RP Log: Ken and Iori (II)
What: Iori grows a pair and visits Ken.
Why: cuz lol!drama
When: November 2010
Who: Ken and Iori
Where: Ken's apartment
-
Tendrils of long, dark hair pooled around Ken's head as he lay back, pieces sticking up here and there in chaotic little tufts. His eyes had defaulted to closed when he no longer had to make eye-contact with Iori, one of his arms coming up automatically to keep the flickering light that poured into the room from the TV from dancing across his eyelids.
“Exchange information,” Ken snorted, barely lifting his arm to peek up at Iori as he settled himself on the other armrest of the couch. After a moment of drinking in the sight of the smaller boy he replaced the arm over his eyes.
It would be a lot easier to succumb to this sharing bull if he knew that Iori would really hold no judgments. No matter what he promised, Iori would ask the questions he wanted answered and latch onto the hurt and anger that their answers wrought until his fragile little heart broke again. He'd wait patiently for some perceived offense by Ken, then their little blame-cycle would begin again, each of them lashing out at each other over things that had happened so long ago as to not be relevant.
“Somehow I don't think that right this moment is the best time to play the truth game, Iori,” he murmured, gesturing about the room with his free arm. Putting it off was a dangerous suggestion in itself, but Ken couldn't see the benefit in drunkenly discussing his feelings.
Iori silently watched on, eyes raking up and down Ken's sprawled frame as he took the time catalog the changes in the other's body. He'd become a lot thinner, almost unhealthily so, so that his clothes hung loose on his frame. Iori could make out twin, dark circles under the other digidestined eyes from under his arm. The most alarming change, though, would have to be the lack of hygiene. The Ken he'd known had taken great pride in his appearance, but now here he was, at least a day or two he was guessing without a shower or change of clothes and reeking of alcohol.
And just like that, worry bloomed and expanded in tenfold.
Gently shifting from the arm to the seat cushion next to Ken's head, trying not to jostle him with his movement; Iori moved so he was close enough to lean over and grasp the arm covering Ken's eyes. He tugged it away so he could see the other man's face unobscured. "Is it a bad time because you're drunk? Hung over?"
Keeping true to his earlier word, the words held no judgement. "How much have you been drinking, Ken? From day to day, that is."
Restraining the deep sigh that yearned to pull free of him when he felt Iori's weight shift, Ken tried to think his way out of the predicament he'd just gotten himself into. Of course Iori wasn't so dense not to notice that the drink that Ken had so pointedly been drinking was alcohol. Of course he would want to make one drink every now and again seem like a full-fledged alcohol problem.
For a moment, Ken resisted the hand tugging at his arm, before letting it be lifted away from his face. The cat was out of the bag, already. Iori had seen his haggard appearance and would refuse to take 'I'm fine,' as an answer. He stubbornly kept his eyes closed, however.
“It's hard to be hungover when you just keep drinking,” he laughed, more as a joke than as any serious indication of his condition.
Iori's lips tilted down in a small frown. "That's not funny, Ken. Alcoholism is a serious problem." Perhaps he was jumping the tracks with that statement - and he really hoped he was - but if it was the truth he had to do something. Already Ken looked like he was halfway to a hospital bed.
"Why are you drinking so much?"
The fact that Ken wasn't more embarrassed by his rumpled appearance was indicative of the fact that he'd been drinking enough to relinquish his white-knuckled grip on control. Control of how people saw him, including Iori.
Ken opened his eyes enough to scowl playfully upside-down at Iori, “Alcoholism is a serious problem for those who have it. The people who just enjoy a few drinks while watching a zombie movie marathon just to get interrupted by a little imp who wants to talk about feelings, however, are just -” he paused to gasp dramatically “-normal people.” It was an almost an insult to lump himself together with 'normal people,' but Ken wasn't about to get Iori off of this dire topic without distracting him a little bit.
Showing off his newly-perfected sense of humor was a perfect way to distract him.
The high schooler would have none of it, though. "A few drinks," he repeated skeptically. "Is that why every time I've talked to you recently, you've been drunk?"
"What happened to being honest, Ken?" His grip on the other's arm tightened unconsciously as his frown deepened.
“Every time you talked to me!” Ken repeated dramatically, covering his face with the arm that Iori didn't currently have possession of. He almost mentioned that the hold that had slowly progressed to a pinch was starting to become uncomfortable, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything. Iori was already lathering himself into one of his worrying moods. “All two times in the last six months? One of which was through a computer? I hardly think that constitutes alcoholism.”
He wasn't lying, per se, but he was being a tad misleading. To make it seem like it was naught but a coincidence that every time they talked he'd been drinking wasn't very honest of him. “I told you tonight wasn't a good night for the truths game, Iori. That's very honest of me.”
Instead of letting himself be soothed by the word, Iori kept pushing; going so far as to pull away Ken's other arm and hold them both down on the couch cushion. "Alright, perhaps those time where merely coincidences, but what would Takeru say if I asked him about your drinking habits?" While he didn't particularly want to talk about Takeru with Ken, and as much as it pained him to admit it, he knew the two of them were close. Not as close as he'd initially dreaded barring the one time no one wanted to talk about, but still enough that it grated on his nerves. If anyone knew whether the older man was drinking too much, it would be Takeru.
