[Sakuma may as well have surrendered there. His hand, which had been an attempt to pull him away, now only served to keep that head right where it's at, fingers threading through that fluffy hair that had no right to be as soft as it was. A calloused hand ghosts over it, securing their position as the opposite hand inches itself underneath his vest, untucking his shirt from that angle to slide under and get to that bare skin. He loved those rough, worn fingertips against his skin, soft only from lack of being on the field. His muscles, tense from stress and lack of proper care, melt into that touch, body betraying the soft murmurs that escape from his lips.

His head turns only slightly to try and meet his, looking out of his one visible eye to see Fudou in his peripheral. Warm breath is exchanged, feeling it against his cheek as he whispers back.]

You see things no one else can on that field. If anyone can give Teikoku an edge...it'd be you.

[But then, just to be an asshole.]

You'd have to behave.