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"Go back to the main room and tell me the colors. I'll put 'em down," the Feinberg on screen says and the Feinberg next to Couri on the couch cringes.
"Motherfucker," he mutters at his past self, "Stop fucking telling him what to do. He's not stupid."
Couri huffs a laugh. Fein has kept up a running commentary the entire time they've watched the finished escape room video. Mostly, that commentary consists of mockery and high praises switching so quickly Couri has trouble keeping up, and Fein spares no-one, not even himself. It's honestly more entertaining than the video itself, although that is very well made and Couri enjoys seeing the struggles the other teams went through.
Fein glances at him. "They cut out half the times I ordered you around and it's still so fucking bad. You could've told me to fuck off, I didn't know I did it that much."
Couri shrugs. "It worked out, didn't it? We got an insane time."
"Still."
Fein actually looks a little upset at... probably himself? For being clear and precise at communicating? For making them win? Couri really isn't sure what this guy's problem is.
"It's fine," he reassures, "I don't mind, really."
The look Fein gives him lingers. "You don't?"
There's something in the way he says it that catches Couri's attention, or maybe it's the glint in his eyes. "I don't," he repeats. He pauses, looks for that spark in Fein's eyes again, for the smirk lurking in the corner of his mouth, finds both with the ease of long familiarity. Yeah. There's no reason to not push this a little. "Especially not when it's you."
Fein leans back into the couch cushions. His gaze turns focused, calculating, the way it goes when speedrunning, the way it was in the escape room. Something hot and fizzling settles in Couri's stomach.
"Really," he says slowly. Couri gets the pleasant feeling that Fein's picking up exactly what he's putting down. They're on the same wavelength, on this just as much as everything else.
"Really," he confirms again. He angles himself more towards Fein, video forgotten, and hopes that Fein actually does something about it.
"What if I..." Fein pauses, licks his lips. His eyes, so far laser focused on Couri, jump around the room. Couri doesn't think it's insecurity - that's not Fein's style. Looking for inspiration, maybe. "What if I told you to get me something to drink?"
Couri considers it. It's not what he expected, not quite what he hoped for, but... Fein is watching him attentively. "Depends on how serious you are about it. And on what you're gonna ask next."
"Dead serious," Fein says and sounds it too, "How about you do it and find out what I'm gonna ask next?"
There's an easy out there as well as a challenge. Couri accepts the latter. "Alright." He stands up. "What do you wanna drink?"
Fein doesn't let on if he's surprised. "There's an energy drink in the fridge, the red one. Bring me that."
Couri nods, turns and leaves. Fein's eyes bore into the back of his head, follow him until he's out of sight. There, he takes a deep breath, a little embarrassed but not surprised by how much it shakes. Shit. He's started something here, hasn't he?
The drink is easy enough to find; Fein's fridge is concerningly empty. He returns to the living room and hesitates for a moment, unsure of what to actually do with the can.
Fein looks pleased, like the cat that got the cream. "Just leave it on the table."
Couri puts the can down. There's no thanks, no acknowledgement. Fein acts like Couri bringing him a drink just because he asked for it is no big deal, like it's something to take for granted and not to be questioned. It should be rude. Unfortunately, it's hot instead.
"Wanna finish the video?" Fein asks, voice neutral. He makes no move to actually drink something, just keeps looking at Couri.
It's not what Couri wants and he feels himself deflate. But what is he supposed to say? "Sure."
He makes a move to sit down in his spot again. Fein stops him. "Uh-uh. Sit here." And then he points to the floor in front of him.
Couri's brain short-circuits and reboots really, really fast. Suddenly, his heart is beating in his throat and his palms get sweaty.
Fein judges his freeze-up wrong. "Was that too much? I'm s-"
"Don't apologize," Couri blurts, "I..." He swallows down the rest of that sentence and, under Fein's piercing stare, makes his way over to the indicated spot. He doesn't kneel, half out of spite because Fein didn't specify, half because he's not sure he could behave himself if he did. Just sits down, leans against the couch, back to Fein.
For a heartbeat, it's terribly quiet. Couri glances back and up at Fein. "The video?"
A big, smug, borderline manic grin forms on Fein's face. "Yeah. Let's watch the video."
Couri watches him pick up remote and energy drink from the coffee table. Fein catches his eye as sits back again. "Eyes on the screen, Couri."
Couri... listens. That's the whole point, after all.
He can't really focus on the video. Behind him, Fein cracks open the can, takes a sip, sets it back onto the table. Nothing happens for one second, two, three - not that Couri is counting, nope - and then Fein brushes through his hair. He glances at Fein. Fein tips his head back at the tv. "I'm not gonna repeat myself."
Couri swallows. Goosebumps race down his arms, down his back. He keeps his eyes forward, as told, but he's not really seeing the video that's playing. None of the words spoken register as anything more than background noise behind the prevalent feeling of Fein's hand in his hair.
