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[ He can’t see her, can’t judge her emotions by the expressions on her face, so he is left with the tone of her voice and phrasing. The pause is telling; Rokurou leans forward on his couch, as if closing the distance between them in this meager way will help somehow. Obviously, it doesn’t, meaning even less with a solid partition between them. ]

I’m glad you haven’t.

[ Too many people from their initial lot have gone missing or shown up in… that state. Many of those people have been passing fancies for him, someone who accepts that meetings and connections are as fleeting as autumn leaves. The idea of Nami ending up like the rest of them, however, sits uncomfortably in his chest. He doesn’t say anything about it. It’s easier not to acknowledge. ]

It’s always giving me shit. [ on his end, he’s also reached to press his button, no question about doing so. of course he wants to see her. ] But it can’t beat the shit I give myself, so it’s not winning yet.

[ That’s a way to keep optimistic, right? Willing to brush feelings under the rug (emotions are bad and inconvenient), he groans with regret—]

Ugh, I should’ve said I was Rokuko. Could I have tricked you into thinking I was a woman? [ perfect chance, missed!! ] I’m bummed now. I think you should come over here and console me.

[ While she may not call herself out on her own prowess when it comes to giving herself shit, Nami's self-aware enough to meet Rokurou's gaze with a wry grin. They don't talk often, and they, especially, don't talk about subjects as esoteric as the seemingly endless stretch of time they've both been subject to the House's endless cavalcade of horny bullshit while others disappear, or otherwise turn to stone.

Glossing over it works, with him, with herself, with anyone – the casino makes everybody miserable in its way, after a person has been under its relentless sway for long enough, the losses just start to pile up, while the stakes climb so high that chips don't matter, and eventually absent friends are the only thing that does.

But, as keen as Nami is to continue never broaching subjects like time, and loss with Rokurou (who is, as always, hopelessly dreamy) when she meets his eye, there's only one thing Nami can think to say; ]

I'm glad you haven't either.

[ And though her gaze softens in heartfelt fondness, it heats up again in a matter of heartbeats, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she rises to her feet and begins to amble over to his side of the pods. ]

Tricked me? You know I have heard your voice before, right? [ She stops just within arm's reach and lets a hand touch his cheek lightly. ] Be flattered, it's too sexy to miss.

I am flattered.

[ Nami closes the distance, crossing the pods into his little territory and offers her hand; Rokurou tilts his head against her palm, affectionate, rubbing his cheek into the curve of her fingers like a housecat. A rub that he turns his chin into, brushing the curve of his lips against her in a feather-light kiss. ]

But I would have disguised my voice. Really committed to it, you know?

[ He leans back on his little couch after that, pointedly patting his lap, offering a cheeky grin and an air of expectation— ]

Care to sit? I still think you should console me.

[ The pad of her thumb brushes back and forth against his skin, tracing the line of his jaw, while Rokurou's face nuzzles against her palm. Nami chuckles quietly, charmed by the movement, enough so that when he invites her to join him on the sofa, she doesn't do much beyond roll her eyes before doing exactly that. ]

I think we could console each other. [ Her knees rest on either side of his hips, straddling him comfortably before she meets his eye with a slight, but markedly devilish grin. ] Since I missed out on such a peak dramatic performance. [ One hand rests on the back of the sofa, keeping her steady as she leans in to catch his bottom lip between her teeth, giving it a playful, light tug before she finishes her thought. ] We can skip to the encore, too.

[ With Nami so perfectly seated, how can he not sneak beneath the hem of her shirt and slide his fingers around her waist? Slender yet strong, distinctly feminine. Callus-studded palms rub against either side of her ribs, thumbs brush beneath the curve of her breasts. ]

Good. You wouldn’t want to kiss me after it.

[ Rokurou surges up to kiss her again, not satisfied with a brief press of lips and tease of teeth. While Nami’s kiss had been playful, his is intense—his tongue flicks across the seam of her lips before pressing forward, searching for a deeper taste within seconds.

During the kiss, one hand slides up to palm her breast while the other slides around back to grab her ass. The latter presses her hips down to grind their bodies together, guiding her to feel how he’s starting to get hard. ]

[ Rokurou claims her mouth in another kiss, and leaves Nami chuckling low against his lips before she parts them to let her tongue lick against his. She sinks one hand into his hair, carding through it slowly, letting those dark strands wrap around her fingers as a stifled hum of satisfaction gets lost against his mouth. He's easy to feel comfortable around, even if they don't see one another that often, and it's hard not to think of this as anything but the best possible way to spend their time trapped together in these dumb pods.

She moves towards his touch, arching towards the hand he curves over her breast before she quickly shifts her weight, her hips pressing against his, enjoying both the hardening line of his cock pressed flush against the heat that's been simmering between her thighs, and the thought that he can feel how much she wants to keep going. The hands in his hair tense, tugging gently as she moves against him, grinding while the lean muscles of her inner thighs go tight on either side of his hips, half keeping him in place to rock against, half urging more out of him, as her hands slide over the nape of his neck, dragging her nails against skin.

It takes some resolve to pull away even slightly, but for the sake of pulling her shirt off and chucking it into the corner, she makes an exception before gripping at his shirt, intent on doing the same. ]

[ Mnn—sound vibrates in his throat when slender fingers comb through his hair. He's always been weak to touch, and the sensation of her nails scratching lightly over his scalp and then threading through inky strands earns a rich noise of approval. Which is why, when she finally pulls away, he tries to follow after her for more. Jealous: why does that shirt get her touch when he wants more of it? But that small sacrifice reveals more skin; he is quick to help in pulling off his shirt, urgency drumming through his veins despite the being plenty of time on the pod's clock.

With that done, he grabs Nami by the waist to throw her down onto the couch. A position where he's able to press himself between those lean thighs while kissing her again. Hungry, with teeth nipping against her lower lip before his tongue curls, seeking to dominate her mouth while sliding his hands down her chest. Fingers pluck at the cup of her bra, tugging it down so he can smooth fingerpads over her nipple, giving it a light pinch while sucking on her bottom lip.

Between his assault, he asks, voice rough with want: ]

Haa... but how do you want me...?

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