[He shouldn't have asked that question. He really shouldn't have. The answer to it is obvious on its own, and with the way Endo, despite being injured and in a hospital bed, is actively trying to encroach on his personal space, he'd have to be a complete moron to not pick up on the answer. Hindsight is 20/20, he's a huge idiot. Accelerator stops rubbing his forehead, dropping his hand, realizing that this is likely the same affectation he puts on with the kind of women they've been talking about this whole time. Staring back at Endo, he can feel the incredibly rare reaction of his cheeks warming up.
So it isn't just dates. They're fucking, too. His brain shifts gears a bit, moving away from the dating aspect to sex which, unsurprisingly, is an area he knows even less about. Biological function is one thing, but people add layers and complexity to it to make it a whole other kettle of fish, except it isn't even fish but some alien marine life from the Mariana Trench. Dating may just be some ridiculous pretense for sex, since adults can be shallow and selfish like that. The women may think they still have some societal expectation to do it. He doesn't really know, he doesn't know how an adult woman with a libido thinks; the best he can do is taking whatever he learned about human psychology in school and apply it to the situation. And either way, he can't see Endo caring.
Before Accelerator can redirect his thoughts elsewhere his eyes are flicking downwards, then back up. Endo is attractive, he's already admitted that to himself, and he figures that would be enough to get his foot in the door, so to speak. Then, going off of what he knows about female anatomy, women are probably complicated in bed (he isn't sure where anyone beyond that narrow category falls, so he's starting at square one and going from there). Given the number of credit cards, it feels reasonable to conclude that Endo is at least good, likely falling closer on the 'great' end of the spectrum; Accelerator can't imagine anyone willingly handing over money for an experience that's barely passable. Does that mean a lot of foreplay (his eyes flick down again, to Endo's hands, and this time he notices the Roman numeral tattoo on his right ring finger is the wrong number compared to the others) and build up? Is that what women are into? He's given almost zero thought to this in his life, so it's a lot harder to picture compared to dating, which is possible to randomly see out in public —
Wait. Why the hell is he thinking about it this much? Goddamnit.
There's another flare of anxiety in the pit of his stomach, and Accelerator has to resist the urge to hit the switch on his choker. The fingertips of his free hand twitch, but he keeps it on the arm of the chair. He isn't completely sure which is stronger, the desire to alter his body chemistry to calm himself down, or to start smashing all this expensive medical equipment up. No, all of those reactions would only be admitting he's getting flustered again, and he doesn't want to give Endo that satisfaction (nor does he want to end up in jail). Instead he glares back, narrowing his eyes slightly, and mutters.]
no subject
So it isn't just dates. They're fucking, too. His brain shifts gears a bit, moving away from the dating aspect to sex which, unsurprisingly, is an area he knows even less about. Biological function is one thing, but people add layers and complexity to it to make it a whole other kettle of fish, except it isn't even fish but some alien marine life from the Mariana Trench. Dating may just be some ridiculous pretense for sex, since adults can be shallow and selfish like that. The women may think they still have some societal expectation to do it. He doesn't really know, he doesn't know how an adult woman with a libido thinks; the best he can do is taking whatever he learned about human psychology in school and apply it to the situation. And either way, he can't see Endo caring.
Before Accelerator can redirect his thoughts elsewhere his eyes are flicking downwards, then back up. Endo is attractive, he's already admitted that to himself, and he figures that would be enough to get his foot in the door, so to speak. Then, going off of what he knows about female anatomy, women are probably complicated in bed (he isn't sure where anyone beyond that narrow category falls, so he's starting at square one and going from there). Given the number of credit cards, it feels reasonable to conclude that Endo is at least good, likely falling closer on the 'great' end of the spectrum; Accelerator can't imagine anyone willingly handing over money for an experience that's barely passable. Does that mean a lot of foreplay (his eyes flick down again, to Endo's hands, and this time he notices the Roman numeral tattoo on his right ring finger is the wrong number compared to the others) and build up? Is that what women are into? He's given almost zero thought to this in his life, so it's a lot harder to picture compared to dating, which is possible to randomly see out in public —
Wait. Why the hell is he thinking about it this much? Goddamnit.
There's another flare of anxiety in the pit of his stomach, and Accelerator has to resist the urge to hit the switch on his choker. The fingertips of his free hand twitch, but he keeps it on the arm of the chair. He isn't completely sure which is stronger, the desire to alter his body chemistry to calm himself down, or to start smashing all this expensive medical equipment up. No, all of those reactions would only be admitting he's getting flustered again, and he doesn't want to give Endo that satisfaction (nor does he want to end up in jail). Instead he glares back, narrowing his eyes slightly, and mutters.]
That seems like a waste of money to me.