deadline and it was tomorrow.
Not that B cared about that, anyways.
That was how she always was. Annoyed when he was well off, highly amused when he was this close to introducing his head to his desk, or poisoning himself with last weeks lunch, or jumping out the nearest window.
"My..." B begins, licking her fingers clean of the (strawberry) jam she had just consumed before wiping whatever was left of it off on his bed. "I knew you would get caught by somebody, but I never expected you to nearly dirty yourself because dear, little Matt saw you in the hallways."
A sighs, massaging the bridge of his nose and brushing some stray strands of brown hair out of his eyes. "I did not nearly dirty myself, B. I was startled." He says, not even turning towards her as he continues to type on his laptop. He really needed to finish this case. "And, either way, that was yesterday."
"Just because it was yesterday, it doesn't mean it's any less amusing, A." She says, standing up from his bed, which was now covered in jam (all thanks to his lovely little roommate, of course), and placing the long since empty jar of jam on his desk before walking over to her closet to grab another one.
It was a wonder how B still managed to remain perfectly in shape with all the jam she shoved down her throat.
...Not that A would know about that, of course.
He glances at her for a few seconds before turning back to his work. Why they decided to place a sixteen year old female in the same room as an eighteen year old male was beyond him. Maybe they thought everything would be alright, with B being, well, B. Maybe, they didn't know about B's lack of male genitals, which he highly doubted. Or, maybe, they thought he was gay or she was a lesbian and--
What was he thinking?
B makes a small sound, something between humming and sighing, and A continues to work on his case. Maybe he's hitting the keys on his keyboard a little harder than usual, because B actually stops shoving her fingers into the jam (has she ever heard of a spoon?) for a few seconds to just stare at him, before shaking her head.
"You are going to damage your computer if you continue to type that way."
"It's your fault for keeping me from finishing this case earlier." He replies, annoyed, but at the same time...
Sometimes, A wanted a different roommate.
"Oh, really now?" She says, setting her "snack" down on her lap. "What about the times you were procrastinating, A? Do not tell me you have forgotten about those times."
Sometimes, A wishes he had never met B at all.
"I do not procrastinate, B." He says, simply, and clicks save on the file staring back at him on his laptop's screen.
It was still not done.
"Is that so?" There's a shuffle, the sound of glass against the wooden panels on the floor, and A does not dare look back. "Then, please, do enlighten me as to what you were doing yesterday when you were staring at the wall blankly and spilling your food all over the floor."
"Thinking about the case."
He was thinking about you.
"You are a very horrible liar, Alternative." B says, and suddenly A feels that she's much, much more closer than she was a few seconds ago. "Now, tell me what you were really doing, or I will simply go ahead and begin to make assumptions."
A sighs, a tired, annoyed sigh, and maybe, his grip on his mouse tightened, if only by a little. "I already told you. If you choose to not believe me, then that's your problem."
"Once again, you really do need to learn how to lie." She says, and suddenly, there's a hand on his shoulder and he's staring at gray eyes instead of his laptop's screen.
He shouldn't have gotten the rotating chair.
"Now, tell me, Abstract." B says, as she leans in closer, and closer, and A's torn between backing away as far as he can in this position and getting teased relentlessly by B, and telling her to get a shirt with a smaller collar next time (because he could he could see that) and getting slapped on the face by B.
You can guess which option he went with.
"Do you not know it's rude to try and get away from a lady when she wants to speak to you, dear?" And, of course, when she says that word, A just stares at her for a few seconds before frowning.
"Since when are you a lady, B?" He asks, incredulously, and B smirks.
"That is irrelevant, A." She says, the smirk still in place and it's obvious that he must have quite the expression plastered on his face because B was amused. "So, how about you admit you were procrastinating, unless you wish for me to make an assumption now."
"...Whatever." He says, removing B's hand from his shoulder. "Go to sleep, B. It's almost one in the mor--"
He never gets to finish his sentence, however, as it was nearly impossible to do so with one of B's hands over his mouth and the other on his thigh.
B laughs.
Sometimes, A wanted her to leave.
"Don't worry, A, I can keep a secret."
And then, he finds himself pinned down on the floor.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Sometimes, A wonders how he gets himself into these situations.