He's not even doing much. His fingertips drag circles across Couri's scalp. Sometimes, they dip lower, pet over the short, bristly hair at the sides and back of his head. Sometimes, they tug, only enough to feel the pressure.
It drives Couri mad. The touch settles like fire under his skin, bubbling and sizzling, burning him from the inside out. He shifts, restless, never enough to dislodge Fein's hold on him, but relentlessly. He needs to do something, anything, but Fein has told him to watch the video so he tries, he tries.
And then remembers that, same wavelength or not, their true outstanding skill is communication. That's how they doubled the escape room playtesters' time. That's why they do well in any tournament they join, together or alone. So fuck all this, they just need to talk to each other.
"Fein," he says, "Hold on."
The hand in his hair freezes and vanishes entirely. "Are you okay? Did I do something stupid?"
"No." He takes a breath. "Can I turn around?"
"Yeah. Sure."
Couri turns so he can look up at Fein but stays on the floor, sitting cross-legged. "You did nothing wrong, I did nothing wrong," he starts with because Fein's expression is carefully blank and guarded and Couri hates that, "We're all good. I just need to tell you some stuff, and you need to tell me some stuff."
Fein shifts his position. Where he had both legs drawn up on the couch before, he puts one down on the floor now, bracketing Couri on one side. Couri resists the urge to lean into it; there's time for that later.
"Okay," Fein says simply, "What's up?"
"I don't do well with sitting still and doing nothing," he explains, "So I need you to tell me to actually do something. Make me feel useful, like in the escape room."
That's what it comes down to. He didn't mind taking orders from Fein in the escape room because he knew they would be productive and help them advance. If Fein had told him to watch from the sidelines as he solved the puzzles alone, Couri would have objected - but Fein didn't, included him even in the armor stand puzzle that really didn't need two players. Gave him a job, told him what to do, and they won. It worked, Couri felt good about it, about himself, about Fein.
He can watch in real time as Fein makes the same associations and conclusions. That's where the intimate familiarity with each other's thought patterns and decision making comes in handy again. It's really, really nice. Comforting, in a way.
"I get it now, I think," Fein says thoughtfully. If Couri had to guess, he's probably already turned that new information into a fifteen-step-plan, complete with tactics and failsafes. "Okay. Let's try that again. No, wait," he interrupts himself, "What do you want me to tell you? Or not tell you?"
Couri shrugs. "At this point there's not much I wouldn't do if you asked for it."
Fein considers him for a moment, then nods. "Alright, Couriway."
Fein's hand touches his face, slips under his chin, tilts his head up. It feels like a way bigger deal than it is, and Couri knows he's blushing and it's very obvious. Fein is merciful enough to not point it out.
"You wanna kiss me?"
It's framed as a question but it's said with so much confidence that it might as well be a statement. A challenge. A dare. And okay, maybe Couri does want. Just a little.
"Yes," he says and finally allows himself to lean his shoulder against Fein's thigh. He's warm and solid, and Couri thinks he wouldn't mind staying down here, Fein's thighs around his ears, and being used to make Fein feel good.
It's not what Fein asks for. "Then come up here and do it."
Couri stumbles to his feet, disoriented by Fein suddenly below him. There's no way to go about this that won't put him into a compromising position so he decides fuck it and sits in Fein's lap, knees tucked into the couch cushions at his back. There's no reason to be shy either so he puts his weight down intentionally, even shifts his hips provocatively under the guise of getting comfortable. Annoyingly, Fein just gives him a shit-eating grin and grabs his waist to keep him still. Couri does not mind that either.
He lays one hand where Fein's shoulder meets his neck, where the shirt doesn't reach anymore, and cups his face with the other. There, he hesitates, staring at Fein's mouth. "Should I just-"
"Kiss me," Fein interrupts, clear and concise and with no room for misinterpretation or argument, and Couri listens.
Kissing Fein is a lot less awkward than it maybe should be, given the year-long friends thing, and most of all it's fun. Fein's mean about it, nips at his bottom lip and dips his tongue into Couri's mouth only to pull back again and digs his fingertips into his waist at strategically important times to make him sigh and sink against Fein and lose track of the kiss for half a second.
Couri enjoys being taken apart by every trick in the book and he's shameless about it, kisses back with fervor and rolls his hips against Fein's, just a little, just to feel it. And oh, does he feel it.
"Fein," he says, a little amused and a lot turned on by how obviously hard Fein is.
"Your fault," comes the immediate reply and Couri can't help but laugh.
"I'll take that as a compliment," he quips back. Fein raises an eyebrow at him and Couri grins and shrugs. "Tell me to do something about it."
"Do something about it," Fein shoots back without hesitation.
Couri laughs, exhilarated, and leans in for another kiss or two or three before he does do something about it - he really doesn't mind following orders when that's what Fein tells him.