A frown consumed Ken's features when Iori removed his other arm, letting him fall prey to the oh-so-bright lights jumping from the TV. He didn't struggle, though. There was no point. Iori would only become more grumpy if he were to shake off the hold and cover his face. It was like he thought that seeing Ken's face was helping him somehow detect the truth, when that was anything but true. Ken could lie with his expression as easily as with his words.
He perked slightly at the mention of Takeru, his annoyed frown melting into confusion. "Why would you go to Takeru? I've barely seen'm recently." The truth of that statement brought the slightest of aches to Ken's chest; he refused to ponder why. Takeru would, in all honesty, probably jump on the 'Ken's an alchy' bandwagon, regardless.
Instead of feeling glad that Ken hadn't been in contact with Takeru, it just added to his worry. "When was the last time you left this apartment?"
"Yesterday." There was no point in divulging why he'd gone out or that he'd locked himself inside the apartment for at least a week before that. Iori would just get mad. "I'm counting these as your questions for the truth game since I'm being so honest. So when I'm feeling up to returning the favor of bombarding you with questions, you better be ready."
As if reading the other man's mind, Iori continued to question him: "Why? And for how long?"
He only nodded in agreement to Ken's statement, almost absentmindedly. He was too focused on getting out as much information from Ken as possible.
Ken wrinkled his nose at that and bit back a growl of 'why does it matter?'. It'd be easier to keep up his teasing than deal with the fallout if he released some real information for Iori to worry about. "Groceries," which was true enough. Who ever said Ken couldn't be an honest person?
When Iori continued to push, Ken rolled his eyes and pushed lightly against the arms that held his own down. "Really? Do you expect me to keep some sort of social events calendar? Make not of every time I set foot outside the door?" He laughed at the ludicrousness of that notion.
Iori arched a brow at the laughter. "You're telling me you can't," he asked skeptically. He added on, "I can remember every time I've left the house in the past two weeks and a rough estimate of how long I was gone."
Ken sobered, if only slightly. "Just in case someone who as much as told you to get lost walks back into your life and gets curious?" He snorted, waving his hand dismissively. "I haven't done anything wrong, and you're still cranky with me. I just can't win."
"I'm not cranky, Ken." Iori replied; and honestly, he wasn't. "I'm worried."
"I know it probably doesn't seem like I care because I haven't been around, and I know that's my fault. Okay? I know. And maybe I don't deserve to come back all of sudden and expect you to let me in... but seeing you like this, it scares me. It really does, Ken." He stared down soberly at the other male.
Then, as an afterthought, he added with a wavering smile: "I'm supposed to be the one with self abuse problems, remember?"
"Well there's a first," Ken mumbled under his breath, unconcerned if Iori heard or not. It wasn't as though he could be expected to change his ways and be a perfect, nice Ken just because half an hour ago Iori declared he wanted to get back together. Not that he thought that Iori wanted him to be a perfect, nice Ken anyways. If he wanted someone perfect and nice he wouldn't keep dragging himself back to someone he thought was an alcoholic.
He waved away Iori's concern with a flick of his wrist, still not putting forth enough effort to free himself from the boy's grasp. "I don't have self abuse, problems, silly. Someone as perfect as I am doesn't yearn to abuse themselves!" Again, Ken couldn't say he wasn't being honest with himself; he really was perfect. Even in yesterday's clothes and smelling like rum!
"Oh, is that why you smell like a bar's dumpster then?" Not that he really knew what bar's dumpster smelled like, seeing as he didn't hang around bars or dumpsters. He bet it wasn't a great smell, though.
"Oh, and are you still smoking," he asked an afterthought. It was a tad hypocritical of him to ask, seeing as he still light up from time to time against his best judgment. Stress had a way of making him crave the nicotine.
It was hard to irritate Ken when he was in his happily buzzed state - a condition he'd reached with that last cup of rum - but Iori was sounding entirely too judgmental, worried or not. It wasn't Iori's place to bother himself over how Ken had acted while they were apart - especially while they were apart because Iori had demanded they be apart. Ken could act however he wanted! He was an adult, after all. An adult who could drink himself into a pleasantly numb state any time he damn well pleased without it making him "an alcoholic" or "self-abusing."
Slipping his wrists from Iori's grasp with a quick twist of his arms, Ken stood up. Luckily, his attention was drawn away from how his skin mourned the loss of Iori's warm hands by the fact that the world tilted as he stood... perhaps he should have eased himself up a bit more gradually. He swayed only slightly, no more than someone who was light-headed, but surely Iori would read the movement as a drunken misstep. Despite his annoyance with Iori's nosy, worried mothering, Ken flashed a brilliant grin as he made to collect the dishes that lay in front of his couch. "You don't know what a bar dumpster smells like," he said over his shoulder, calling Iori on his bluff. He dropped the dishes in the sink, making a point of checking his breath and sniffing under his arms, "And I think I smell jus' fine. If you are offended by my scent, though, you're free t'leave."
"Maybe I don't," he conceded easily, "but I can't imagine any dumpster smelling good." He purposely refrained from mentioning Ken's swaying.
