Twister
Zim honestly wasn't quite sure how he'd gotten there.
Well. He was certain there had been a bet, and remembered losing, but his current compromised position was chasing former memories from his brainmeats. He actually did remember it all quite well, in some corner of his mind, but really, it was so difficult to concentrate with the Dib-worm breathing down the back of his Invader's uniform, tracing warm patches down his shoulder blades.
Zim was quite satisfied in knowing that the Dib-thing must be equally embarrassed, though other than that it may have been considered lose-lose.
"Going to give out, Zim?" Dib asked him wryly. The warm air from his words made the back of Zim's neck tingle.
"Not anytime soon, Dib-stink." Zim replied, his voice equally mocking.
This was... childish, at best. GIR, in dog costume, sat to Zim's left with a colorful spinner clutched in black stubs, laughing crazily at his predicament, while the two boys were scrabbling at the soft plastic mat's differently colored circles and hissing at one another.
"Spaceboy."
"Human."
"Xenojunk."
"...Human."
--
Left foot yellow.
Right hand yellow.
Right hand red.
Left hand green.
Both humanoids were twisting around into shapes reminiscent of pretzels.
--
After Zim found himself in a particularly painful and embarrassing position, he asked innocently, "Is the human who created this game dead?"
"I... think so..?" Dib answered, mildly confused.
"Good," Zim growled darkly. "because if not, I'd kill him.." after a pause, he added, "slowly and painfully."
Dib couldn't honestly say anything to the contrary lest he feel like a hypocrite.
--
"Pak limbs don't count as legs, Zim."
"Pfft. What do you know, monkey?"
--
Right foot blue.
Left hand yellow.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang.
"Pizzah!" The hyperactive robot/dog yelled, dropping the spinner promptly before rushing to the door to take the edible grease glob from a pimpled delivery boy.
As GIR ate, not bothering to call out limbs or colors, the two players muscles quivered slightly in place, glares never leaving each-other's faces.
--
Right hand red.
Left foot red .
Left hand yellow.
Right foot green.
In their current position, the Twister player's faces were close, and the other's breathing could be felt. They both gave out at around the same moment, and neither could really be called out for it - they landed, Dib on top of Zim.
Immediately they both stood, arguing about who had lost.
"You fell first!"
"You touched the ground first!"
"Only because of your fat head!"
"MY HEAD IS NOT BIG!"
Despite the 'friendlier-than-usual' competition, nothing had really changed.