[ That, if anything, earns a scoff- even if he knows it's the truth, it's hardly the sort of thing most would admit...then again, neither of them are 'most' people. The admittance, however, brings him pause. Enough he seems thrown for enough of a moment he doesn't know how to respond, but another glance at the other's flushed face and he opts to shake it off with the lightest of glares. ]

Speak any more bullshite and I really will think you're drunk.

[ But that's impossible, clearly, no matter how strong the smell of whiskey or the flush of his face is. Loose with his tongue he may be, but Adelis chalks it up the situation and the tendency to tease. It's a bit of relief, with all the buttons and buckles undone, but the hands that shift away from his waist earn a minute quirk of the brow before they shoot up in surprise, nails pressing taut into Mishka's pale skin at the sharp grind from below. Whether they draw blood is of no concern, as he rather focuses on choking down whatever light noise threatens to escape.

...He's not too sure what he expected, but Adelis opts to keep himself quiet on that front, instead letting his face fall into a mild look of exasperated disgust. ]

You must be joking. [ He's not too sure whether to feel more offended or scandalized, but when he leans it again, it's with a particular bite as his fingers curl more firmly in Mishka's waistband. ] You must know what they say about a man who sees fit to brag. Either he's a liar-

[ And then they pull, without an ounce of shame, as far as he can drag the other's pants down with their hips so firmly close together. ]

Or he has little idea how to use it.