He gave a small shrug at Ken's defensive statement, shifting in his seat to cross his legs and lean against the armrest. "My nose hasn't fallen off yet, has it?" And since he was already pushing at Ken's boundaries - he was surprised by easy it was to do when he wasn't over-analyzing his every thought around Ken - he continued on with: "Not that I'd stop you if you wanted to take a shower and change. And you never answered my question about smoking. Because, really, if you are..." He paused momentarily, and then taking a risk he put out, "I wouldn't mind one if you have some around."
He wondered if by putting out one of his continued bad habits would offend or relax Ken.
It would have been childish to point out that a dumpster freshly out of the dumpster-making factory would smell just fine, but Ken still got as far as opening his mouth to say that very thought before he caught himself. He twirled around to face the brunette, those amethyst eyes drinking in the site of Iori perched primly on his messy couch, in his pathetic apartment, looking as though he wasn't in the least bit frightened. It shocked (and insulted) Ken that Iori was acting so relaxed, trapped in Ken's apartment as he was, and he would have been lying if he said that facade of confidence didn't have the predator in him yearning to prove that he wasn't some domesticated house cat. He was very good at playing the role, yes, but he would always be capable of shredding Iori's confidence with naught but an offhand comment. Perhaps Iori was getting to be a better actor, or maybe he honestly was stupid enough not to be scared.
Ken filled his cup with something from an opaque pitcher, taking a drink before he prowled back towards the couch. "Even though I look amazing as a devilish rebel who always has a cigarette between his lips, I gave up th' habit a few months back. 'm sure if you rummaged around in some of my drawers you could find a cigarette somewhere. You also might find things better left unseen, but it's up you you."
"Oh, is that so? You think you have something in there that I haven't seen before or can't guess?" The thought, instead of annoying or worrying him, peaked his curiosity. "You do remember that we lived together for a time, right? I'm not sure there's much that would surprise me about you or what you keep in your drawers." A hint of teasing crept in unbidden.
As Ken came closer to the couch, Iori held out his hand for the drink in challenge. It was a fifty/fifty chance that it was more alcohol and he doubted Ken would want to further their discussion on his drinking habits.
Ken shrugged dismissively, only a hint of a grin lingering on his face, "Do what 'cha want, just don't come crying to me later because you can't get rid of the nightmares."
A pinched look came to his face when Iori reached for his drink, an internal debate taking place momentarily before he guiltily surrendered the cup to younger boy. Keeping the grin that threatened to split his face inside, Ken waited, hands on his hips, for Iori to test the drink... there was no point in telling him that it was nothing but cranberry juice; he wasn't trustworthy enough to believe. "Are you satisfied that I'm not a poor, depressed alcoholic binge-drinking all the rum that I can find?"
"But, I suppose, I want nothing more than to live up to your dreams of me," he offered sarcastically, digging under the couch for a moment before he came up with his prize; a half-full bottle of rum. Popping the cap off, he took a swig with a smirk. If Iori thought he needed to be mothered so bad, maybe he'd act like the troubled child Iori was treating him as.
The boy snorted at that. "If you think anything you have hiding in your drawers could give me nightmares, you'd never want to see what actually does." He'd meant to keep the answer light, but the thought of nightmares deflated him a bit. While the night terrors had subsided over time, he still woke up at times drenched in sweat and tears.
Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he took a sip of the drink; meeting Ken's gaze over the rim of the cup. "I can't just be thirsty," he asked innocently and took another sip. Then the bottle came out, bring with it another of his scowls. Taking the smirk as a challenge, Iori snatched the bottle from Ken and marched over to the kitchen sink to dump the liquor down the drain. Turning back to Ken, he raised his eyebrow in a silent question and waited for the other's reaction.
Ken grimaced as the bottle was pulled away from his lips, spilling a few ounces down his front. The day-old shirt he wore clung to his chest where the rum had spilled, making him pick at it uselessly. After a moment of debating, he simply removed the offending article of clothing. It wasn't as though Iori hadn't seen him shirtless before.
As he tossed the wadded up piece of clothing in the general direction of his room, he denied the temptation to start tossing other things. Acting like a petulant child wouldn't make Iori want to believe that he didn't have a problem.
"Do you really think that was a good idea?" He asked idly, straightening the couch cushions to distract him from the roiling anger that boiled up from his gut. Surely it wouldn't support his claim that he wasn't an alcoholic to become enraged over a wasted half-bottle of rum, but he would've been mad if Iori had dumped the pitcher of non-alcoholic juice down the sink, too.
Iori shrugged in reply. "I can't say it was a horrible idea." Although now he had a half naked Ken standing only a few feet away. That he could have done without, if only for the sake of his composure. Now was not the time to be ogling like an idiot.
Ken growled something unintelligible, raking his hands through his hair compulsively. What part of pushing him possibly seemed like a good idea? Especially from the same boy who not an hour ago had been kneeling on the ground, begging Ken to take him back. Never mind that, if he truly were an alcoholic, he'd have multiple bottles stashed about the apartment that he'd wholeheartedly enjoy drinking after kicking Iori out. "S'a horrible way to win me back, that's for sure."
"Well, then," Iori asked quietly, suddenly meek against as he toyed with the empty bottle, "what would you suggest?"
