Midousuji likes it, when Ishigaki's eyes lock with his; his eyes sharply and suddenly narrow and upturn as he flashes another naughty grin, his neck twisting to his gaze follows Ishigaki as he tries to pass. It feels like a trap. Ishigaki's panic is both endearing and fun. Maybe a bit titillating. He has to get it under control—he knows this, but he's not too worried right this minute. His eyes sharpen, honing in on the way Ishigaki's ears go pink.

Before the ravenousness boils over again, Ishigaki suddenly—slips, which honestly startles Midousuji, whose hands fold at their wrists by his chest as they steeple up in surprise, his eyes widening. They don't stay like that for but a second, though.

He thrusts out a strong hand, long fingers gripping Ishigaki's bicep harshly, yanking him up to correct his balance somewhat, pulling Midousuji's own shoulder down a bit in the process.

"Ah, how bad of me. Sorry for the mess," Midousuji says through a sneaky smile, tilting his head. His voice is too smooth, too low, and too warm.

"Thank you for warming me up, Ishigaki-kun."

Okay, maybe he's overdoing it. He'll pump the breaks once he gets his pajamas. It's just too fun.