"Stop that..."
Sometimes, A thinks he's better off not knowing.
He isn't certain how they got into this position, but A's pretty sure it all began when B knocked him off his seat and pinned him down on the floor, before smashing her lips against his and just laughing.
She always laughed at his expense.
His clothes are scattered across the floor and the only thing between them at this very moment were their undergarments. And, of course, A's biting his lip, just trying not to make a sound because it's nearly one thirty in the morning and it would give B yet another thing to mock him about.
Goddammit.
"Oh? But why would I want to do that, Abstract?" She says, pressing herself against him as her hand toys with his underwear's waistline, and, fuck, he was getting topped by his sixteen year old roommate with gender issues. "You like this, do you not?"
A doesn't say anything to respond to this, however, instead choosing to tilt his head to the side and just stare at the wall across the room.
"...It's... Really unfair how you know my real name and I don't know yours." He says, after a few seconds of silence.
"Is it, now?" She says, all but ripping his underwear off, before throwing it away to God knows where and spitting on her hand.
How disgusting.
"...It is." He says, biting his lip for a few seconds before speaking up again. "What are you going to do with that hand, B?"
"It's called a hand job, A. This helps prevent dry friction." B says, as if it were the most obvious thing on Earth. "And, before you ask, yes, dry friction would be bad."
A swallows. "Can't you use something else...?"
"Would you prefer blueberry jam on your dick?"
"...No."
"Thought so."
Before he can say anything else, however, B's hands are already moving, and his nails are digging into her back as he bites his lower lip to avoid waking any of their neighbors up with sounds. B seems to understand this, too, because she doesn't say a single thing through the whole ordeal.
And, of course, by the time it's already over and B's wiping her hands clean on his chest, A's just laying there, dazed and not entirely sure of what they just did.
"My, my..." B says, mocking, but at the same time there's something else in there that A can't quite pick up. "You come fast, don't you, A?"
A doesn't respond to that, however, instead choosing to grab her by the shoulders and pull her towards him. "Just... Shut up and sleep, B." He mutters, tired, and just holds her there.
Sometimes, A wonders if B's another one of those reasons as to why he hasn't jumped out of the nearest window.
She purses her lips, and looks up at him with a look that was somewhere between chagrin and smugness, before speaking. "I think that is a lovely idea, A. But have you finished your case?"
...Well, that woke him up at one fifty-seven in the morning.
B smirks; obviously, his face at this very moment must be extremely amusing for her. "Well, I, for one, do not want to make you look bad in front of everyone else."
And the she proceeds to shove him off his own bed.
"Get to it, dear."
Sometimes, however, A gets the feeling that, if B is one of those reasons as to why he hasn't jumped out of the nearest window yet, it's only because he wants to shove her through it beforehand.
Still, before he can even do as much as to open his mouth to complain, B tilts his chin up and presses her lips against his.
"However, if you finish it before I fall asleep, I promise we can do something fun tomorrow, A." She says, before pulling away and pulling the covers over her head.
A was not going to argue about that.
Fandom: Death Note
Characters/Pairings: Female!Beyond Birthday x Male!A (Abstract Align)
Rating: R, to be safe (because, LOL, non-explicit sex).
Status: One-Shot
Word Count: 2900
Summary: Sometimes, A wonders if B is one of those reasons as to why he hasn't jumped out the nearest window yet.
Disclaimer: The original Death Note concept belongs to Tsugumi Ohba, and Takeshi Obata, while Beyond Birthday and A belong to Nishio Ishin. However, I do own this story.
Notes: Good God, do not ask me what I was smoking when I wrote this. I blame aa_lithium for the gender bender and Male!A's personality; our cracktastic RPs from OVER NINETHOUSAND YEARS AGO gave me plot bunnies again. ;DDDD
UH. This is probably NSFW, due to the butchering of B's personality and fade to black hand jobs, so, yeah. B|;;
Sometimes, A wonders why he even bothers.
Sometimes, A is this close to jumping out the nearest window, but he never does because then he remembers the objective (L, always L) and how that would be selfish of him.