The anger that had held Ken tense evaporated at Iori's words, those amethyst eyes brightening as he regarded the frustrating boy. Ken had oft been accused of being a heartless creep, but the notion that Iori was really here to put some effort in and repair their broken relationship made the space where his heart should be pang affectionately. Even in his half-drunk state, he'd convinced himself that the only reason Iori was here was to taunt him more. Did he think that Iori could really last more than a week of not judging him for past actions? No, not really. But that didn't mean that Iori's shy question didn't make him ache for the possibilities. Absently, he lifted a hand to place it on his bare chest, rubbing at his skin like it would make that tingling sensation go away. It didn't.
Prowling towards Iori, he backed the boy up against the counter, pausing with only a few inches between their chests. He stared for a moment, his eyes hungry, while an internal debate raged within him. To touch Iori, to show that he missed him, would be opening himself up to more hurt. Was that something that he wanted to risk when Iori could easily just decide that his difficult self wasn't worth it? One hand braced against the counter, the other creeping up to cup Iori's cheek, his thumb gently rubbing that soft, pale skin. "What would I suggest?" He repeated, his voice a husky whisper, his body inching closer...
Snatching the empty bottle that still dangled from Iori's fingers, he growled, "I'd suggest that you don't invite yourself to my place just so that you can stick your nose in my business and throw out my things." With that, he tossed the empty bottle into the sink, effectively shattering it, and stomped towards the couch. This definteily wasn't the best way to prove he wasn't a crazy alcoholic, but having people attempt to control him just rubbed him the wrong way, even if the person trying to control him was Iori.
A part of him mourned the possibility of their reunion, for blatant rage tended to scare Iori, but if Iori only wanted to be in his life if he could control it, Ken would have to pass.
Iori held his breath as Ken came closer and closer, blocking him in against the sink. The counter edge dug into his back uncomfortably, but he had no desire to move. His own green eyes, pupils blown wide with desire, held Ken's gaze with equal want. Then they drifted closed as the hand came up to stroke his cheek. He leaned into the hand; his own starting to move up to cover Ken's with his own.
The sudden breaking of glass snapped his eyes open and he jerked away, hitting his back on the counter, startled by the noise. He gaped wordlessly at Ken's abrupt rage, unsure of what to say. So instead of saying anything and gaining more ire, he turned to face the sink and slowly picked the broken shards from the sink. The task of cleaning out the sink and emptying the glass into the nearby trashcan gave him time to collect his thoughts.
However, he was no closer to words when he faced back to Ken again.
Ken was unsure if Iori's reaction to his proximity pleased or concerned him. On one hand, it was good to know that - even in his disheveled, not-entirely-clean state - he could seduce the younger boy with barely a look. On the other hand, though he'd never thought of Iori as someone who would be in a relationship just for the incredibly hot sex that could be had, there was always the possibility that he just wanted some time with Ken's hot bod. If Ken could have casual sex with himself, he would.
Settling on the couch as if nothing out of ordinary had happened, Ken turned back towards the TV. The sounds of Iori picking up the shards of glass didn't phase him in the least; if anyone should feel guilty it was Iori. No matter their past, he hardly thought that walking into someone's house and trying to dictate how they spent their time was appropriate. Especially when he just assumed that Ken was some rampant alcoholic. Stubbornly refusing to turn away from the TV, Ken waited for Iori to break the silence between them.
Eventually Iori drifted over to stand behind the couch, waiting to see if Ken acknowledged his presence. He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot as he waited; it soon became obvious that Ken wasn't going to say anything.
Sighing in disappointment, Iori gave up waiting and edged closer to the couch and its seated person. Leaning over the back, he quietly said, "I'm sorry that I made you mad." He paused, debating whether to take his leave then or not. Taking a deep breath and acting only on his desires for a change, he bent farther in to place a chaste kiss on the corner of Ken's mouth. "I'll stop by again sometime next week, okay?"
It was difficult enough to ignore Iori while he was in the small kitchen, but when he wandered over to the couch and stood behind him - surely looking pathetic and needy, two things Ken would normally be happy to take advantage of - it became so much harder to restrain himself. He'd been so close to pressing his body to Iori's and pillaging his mouth, but two things had stopped him. One being that making his desires that blatantly obvious was a show of weakness, and no matter what Iori said, he wasn't yet comfortable sharing weaknesses. The second was that, well, he hadn't brushed his teeth since the day before. His own tongue didn't want to be in his mouth, why would Iori's?
A sharp intake of breath was his response to Iori's kiss, and he had to restrain himself from pushing Iori back against the couch and enjoying the feel of Iori pinned between his body and the couch. Iori would probably, probably, look past the fact that his mouth tasted like a bar dumpster, but he didn't quite want that as the precursor to their becoming a couple again. Instead, he just smiled crookedly, eying Iori from the corner of his eyes. "Sure, sure. If that's what you want."
An answering smile pulled at Iori's mouth. It was a relief to know that he hadn't completely messed up. "Yeah, it's what I want."
Having overstepped his quota on boldness for at least the week, if not the whole month, he cautiously added on: "Is that what you want?"
There were lots of things that Ken wanted, and Iori leaving wasn't one of them. They'd had their differences, their arguments, but there wasn't a part of him that was glad when the boy wasn't around. Sure, he could be glad that he wasn't being nagged about things long since past, but if Iori felt like nagging he could just slap a muzzle on him...
However, when he woke up tomorrow morning (afternoon), how would he convince himself that this wasn't all some rum-induced dream? He'd have to manage somehow.
