They have this argument every time.

They're drunk, as usual. They have to be, for this to work. They can't do it sober—not that they've ever tried. Eizen just knows they'd probably start laughing, or maybe crying, halfway through. As far as he's concerned, the closer they are to blacking out, the better.

"All right," says Eizen, letting out a shuddering breath, and crosses his arms. They've been staring each other down for at least a minute; one of them has to say something, or they'll never get anywhere. "So whose turn is it?" He knows full well it's his, of course. He just wants to hear Zaveid say it for once.

But evidently, he isn't in an indulgent mood. "What, you expect me to tell you it's yours?" he shoots back, shrugging. He's always been good at slipping out of things, in all senses. Even with his comprehensive knowledge of sailing knots, Eizen can't tie Zaveid down without him finding some way to escape, and even if he's technically trapped, he can almost always sweet-talk his way out of it. Fucking wind malakhim.

Eizen scowls and opens his mouth, but Zaveid cuts him off. "Yeah, yeah, 'don't answer a question with another question'," he sighs, shaking his head. "Would you believe that gets a little old after the thousandth time? But then again," he adds, "I shouldn't expect anything else from an earth malak. You've just got no imagination."

Bristling at his knowing grin, Eizen shifts into a combat stance. Oddly, the only times Zaveid pulls punches is when he's shitfaced, and that makes him even harder to deal with. After all, if he came right out and said he's unimpressed with their nights of passion (such as they are), Eizen would be able to counter that more easily than these vaguer insults. "I might not be as crazy as you, but I can still get you off," he hisses.

"Whoa, okay, so I guess we're going there," remarks Zaveid, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise as though he hadn't directly opened the door for it. "If that's how you wanna play it, my craziness gets you off faster, so don't you claim the high ground on me."

It's times like these Eizen hates Zaveid most, but their fights are what make him feel really alive. It's a weird combination, but he likes it—not that he'll ever outwardly admit it, of course. "Zaveid," he growls, cracking his knuckles. "You drank my liquor and came into my room and damn it, you are going to give me the respect I deserve."

Zaveid only snorts, standing on one hip. "How's about you not ask questions you already know the answer to, then," he says, crossing his arms. "Unless you want me to challenge you. You know I'm not gonna bend over of my own free will unless it's so you can kiss my ass."

Eizen rolls his eyes. "It's my turn on top, and if you don't like it, you can get the hell out," he snaps, jerking his head toward the door.

"Your road or the highroad, huh?" sighs Zaveid, quirking an eyebrow, and a sly smirk twists his mouth into a mischievous smile: Eizen braces himself. "Funny, I was gonna say the same for myself. But it doesn't have to be like that," he adds. "Not that I believe in destiny, but we can always leave it up to fate. Just flip your coin or something." He grins that shit-eating grin of his. "I call tails."

Almost before Zaveid finishes, Eizen launches himself at him, tackling him to the ground. (Nobody brings up his curse in conjunction with his love life, such as it is.) They slide across the floorboards, Zaveid grimacing as the breath is driven from his body—even wind malakhim aren't immune to being winded, as Eizen happily discovered during one of their fistfights some time ago—and skid to a halt a few feet away.

Eizen kneels over Zaveid, pinning down those muscular arms, ready to slam his head down and knock him out if he puts up any resistance. That'll at least buy him enough time to practice some new knots if he doesn't feel like complying in the meantime. "My turn," he growls, using his best end-of-discussion voice. He's proud of that tone. That alone used to be enough to make Aifread's entire crew scatter and hide belowdecks.

But Zaveid only rolls his head from side to side in a cheeky negative, still smiling faintly, although he has only just started breathing again. "W-we'll see," he pants, stirring beneath him as if testing to make sure his limbs still work. Zaveid is nothing if not confident, especially considering that he's the one who started this nameless arrangement in the first place—the only one brave enough to weather the Reaper's Curse.

Eizen heaves a sigh. "You're lucky you're so damn attractive," he mutters, resenting the power behind those scorching sunset eyes.

Zaveid manages a faint half-laugh in response, almost a cough. "Careful there, Eizen," he murmurs, voice hoarse and soft with the effort of catching his breath, "or you're gonna start making me think you actually like me."

"You fucking bastard," spits Eizen, the worst insult he can think of when his brain is already shutting down in response to Zaveid spread-eagled beneath him. That plan couldn't have backfired any more thoroughly; he may ordinarily be unshakable, but his lover is an expert at turning any situation to his advantage. (Eizen's age-old elemental weakness rears its ugly head once again.)

"Oh, I intend to," grins Zaveid, curving his hand to the back of Eizen's neck, and draws him down into yet another inconclusive kiss.

I… don't even know. I was trying to fall asleep at like 2 in the morning and woke myself up laughing because this idea hit me. Hope it was as enjoyable for you~