[He's more upset about the alcohol than the lake of clothes. The last chug he took really set him back. He feels... decidedly more chill, about as chill as Bakugou can be, a little tingly.
A scarlet warmth has pooled up over his jaws into his cheeks, more apparent with his fairer skin and lighter hair. Doesn't quite match his eyes just yet, but close.
Angrily, he shoves the tongue of the belt out and unhooks the latch. There's a predatory glint to his eye when he stares across at Todoroki as he yanks the belt out of every loop of his pants in one go. He drops the belt haphazardly, glares instead at the waiting glass as he undoes the pants and drops them to his calves. He steps out of his slippers and the pants together, kicks the pants to the side with a foot.
More impressive than his arms and shoulders: his legs. Thick and wired full of muscle; the boxer-briefs do little to hide anything and instead cling to his thighs. But he still doesn't seem to mind being mostly undressed. In fact, the air is a relief on his hot, damp skin.
The glass he lifts and downs exactly as foolhardy and quick as before. Choking and coughing spares him, but he grimaces heavily and a held breath explodes from him after. The belch he catches in the crook of his arm, but it at least doesn't sound sick. He digs the ball out, puts the glass down, and takes an unsteady step back into place.]
Alright...
[It takes him a moment to line up the shot. His face wants to be focused, but his eyes seem pleasantly hazy. He chucks the ball, aiming for the most full glass. Instead, he lands it in the one a step up from least full.]
no subject
[He's more upset about the alcohol than the lake of clothes. The last chug he took really set him back. He feels... decidedly more chill, about as chill as Bakugou can be, a little tingly.
A scarlet warmth has pooled up over his jaws into his cheeks, more apparent with his fairer skin and lighter hair. Doesn't quite match his eyes just yet, but close.
Angrily, he shoves the tongue of the belt out and unhooks the latch. There's a predatory glint to his eye when he stares across at Todoroki as he yanks the belt out of every loop of his pants in one go. He drops the belt haphazardly, glares instead at the waiting glass as he undoes the pants and drops them to his calves. He steps out of his slippers and the pants together, kicks the pants to the side with a foot.
More impressive than his arms and shoulders: his legs. Thick and wired full of muscle; the boxer-briefs do little to hide anything and instead cling to his thighs. But he still doesn't seem to mind being mostly undressed. In fact, the air is a relief on his hot, damp skin.
The glass he lifts and downs exactly as foolhardy and quick as before. Choking and coughing spares him, but he grimaces heavily and a held breath explodes from him after. The belch he catches in the crook of his arm, but it at least doesn't sound sick. He digs the ball out, puts the glass down, and takes an unsteady step back into place.]
Alright...
[It takes him a moment to line up the shot. His face wants to be focused, but his eyes seem pleasantly hazy. He chucks the ball, aiming for the most full glass. Instead, he lands it in the one a step up from least full.]
Lucky bastard.