"Of course," he responded, that crooked smile remaining on his face.
Why: cuz lol!drama
When: November 2010
Who: Ken and Iori
Where: Ken's apartment
-
Tendrils of long, dark hair pooled around Ken's head as he lay back, pieces sticking up here and there in chaotic little tufts. His eyes had defaulted to closed when he no longer had to make eye-contact with Iori, one of his arms coming up automatically to keep the flickering light that poured into the room from the TV from dancing across his eyelids.
“Exchange information,” Ken snorted, barely lifting his arm to peek up at Iori as he settled himself on the other armrest of the couch. After a moment of drinking in the sight of the smaller boy he replaced the arm over his eyes.
It would be a lot easier to succumb to this sharing bull if he knew that Iori would really hold no judgments. No matter what he promised, Iori would ask the questions he wanted answered and latch onto the hurt and anger that their answers wrought until his fragile little heart broke again. He'd wait patiently for some perceived offense by Ken, then their little blame-cycle would begin again, each of them lashing out at each other over things that had happened so long ago as to not be relevant.
“Somehow I don't think that right this moment is the best time to play the truth game, Iori,” he murmured, gesturing about the room with his free arm. Putting it off was a dangerous suggestion in itself, but Ken couldn't see the benefit in drunkenly discussing his feelings.
Iori silently watched on, eyes raking up and down Ken's sprawled frame as he took the time catalog the changes in the other's body. He'd become a lot thinner, almost unhealthily so, so that his clothes hung loose on his frame. Iori could make out twin, dark circles under the other digidestined eyes from under his arm. The most alarming change, though, would have to be the lack of hygiene. The Ken he'd known had taken great pride in his appearance, but now here he was, at least a day or two he was guessing without a shower or change of clothes and reeking of alcohol.
And just like that, worry bloomed and expanded in tenfold.
Gently shifting from the arm to the seat cushion next to Ken's head, trying not to jostle him with his movement; Iori moved so he was close enough to lean over and grasp the arm covering Ken's eyes. He tugged it away so he could see the other man's face unobscured. "Is it a bad time because you're drunk? Hung over?"
Keeping true to his earlier word, the words held no judgement. "How much have you been drinking, Ken? From day to day, that is."
Restraining the deep sigh that yearned to pull free of him when he felt Iori's weight shift, Ken tried to think his way out of the predicament he'd just gotten himself into. Of course Iori wasn't so dense not to notice that the drink that Ken had so pointedly been drinking was alcohol. Of course he would want to make one drink every now and again seem like a full-fledged alcohol problem.
For a moment, Ken resisted the hand tugging at his arm, before letting it be lifted away from his face. The cat was out of the bag, already. Iori had seen his haggard appearance and would refuse to take 'I'm fine,' as an answer. He stubbornly kept his eyes closed, however.
“It's hard to be hungover when you just keep drinking,” he laughed, more as a joke than as any serious indication of his condition.
Iori's lips tilted down in a small frown. "That's not funny, Ken. Alcoholism is a serious problem." Perhaps he was jumping the tracks with that statement - and he really hoped he was - but if it was the truth he had to do something. Already Ken looked like he was halfway to a hospital bed.
"Why are you drinking so much?"
The fact that Ken wasn't more embarrassed by his rumpled appearance was indicative of the fact that he'd been drinking enough to relinquish his white-knuckled grip on control. Control of how people saw him, including Iori.
Ken opened his eyes enough to scowl playfully upside-down at Iori, “Alcoholism is a serious problem for those who have it. The people who just enjoy a few drinks while watching a zombie movie marathon just to get interrupted by a little imp who wants to talk about feelings, however, are just -” he paused to gasp dramatically “-normal people.” It was an almost an insult to lump himself together with 'normal people,' but Ken wasn't about to get Iori off of this dire topic without distracting him a little bit.
Showing off his newly-perfected sense of humor was a perfect way to distract him.
The high schooler would have none of it, though. "A few drinks," he repeated skeptically. "Is that why every time I've talked to you recently, you've been drunk?"
"What happened to being honest, Ken?" His grip on the other's arm tightened unconsciously as his frown deepened.
“Every time you talked to me!” Ken repeated dramatically, covering his face with the arm that Iori didn't currently have possession of. He almost mentioned that the hold that had slowly progressed to a pinch was starting to become uncomfortable, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything. Iori was already lathering himself into one of his worrying moods. “All two times in the last six months? One of which was through a computer? I hardly think that constitutes alcoholism.”
He wasn't lying, per se, but he was being a tad misleading. To make it seem like it was naught but a coincidence that every time they talked he'd been drinking wasn't very honest of him. “I told you tonight wasn't a good night for the truths game, Iori. That's very honest of me.”
Instead of letting himself be soothed by the word, Iori kept pushing; going so far as to pull away Ken's other arm and hold them both down on the couch cushion. "Alright, perhaps those time where merely coincidences, but what would Takeru say if I asked him about your drinking habits?" While he didn't particularly want to talk about Takeru with Ken, and as much as it pained him to admit it, he knew the two of them were close. Not as close as he'd initially dreaded barring the one time no one wanted to talk about, but still enough that it grated on his nerves. If anyone knew whether the older man was drinking too much, it would be Takeru.