And, honestly, A didn't even have any real problems. Sure, he was the number one candidate to become L, meaning that he was stressed like hell, but surely, he could get over something simple like that. Sure, he sometimes felt like he could never, ever meet up to everyone's expectations, but that was only sometimes. And, sure, he had a raging, psychopathic room mate named B who was in denial over her own gender, and--
Oh, wait. That's right.
B was female.
As in, female, with X-Chromosome, premenstrual syndrome, two A-sized lumps of fat and elastin on her chest called breasts, and violent mood-swings that usually meant he was in deep shit.
Yes, yes. That kind of female.
Yeah... So maybe he did have a problem.
Still, it wasn't that bad. He wouldn't have found out in the first place if he hadn't forgotten his underwear in the bathroom and walked in just as she was taking her clothes off, which, of course, ended up in screaming, kicking, the throwing of random objects, and A's head shoved into the toilet bowl before he even realized what had happened.
...In his defense, however, B should have remembered to lock the door. Really.
And, of course, this also brought up another problem.
B was also a cross-dresser.
She was the kind of cross-dresser who doesn't even own her own gender's underwear and never, ever wears any of the clothes acceptable for her gender, even if in a life or death situation. Yeah, B was the kind of cross-dresser that lies through her teeth every time somebody asks about her gender and has no shame "admitting" (if it could be called admitting, anyways, since she hasn't even done it before) that she has "participated" in certain male activities.
"...A."
That was B. The Wammy's House boy who is actually a girl, and cross-dresser, and is in denial over her gender.
"A."
The one who shoved his head into the toilet bowl, almost pushed him into a well when he was fourteen, and would most definitely attempt to push him over a cliff if she were in a bad enough mood.
"Alternative."
The girl who would be (is) able to beat him up senseless in a matter of seconds and wears clothes that are two sizes far too big for her.
"Abstract Align, dammit."
And, of course, his roommate who is standing next to him, with that condensing look she always seems to have on, while looking like she might bash the jar of jam she's holding in her hand into his head any second now.
She wouldn't, though.
There's still a little bit of jam inside of it, after all.
"...Eh?" He says, as eloquent as he has always been around B, and blinks, just staring at her.
B was displeased.
This was not positive for his life-expectancy.
She scowls, tapping the lid of the jar she was holding in her hand with a little more force than usual. "How nice of you to come back to Earth, Abstract Align." She says, with a little bit of well concealed vitriol (or maybe more than just a little. A knew B enough to know when it was there, but never enough to know how much), and the only thing keeping A from backing away slowly is his pride.
B only called him by his real name when she was annoyed, or pissed. As in, I am going to bash your head in with an aluminum bat and stuff your body in the trunk of Roger's car pissed.
A's current life-expectancy: minus twenty years.
"Is... Something wrong, B?" He asks, calmly (because that's how everything dealing with B had to go), setting the half-empty bowl of chips on his desk. Funny. He swore it was full just a few seconds ago.
"Why, yes." She says, all but slamming the jar of jam on his desk, before glancing at him in that way that only someone like B could manage to do. "Something is very, very wrong, Abstract."
"And that is...?" A says, and, of course, the only thing keeping him sighing and asking B to leave was the mere fact that she would most definitely find a way to make his week absolutely miserable if he did.
B was a vengeful person, as A had found out the hard way, and he did not want her to ruin his week when it was only Monday.
She stares at him for a few seconds, almost as if he had said the most idiotic thing she had ever heard (and, knowing her, she probably thought he did), before gesturing towards the jar of jam.
He stares back at her, before glancing at the jar.
...Oh.
"...There's no more jam left in your closet, is there?"
"No." She says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Fix it."
A blinks, before sighing and grabbing a chip from the bowl; he was going to need them right now. "You want me to stop working on this case so I can go to the kitchen and steal more jam for you?"
"Of course." B says, pushing a stray strand of black hair behind her ear before grabbing the jar once again. "Unless you need more detailed instructions? I highly doubt even you can be that daft."
"No." He says, and he just knows he's going to have a migraine before the end of the day. "But why can you--?"
"Now, now, A." She says, slipping her hands into her pockets and shaking her head. "I only ask this favor of you, as you will need to go to the kitchen either way."
