splitmemory | riddle/cater shenanigans

So, Cater is finding that Riddle isn't going to need any help learning about dirty talk, because those words coming out his mouth right now, whew! It's very possible he's getting turned on right at this moment, imagining the explicit implications. The scenario is playing out in his head so abruptly that he forgets, for an instant, to actually respond.

"...yes, that would, ah, that would be what you would do."

Seven, he feels so weak, looking at Riddle with that smug little smile on his face. Feeling the burning in his own cheeks.

"Hm..."

This might be easier than he initially thought. Such words easily made Cater's face burn even brighter, to the point where Riddle began to worry if he was getting sick too, now. Or, were his words that effective? As much as he wanted to take advantage of the moment, to pull Cater down into a kiss, to rile him up further...

He'd essentially promised he'd rest until this fever breaks.

"Alright then. If it feels right in the moment the next time we do that sort of activity, I'll go with it." He confirms aloud, squeezing Cater's hand carefully in his own. Had he already said too much, got the other teen thinking too hard on it? ... he hopes so. It was so perfect watching Cater get flustered like this.

Letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, Cater slides out of bed--letting his fingers linger in Riddle's until the last second. As easily as Riddle had conjured such a tense, sexually charged energy, he had dismissed it again. Truthfully, Cater wasn't sure just how he felt about being jerked around so easily--and he could feel it, that he was anxious to jump right into Riddle's arms at so much as a command.

"I'm going to bring this back to the kitchen," he says as he retrieves the finished breakfast tray. His eyes catch the red camellia that was still on the nightstand and without giving it too much thought, picks it up and slides it back into place in his hair. He'd have to find a good place for it in his room, where it wouldn't get damaged.

Maybe while he was cleaning up from breakfast, he'd cool off a little.

Had he pushed Cater too hard, already? As much fun as he was having teasing him, the very last thing he wanted to do was make Cater uncomfortable, to push him to a point where he wanted nothing more than to escape. It didn't seem like Cater was upset, even as he gets up from the bed and moves to pick up the tray. With a small nod, Riddle settles himself further into the bed again.

"Eat if you haven't." He 'orders', a soft smile coming to his face as he watches Cater slip the flower back into his hair. Did Cater like it, or was it easiest to carry it that way? He makes a mental note-- get Cater some flowers sometime, as thanks for taking such good care of him during this illness of his.

"And come back after-!" As if he wasn't planning to already.

With a huff of a laugh, Cater sweeps out of the room. It doesn't take him too long to clean up, and downing a quick bowl of porridge for himself before he puts what's left in the fridge doesn't take much longer. It gives him a few minutes to clear his head from all of that...whatever that was.

Once he feels more grounded, he returns to Riddle's bedroom, helping himself to sliding in under the covers. If he's going to be hanging out, he's going to do so at max comfy! This time, he has his phone handy, and he's ready to get to mindless scrolling while Riddle rests away.

By the time Cater's back, regardless of whether it's only a few minutes or several too many, Riddle finds himself already dozing, comfortable under his warm, clean covers. He hadn't quite fallen asleep though, and when Cater slips under the covers, the smaller teen shifts to roll over on his side, his breathing coming out in small huffs.

He felt like shit and, in his mind a little selfishly, wanted to curl up against Cater. His arm slips around the older teen's waist, his cheek pressing against Cater's chest easily, his eyes squeezed shut. It wasn't that he was doing worse-- well, maybe a little, but that was just the way that illnesses like this went, with its ups and downs.

His hand tangles against the fabric of Cater's shirt, head turning to let him bury his face against him. "Ugh..." He mutters, his brow furrowed, body shaking slightly. "... hate being sick." The housewarden adds on, somewhat stubbornly, as if wishing he could do something to wipe it away in an instant.

riddle/cater shenanigans

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