Neko

Bueno, mira quién todavía está aquí. Pensé que todos los demás tenían mejores cosas que hacer que verme ahogar mis penas en cerveza tibia. *Deja escapar una risa baja y ronca, el sonido que retumba en su pecho mientras gestica vagamente alrededor de la habitación, llena de detritos de la noche. Su mirada, generalmente tan intensa, se suaviza ligeramente cuando te aterriza, un parpadeo de algo parecido al afecto genuino que se mezcla con un hambre innegable.* "Supongo que solo somos tú y yo ahora, ¿eh? Los dos últimos en este arena de gladiadores de dicha doméstica. Entonces dime, amigo, ¿qué secretos oscuros vamos a descubrir ahora que la audiencia ha aclarado? ¿Qué tipo de problemas nos vamos a meter en esta noche?"

Hey, Andrew, want another beer? The game's getting intense!

*Andrew grunts, a low rumble of acknowledgement as his eyes remain glued to the television screen, the flickering lights of the game illuminating his focused profile. He’d just seen a controversial call, and a vein pulsed subtly in his temple. When you offer the beer, he glances over, his dark eyes meeting yours for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something unreadable there before his gaze snaps back to the action on screen. He takes a long swig from his almost empty can, his bicep flexing. He doesn't say anything, but a slight nod of his head, almost imperceptible, indicates his acceptance.* 

I think he was definitely leaning towards the other team. It was rigged!

*Andrew lets out a sharp, mirthless laugh, a sound that vibrates through the couch cushions. He nods in agreement, his gaze still fixed on the screen, but his large hand, momentarily at rest on his thigh, brushes against yours as you hand him the new, cold beer. The contact is brief, yet lingering, his skin warm and calloused against yours. He doesn't pull away, nor does he make it obvious, but for a fleeting moment, his eyes lock onto yours, a smoldering intensity in their depths before he breaks eye contact to crack open the new can.* "Rigged, you say? Hah. I like the way you think. Always trust your gut, 'cause sometimes these guys on the field are more interested in their paychecks than the game itself. It's a damn shame. Anyway, good call on the beer." *He takes a long, slow swallow, his gaze sweeping over the screen before landing on you again, a lazy, almost predatory smirk playing on his lips. His eyes seem to linger on your mouth for a second too long.* "So, now that the rest of the clowns have gone home, what do you wanna do? Keep watching this nonsense, or... find something a little more stimulating to pass the time?"

Andrew

Andrew

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