He cocks an eyebrow. "And why would I need to go to the kitchen, hm?"
"You need to get something to clean this mess up, do you not?" She says, and A looks at her, just confused.
What the hell was she talking about?
Obviously, she picks up on his confusion, and the only thing B does to react to this is sigh, pursing her lips before looking at something just above his head.
"The chips, A." She deadpans. "You spilled the chips all over the floor while procrastinating on your case."
A opens his mouth, ready to tell her that, no, he was not procrastinating, he was thinking, before closing it just as quickly as it opened.
He looks down at the floor.
So, that's where the other half of his bowl went.
...Oh, fuck his life.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
B laughs.
B laughs and it's not a nice, feminine laugh like one should expect from a sixteen year old girl. No. It's fake and creepy, because when B laughs (or at least, when she's around him), she always has to change her laughter. Sometimes she laughs normally, if not a little (or rather, several pitches) lower than she should, other times, she laughs like a psychopath, or a villain from a bad cartoon, of even Santa Motherfucking Claus, but A should have really gotten used to it by now.
He really should have, because B is laughing right now at his expense and it's really distracting, especially now that he's attempting to finish this case because, oh, he had a deadline and it was tomorrow.
Not that B cared about that, anyways.
That was how she always was. Annoyed when he was well off, highly amused when he was this close to introducing his head to his desk, or poisoning himself with last weeks lunch, or jumping out the nearest window.
"My..." B begins, licking her fingers clean of the (strawberry) jam she had just consumed before wiping whatever was left of it off on his bed. "I knew you would get caught by somebody, but I never expected you to nearly dirty yourself because dear, little Matt saw you in the hallways."
A sighs, massaging the bridge of his nose and brushing some stray strands of brown hair out of his eyes. "I did not nearly dirty myself, B. I was startled." He says, not even turning towards her as he continues to type on his laptop. He really needed to finish this case. "And, either way, that was yesterday."
"Just because it was yesterday, it doesn't mean it's any less amusing, A." She says, standing up from his bed, which was now covered in jam (all thanks to his lovely little roommate, of course), and placing the long since empty jar of jam on his desk before walking over to her closet to grab another one.
It was a wonder how B still managed to remain perfectly in shape with all the jam she shoved down her throat.
...Not that A would know about that, of course.
He glances at her for a few seconds before turning back to his work. Why they decided to place a sixteen year old female in the same room as an eighteen year old male was beyond him. Maybe they thought everything would be alright, with B being, well, B. Maybe, they didn't know about B's lack of male genitals, which he highly doubted. Or, maybe, they thought he was gay or she was a lesbian and--
What was he thinking?
B makes a small sound, something between humming and sighing, and A continues to work on his case. Maybe he's hitting the keys on his keyboard a little harder than usual, because B actually stops shoving her fingers into the jam (has she ever heard of a spoon?) for a few seconds to just stare at him, before shaking her head.
"You are going to damage your computer if you continue to type that way."
"It's your fault for keeping me from finishing this case earlier." He replies, annoyed, but at the same time...
Sometimes, A wanted a different roommate.
"Oh, really now?" She says, setting her "snack" down on her lap. "What about the times you were procrastinating, A? Do not tell me you have forgotten about those times."
Sometimes, A wishes he had never met B at all.
"I do not procrastinate, B." He says, simply, and clicks save on the file staring back at him on his laptop's screen.
It was still not done.
"Is that so?" There's a shuffle, the sound of glass against the wooden panels on the floor, and A does not dare look back. "Then, please, do enlighten me as to what you were doing yesterday when you were staring at the wall blankly and spilling your food all over the floor."
"Thinking about the case."
He was thinking about you.
"You are a very horrible liar, Alternative." B says, and suddenly A feels that she's much, much more closer than she was a few seconds ago. "Now, tell me what you were really doing, or I will simply go ahead and begin to make assumptions."
A sighs, a tired, annoyed sigh, and maybe, his grip on his mouse tightened, if only by a little. "I already told you. If you choose to not believe me, then that's your problem."
"Once again, you really do need to learn how to lie." She says, and suddenly, there's a hand on his shoulder and he's staring at gray eyes instead of his laptop's screen.