A frown consumed Ken's features when Iori removed his other arm, letting him fall prey to the oh-so-bright lights jumping from the TV. He didn't struggle, though. There was no point. Iori would only become more grumpy if he were to shake off the hold and cover his face. It was like he thought that seeing Ken's face was helping him somehow detect the truth, when that was anything but true. Ken could lie with his expression as easily as with his words.
He perked slightly at the mention of Takeru, his annoyed frown melting into confusion. "Why would you go to Takeru? I've barely seen'm recently." The truth of that statement brought the slightest of aches to Ken's chest; he refused to ponder why. Takeru would, in all honesty, probably jump on the 'Ken's an alchy' bandwagon, regardless.
Instead of feeling glad that Ken hadn't been in contact with Takeru, it just added to his worry. "When was the last time you left this apartment?"
"Yesterday." There was no point in divulging why he'd gone out or that he'd locked himself inside the apartment for at least a week before that. Iori would just get mad. "I'm counting these as your questions for the truth game since I'm being so honest. So when I'm feeling up to returning the favor of bombarding you with questions, you better be ready."
As if reading the other man's mind, Iori continued to question him: "Why? And for how long?"
He only nodded in agreement to Ken's statement, almost absentmindedly. He was too focused on getting out as much information from Ken as possible.
Ken wrinkled his nose at that and bit back a growl of 'why does it matter?'. It'd be easier to keep up his teasing than deal with the fallout if he released some real information for Iori to worry about. "Groceries," which was true enough. Who ever said Ken couldn't be an honest person?
When Iori continued to push, Ken rolled his eyes and pushed lightly against the arms that held his own down. "Really? Do you expect me to keep some sort of social events calendar? Make not of every time I set foot outside the door?" He laughed at the ludicrousness of that notion.
Iori arched a brow at the laughter. "You're telling me you can't," he asked skeptically. He added on, "I can remember every time I've left the house in the past two weeks and a rough estimate of how long I was gone."
Ken sobered, if only slightly. "Just in case someone who as much as told you to get lost walks back into your life and gets curious?" He snorted, waving his hand dismissively. "I haven't done anything wrong, and you're still cranky with me. I just can't win."
"I'm not cranky, Ken." Iori replied; and honestly, he wasn't. "I'm worried."
"I know it probably doesn't seem like I care because I haven't been around, and I know that's my fault. Okay? I know. And maybe I don't deserve to come back all of sudden and expect you to let me in... but seeing you like this, it scares me. It really does, Ken." He stared down soberly at the other male.
Then, as an afterthought, he added with a wavering smile: "I'm supposed to be the one with self abuse problems, remember?"
"Well there's a first," Ken mumbled under his breath, unconcerned if Iori heard or not. It wasn't as though he could be expected to change his ways and be a perfect, nice Ken just because half an hour ago Iori declared he wanted to get back together. Not that he thought that Iori wanted him to be a perfect, nice Ken anyways. If he wanted someone perfect and nice he wouldn't keep dragging himself back to someone he thought was an alcoholic.
He waved away Iori's concern with a flick of his wrist, still not putting forth enough effort to free himself from the boy's grasp. "I don't have self abuse, problems, silly. Someone as perfect as I am doesn't yearn to abuse themselves!" Again, Ken couldn't say he wasn't being honest with himself; he really was perfect. Even in yesterday's clothes and smelling like rum!
"Oh, is that why you smell like a bar's dumpster then?" Not that he really knew what bar's dumpster smelled like, seeing as he didn't hang around bars or dumpsters. He bet it wasn't a great smell, though.
"Oh, and are you still smoking," he asked an afterthought. It was a tad hypocritical of him to ask, seeing as he still light up from time to time against his best judgment. Stress had a way of making him crave the nicotine.
It was hard to irritate Ken when he was in his happily buzzed state - a condition he'd reached with that last cup of rum - but Iori was sounding entirely too judgmental, worried or not. It wasn't Iori's place to bother himself over how Ken had acted while they were apart - especially while they were apart because Iori had demanded they be apart. Ken could act however he wanted! He was an adult, after all. An adult who could drink himself into a pleasantly numb state any time he damn well pleased without it making him "an alcoholic" or "self-abusing."
Slipping his wrists from Iori's grasp with a quick twist of his arms, Ken stood up. Luckily, his attention was drawn away from how his skin mourned the loss of Iori's warm hands by the fact that the world tilted as he stood... perhaps he should have eased himself up a bit more gradually. He swayed only slightly, no more than someone who was light-headed, but surely Iori would read the movement as a drunken misstep. Despite his annoyance with Iori's nosy, worried mothering, Ken flashed a brilliant grin as he made to collect the dishes that lay in front of his couch. "You don't know what a bar dumpster smells like," he said over his shoulder, calling Iori on his bluff. He dropped the dishes in the sink, making a point of checking his breath and sniffing under his arms, "And I think I smell jus' fine. If you are offended by my scent, though, you're free t'leave."
"Maybe I don't," he conceded easily, "but I can't imagine any dumpster smelling good." He purposely refrained from mentioning Ken's swaying.
He gave a small shrug at Ken's defensive statement, shifting in his seat to cross his legs and lean against the armrest. "My nose hasn't fallen off yet, has it?" And since he was already pushing at Ken's boundaries - he was surprised by easy it was to do when he wasn't over-analyzing his every thought around Ken - he continued on with: "Not that I'd stop you if you wanted to take a shower and change. And you never answered my question about smoking. Because, really, if you are..." He paused momentarily, and then taking a risk he put out, "I wouldn't mind one if you have some around."
