Work Text:
Twixxel and Mob were casually rummaging through Twixxel's cabin, intent on clearing out anything they deemed unnecessary. The sun hung high in the sky, casting warm rays that streamed through the windows, illuminating the cluttered room.
The two worked in silence for hours, the only sounds being the rustling of papers and the occasional creak of floorboards as they sifted through chests and bookshelves. They had split the room in half, with Twixxel tackling the left side and Mob working on the right, allowing them to be more efficient in cleaning up.
After a while, Twixxel's stomach began to growl. He shifted his focus, rifling through his chests with newfound vigor, throwing aside old trinkets and cobweb-covered tools in search of something edible. His head disappeared into the depths of one particularly large chest, leaving only his legs sticking out and wiggling in the air. He let out low hisses, grunts, and the occasional frustrated mumble as he dug deeper, determined. His tail lashed widely behind him.
Mob, hearing the strange sounds, turned to glance over his shoulder, a bemused expression on his face. He raised an eyebrow, unable to stifle a laugh at the sight of Twixxel half-buried in the chest.
"Fuck you doin', Twix?" Mob asked, amusement lacing his words as he crossed his arms and leaned against a bookshelf.
"Looking for food!" Twixxel's voice came out muffled, the sound slightly distorted by the chest. "I’m starving, dude!"
At that moment, Mob's stomach let out a loud growl that echoed through the quiet space, causing Twixxel to chuckle. "Looks like you are too, bro," he teased, his eyes glimmering with mischief.
"Shut your fuckin' mouth," Mob grunted, his voice low and gruff as he strolled towards Twixxel. "You find anything yet?"
"Yeah-yeah, just a second! Lemme just--" Twixxel's voice trailed off. He let out an enthusiastic 'aha' and triumphantly pulled out one perfectly cooked steak from behind him—an impressive piece that he had prepared earlier.
He held it aloft with both hands, the aroma wafting through the air, drawing both him and Mob closer to it. Their gazes locked onto the juicy steak, and Mob's throat caught as he swallowed loudly, his mouth watering.
"So..." Mob began, dragging the word out as his eyes flitted between the steak and his friend, then back again, a hint of playful desperation in his tone. "How are we gonna decide who gets to eat it?"
Twixxel paused for a moment, tapping his chin as his mind raced through a myriad of ideas. Suddenly, a lightbulb went off, and he perked up, a mischievous smirk spreading across his face as he turned to look at Mob.
"Mob," he said, his voice brimming with excitement, causing the other to cock his head to the side and raise an eyebrow, "I know the perfect way to handle this!"
-------------------------------------------------
"No."
"Aw, come on!"
"I said no."
"Dude, pleaseeee."
"NO, Twixxel," Mob hissed, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. "Y'know how I feel about staring contests."
Twixxel, undeterred, waved his hand dismissively, a broad grin spreading across his face. "Nah, come on! You're just too scared to admit you don’t like losing!"
Mob's fists tightened, his knuckles turning ashy as a low, growling rumble escaped his throat. "I don't lose..." he retorted, his frustration flaring in his voice as he struggled to contain his irritation at Twixxel's taunts.
"Then there's no issue in having one, right?"
Thus, the staring contest began, with Twixxel and Mob standing face to face, their expressions locked in fierce determination. In the center of the contest, the perfectly cooked steak lay back in the chest, its rich smell still hanging in the air and only adding to the intensity of the moment. Both friends narrowed their eyes, refusing to blink first.
After a minute of tense silence, Mob began to feel the familiar flutter of nerves churning in his stomach. He couldn’t help but fidget with his cloak, tugging at the fabric and adjusting the cuffs of his gloves repeatedly as he desperately tried to distract himself from the intensity of Twixxel's gaze.
Twixxel stood with an infuriatingly smug smirk and leaned forward slightly, crossing his arms over his chest. The gleam in his eyes suggested he thoroughly enjoyed the situation.
"Antsy, Mob?" Twixxel teased, his smirk growing wider and more mischievous, relishing every moment of Mob’s discomfort.
Mob instinctively leaned back, exhaling sharply, a hiss escaping his lips in frustration.
"No..." he replied, lacking any conviction, as he struggled to maintain his composure.
Two minutes had slipped away, and Mob was now visibly agitated. His fingers were buried deep into the palm of his gloves, his chest rising and falling rapidly like an animal wrestling with its instincts. The urge to leap across the table at his friend was mounting, and he could feel the heat of irritation flooding his cheeks.
Noticing Mob's escalating stress, Twixxel placed his hands on his hips, practically radiating confidence and smugness. His narrowed eyes were a clear challenge, daring Mob to make a move.
The silence stretched on even further, each passing second amplifying the tension. Mob finally raised his hands, palms outward in a defensive gesture. "Nope, not doing this," he declared, exasperated. "Take the damn steak."
His voice was a mix of annoyance and resignation as he gestured dramatically toward the chest containing the tempting steak. Twixxel exclaimed at the notion, quickly opening the chest and grasping the steak.
"Aww, Mob," Twixxel purred playfully, batting his eyelashes at the hybrid with a devilish smirk. "If you couldn't handle my beauty, you could've just said something!"
"You knew what you were doing."
"Hehe, and it worked out in the end!"
"Just take the damn steak."
"No, I feel bad now."
"Oh, NOW you feel bad, huh?"
"Not really, but--"
"GET OVER HERE YOU--"