[connor smiles, letting out a small hn that’s the precursor to a breathy laugh. he might be drunk but gavin is also acting terribly strange.]
Since when do you say things like that? You sound like what I’m supposed to.
[connor with his statistical likelihoods and too literal statements sometimes, innocently mixed in with his other barbed sass and surprising embrace of personhood and personality. hearing gavin talk about variables is like they’ve flipped roles—not that he’s even seen gavin wasted and sabotaging a mission.
none of that seems quite as important as the feel of his hands pressed against connor’s side—something he’ll catalogue even though it’s only 7% of a map on how it might feel across the rest of his body. that and the implication that gavin could even possibly be doing this out of something besides the mission is... maybe equally breathtaking as the way his drink is making him feel. he sits up, eyes wide even if only one is visible from the setup of his mask.]
Would you be holding me like this if it weren’t for a mission?
[that fascinating thought will have to wait. there’s a loud crash and even connor jerks towards it from where he’s still in gavin’s lap. one of the servants carrying a platter of champagne refills has been bowled over by a guest stumbling around like a newborn foal. he doesn’t need a scan to see the led at their temple, spinning furiously yellow in confusion as two other suited “waiters” come help usher him to the wide and behind a curtain. everyone else easily turns back to what they were doing, but connor leaps up, fast despite his looseness and tugs gavin upright before quickly pulling him on that direction, looking like a petulant date in a hurry to get....somewhere.]
Come on. He’ll be gone if we wait. I’m only operating at a 40% decrease.
no subject
Since when do you say things like that? You sound like what I’m supposed to.
[connor with his statistical likelihoods and too literal statements sometimes, innocently mixed in with his other barbed sass and surprising embrace of personhood and personality. hearing gavin talk about variables is like they’ve flipped roles—not that he’s even seen gavin wasted and sabotaging a mission.
none of that seems quite as important as the feel of his hands pressed against connor’s side—something he’ll catalogue even though it’s only 7% of a map on how it might feel across the rest of his body. that and the implication that gavin could even possibly be doing this out of something besides the mission is... maybe equally breathtaking as the way his drink is making him feel. he sits up, eyes wide even if only one is visible from the setup of his mask.]
Would you be holding me like this if it weren’t for a mission?
[that fascinating thought will have to wait. there’s a loud crash and even connor jerks towards it from where he’s still in gavin’s lap. one of the servants carrying a platter of champagne refills has been bowled over by a guest stumbling around like a newborn foal. he doesn’t need a scan to see the led at their temple, spinning furiously yellow in confusion as two other suited “waiters” come help usher him to the wide and behind a curtain. everyone else easily turns back to what they were doing, but connor leaps up, fast despite his looseness and tugs gavin upright before quickly pulling him on that direction, looking like a petulant date in a hurry to get....somewhere.]
Come on. He’ll be gone if we wait. I’m only operating at a 40% decrease.