He wondered if by putting out one of his continued bad habits would offend or relax Ken.
It would have been childish to point out that a dumpster freshly out of the dumpster-making factory would smell just fine, but Ken still got as far as opening his mouth to say that very thought before he caught himself. He twirled around to face the brunette, those amethyst eyes drinking in the site of Iori perched primly on his messy couch, in his pathetic apartment, looking as though he wasn't in the least bit frightened. It shocked (and insulted) Ken that Iori was acting so relaxed, trapped in Ken's apartment as he was, and he would have been lying if he said that facade of confidence didn't have the predator in him yearning to prove that he wasn't some domesticated house cat. He was very good at playing the role, yes, but he would always be capable of shredding Iori's confidence with naught but an offhand comment. Perhaps Iori was getting to be a better actor, or maybe he honestly was stupid enough not to be scared.
Ken filled his cup with something from an opaque pitcher, taking a drink before he prowled back towards the couch. "Even though I look amazing as a devilish rebel who always has a cigarette between his lips, I gave up th' habit a few months back. 'm sure if you rummaged around in some of my drawers you could find a cigarette somewhere. You also might find things better left unseen, but it's up you you."
"Oh, is that so? You think you have something in there that I haven't seen before or can't guess?" The thought, instead of annoying or worrying him, peaked his curiosity. "You do remember that we lived together for a time, right? I'm not sure there's much that would surprise me about you or what you keep in your drawers." A hint of teasing crept in unbidden.
As Ken came closer to the couch, Iori held out his hand for the drink in challenge. It was a fifty/fifty chance that it was more alcohol and he doubted Ken would want to further their discussion on his drinking habits.
Ken shrugged dismissively, only a hint of a grin lingering on his face, "Do what 'cha want, just don't come crying to me later because you can't get rid of the nightmares."
A pinched look came to his face when Iori reached for his drink, an internal debate taking place momentarily before he guiltily surrendered the cup to younger boy. Keeping the grin that threatened to split his face inside, Ken waited, hands on his hips, for Iori to test the drink... there was no point in telling him that it was nothing but cranberry juice; he wasn't trustworthy enough to believe. "Are you satisfied that I'm not a poor, depressed alcoholic binge-drinking all the rum that I can find?"
"But, I suppose, I want nothing more than to live up to your dreams of me," he offered sarcastically, digging under the couch for a moment before he came up with his prize; a half-full bottle of rum. Popping the cap off, he took a swig with a smirk. If Iori thought he needed to be mothered so bad, maybe he'd act like the troubled child Iori was treating him as.
The boy snorted at that. "If you think anything you have hiding in your drawers could give me nightmares, you'd never want to see what actually does." He'd meant to keep the answer light, but the thought of nightmares deflated him a bit. While the night terrors had subsided over time, he still woke up at times drenched in sweat and tears.
Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he took a sip of the drink; meeting Ken's gaze over the rim of the cup. "I can't just be thirsty," he asked innocently and took another sip. Then the bottle came out, bring with it another of his scowls. Taking the smirk as a challenge, Iori snatched the bottle from Ken and marched over to the kitchen sink to dump the liquor down the drain. Turning back to Ken, he raised his eyebrow in a silent question and waited for the other's reaction.
Ken grimaced as the bottle was pulled away from his lips, spilling a few ounces down his front. The day-old shirt he wore clung to his chest where the rum had spilled, making him pick at it uselessly. After a moment of debating, he simply removed the offending article of clothing. It wasn't as though Iori hadn't seen him shirtless before.
As he tossed the wadded up piece of clothing in the general direction of his room, he denied the temptation to start tossing other things. Acting like a petulant child wouldn't make Iori want to believe that he didn't have a problem.
"Do you really think that was a good idea?" He asked idly, straightening the couch cushions to distract him from the roiling anger that boiled up from his gut. Surely it wouldn't support his claim that he wasn't an alcoholic to become enraged over a wasted half-bottle of rum, but he would've been mad if Iori had dumped the pitcher of non-alcoholic juice down the sink, too.
Iori shrugged in reply. "I can't say it was a horrible idea." Although now he had a half naked Ken standing only a few feet away. That he could have done without, if only for the sake of his composure. Now was not the time to be ogling like an idiot.
Ken growled something unintelligible, raking his hands through his hair compulsively. What part of pushing him possibly seemed like a good idea? Especially from the same boy who not an hour ago had been kneeling on the ground, begging Ken to take him back. Never mind that, if he truly were an alcoholic, he'd have multiple bottles stashed about the apartment that he'd wholeheartedly enjoy drinking after kicking Iori out. "S'a horrible way to win me back, that's for sure."
"Well, then," Iori asked quietly, suddenly meek against as he toyed with the empty bottle, "what would you suggest?"