He shouldn't have gotten the rotating chair.
"Now, tell me, Abstract." B says, as she leans in closer, and closer, and A's torn between backing away as far as he can in this position and getting teased relentlessly by B, and telling her to get a shirt with a smaller collar next time (because he could he could see that) and getting slapped on the face by B.
You can guess which option he went with.
"Do you not know it's rude to try and get away from a lady when she wants to speak to you, dear?" And, of course, when she says that word, A just stares at her for a few seconds before frowning.
"Since when are you a lady, B?" He asks, incredulously, and B smirks.
"That is irrelevant, A." She says, the smirk still in place and it's obvious that he must have quite the expression plastered on his face because B was amused. "So, how about you admit you were procrastinating, unless you wish for me to make an assumption now."
"...Whatever." He says, removing B's hand from his shoulder. "Go to sleep, B. It's almost one in the mor--"
He never gets to finish his sentence, however, as it was nearly impossible to do so with one of B's hands over his mouth and the other on his thigh.
B laughs.
Sometimes, A wanted her to leave.
"Don't worry, A, I can keep a secret."
And then, he finds himself pinned down on the floor.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Sometimes, A wonders how he gets himself into these situations.
"Stop that..."
Sometimes, A thinks he's better off not knowing.
He isn't certain how they got into this position, but A's pretty sure it all began when B knocked him off his seat and pinned him down on the floor, before smashing her lips against his and just laughing.
She always laughed at his expense.
His clothes are scattered across the floor and the only thing between them at this very moment were their undergarments. And, of course, A's biting his lip, just trying not to make a sound because it's nearly one thirty in the morning and it would give B yet another thing to mock him about.
Goddammit.
"Oh? But why would I want to do that, Abstract?" She says, pressing herself against him as her hand toys with his underwear's waistline, and, fuck, he was getting topped by his sixteen year old roommate with gender issues. "You like this, do you not?"
A doesn't say anything to respond to this, however, instead choosing to tilt his head to the side and just stare at the wall across the room.
"...It's... Really unfair how you know my real name and I don't know yours." He says, after a few seconds of silence.
"Is it, now?" She says, all but ripping his underwear off, before throwing it away to God knows where and spitting on her hand.
How disgusting.
"...It is." He says, biting his lip for a few seconds before speaking up again. "What are you going to do with that hand, B?"
"It's called a hand job, A. This helps prevent dry friction." B says, as if it were the most obvious thing on Earth. "And, before you ask, yes, dry friction would be bad."
A swallows. "Can't you use something else...?"
"Would you prefer blueberry jam on your dick?"
"...No."
"Thought so."
Before he can say anything else, however, B's hands are already moving, and his nails are digging into her back as he bites his lower lip to avoid waking any of their neighbors up with sounds. B seems to understand this, too, because she doesn't say a single thing through the whole ordeal.
And, of course, by the time it's already over and B's wiping her hands clean on his chest, A's just laying there, dazed and not entirely sure of what they just did.
"My, my..." B says, mocking, but at the same time there's something else in there that A can't quite pick up. "You come fast, don't you, A?"
A doesn't respond to that, however, instead choosing to grab her by the shoulders and pull her towards him. "Just... Shut up and sleep, B." He mutters, tired, and just holds her there.
Sometimes, A wonders if B's another one of those reasons as to why he hasn't jumped out of the nearest window.
She purses her lips, and looks up at him with a look that was somewhere between chagrin and smugness, before speaking. "I think that is a lovely idea, A. But have you finished your case?"
...Well, that woke him up at one fifty-seven in the morning.
B smirks; obviously, his face at this very moment must be extremely amusing for her. "Well, I, for one, do not want to make you look bad in front of everyone else."
And the she proceeds to shove him off his own bed.
"Get to it, dear."
Sometimes, however, A gets the feeling that, if B is one of those reasons as to why he hasn't jumped out of the nearest window yet, it's only because he wants to shove her through it beforehand.
Still, before he can even do as much as to open his mouth to complain, B tilts his chin up and presses her lips against his.
"However, if you finish it before I fall asleep, I promise we can do something fun tomorrow, A." She says, before pulling away and pulling the covers over her head.
A was not going to argue about that.