The anger that had held Ken tense evaporated at Iori's words, those amethyst eyes brightening as he regarded the frustrating boy. Ken had oft been accused of being a heartless creep, but the notion that Iori was really here to put some effort in and repair their broken relationship made the space where his heart should be pang affectionately. Even in his half-drunk state, he'd convinced himself that the only reason Iori was here was to taunt him more. Did he think that Iori could really last more than a week of not judging him for past actions? No, not really. But that didn't mean that Iori's shy question didn't make him ache for the possibilities. Absently, he lifted a hand to place it on his bare chest, rubbing at his skin like it would make that tingling sensation go away. It didn't.
Prowling towards Iori, he backed the boy up against the counter, pausing with only a few inches between their chests. He stared for a moment, his eyes hungry, while an internal debate raged within him. To touch Iori, to show that he missed him, would be opening himself up to more hurt. Was that something that he wanted to risk when Iori could easily just decide that his difficult self wasn't worth it? One hand braced against the counter, the other creeping up to cup Iori's cheek, his thumb gently rubbing that soft, pale skin. "What would I suggest?" He repeated, his voice a husky whisper, his body inching closer...
Snatching the empty bottle that still dangled from Iori's fingers, he growled, "I'd suggest that you don't invite yourself to my place just so that you can stick your nose in my business and throw out my things." With that, he tossed the empty bottle into the sink, effectively shattering it, and stomped towards the couch. This definteily wasn't the best way to prove he wasn't a crazy alcoholic, but having people attempt to control him just rubbed him the wrong way, even if the person trying to control him was Iori.
A part of him mourned the possibility of their reunion, for blatant rage tended to scare Iori, but if Iori only wanted to be in his life if he could control it, Ken would have to pass.
Iori held his breath as Ken came closer and closer, blocking him in against the sink. The counter edge dug into his back uncomfortably, but he had no desire to move. His own green eyes, pupils blown wide with desire, held Ken's gaze with equal want. Then they drifted closed as the hand came up to stroke his cheek. He leaned into the hand; his own starting to move up to cover Ken's with his own.
The sudden breaking of glass snapped his eyes open and he jerked away, hitting his back on the counter, startled by the noise. He gaped wordlessly at Ken's abrupt rage, unsure of what to say. So instead of saying anything and gaining more ire, he turned to face the sink and slowly picked the broken shards from the sink. The task of cleaning out the sink and emptying the glass into the nearby trashcan gave him time to collect his thoughts.
However, he was no closer to words when he faced back to Ken again.
Ken was unsure if Iori's reaction to his proximity pleased or concerned him. On one hand, it was good to know that - even in his disheveled, not-entirely-clean state - he could seduce the younger boy with barely a look. On the other hand, though he'd never thought of Iori as someone who would be in a relationship just for the incredibly hot sex that could be had, there was always the possibility that he just wanted some time with Ken's hot bod. If Ken could have casual sex with himself, he would.
Settling on the couch as if nothing out of ordinary had happened, Ken turned back towards the TV. The sounds of Iori picking up the shards of glass didn't phase him in the least; if anyone should feel guilty it was Iori. No matter their past, he hardly thought that walking into someone's house and trying to dictate how they spent their time was appropriate. Especially when he just assumed that Ken was some rampant alcoholic. Stubbornly refusing to turn away from the TV, Ken waited for Iori to break the silence between them.
Eventually Iori drifted over to stand behind the couch, waiting to see if Ken acknowledged his presence. He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot as he waited; it soon became obvious that Ken wasn't going to say anything.
Sighing in disappointment, Iori gave up waiting and edged closer to the couch and its seated person. Leaning over the back, he quietly said, "I'm sorry that I made you mad." He paused, debating whether to take his leave then or not. Taking a deep breath and acting only on his desires for a change, he bent farther in to place a chaste kiss on the corner of Ken's mouth. "I'll stop by again sometime next week, okay?"
It was difficult enough to ignore Iori while he was in the small kitchen, but when he wandered over to the couch and stood behind him - surely looking pathetic and needy, two things Ken would normally be happy to take advantage of - it became so much harder to restrain himself. He'd been so close to pressing his body to Iori's and pillaging his mouth, but two things had stopped him. One being that making his desires that blatantly obvious was a show of weakness, and no matter what Iori said, he wasn't yet comfortable sharing weaknesses. The second was that, well, he hadn't brushed his teeth since the day before. His own tongue didn't want to be in his mouth, why would Iori's?
A sharp intake of breath was his response to Iori's kiss, and he had to restrain himself from pushing Iori back against the couch and enjoying the feel of Iori pinned between his body and the couch. Iori would probably, probably, look past the fact that his mouth tasted like a bar dumpster, but he didn't quite want that as the precursor to their becoming a couple again. Instead, he just smiled crookedly, eying Iori from the corner of his eyes. "Sure, sure. If that's what you want."
An answering smile pulled at Iori's mouth. It was a relief to know that he hadn't completely messed up. "Yeah, it's what I want."
Having overstepped his quota on boldness for at least the week, if not the whole month, he cautiously added on: "Is that what you want?"
There were lots of things that Ken wanted, and Iori leaving wasn't one of them. They'd had their differences, their arguments, but there wasn't a part of him that was glad when the boy wasn't around. Sure, he could be glad that he wasn't being nagged about things long since past, but if Iori felt like nagging he could just slap a muzzle on him...
However, when he woke up tomorrow morning (afternoon), how would he convince himself that this wasn't all some rum-induced dream? He'd have to manage somehow.
"Of course," he responded, that crooked smile remaining on his face.