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lucetilogs2011-02-20 05:41 am
letsplaysurgeon.livejournal.com) wrote in lucetilogs2011-02-20 05:41 am
Wedding bells ain't going to chime, with both of us guilty of crime
Who:
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letsplaysurgeon and deathsdoctor What: Katas, cigarettes and copious amounts of banter.
When: The morning after this, so backdated to the fifteenth of February.
Where: On the roof of CH2.
Summary: A fortuitous meeting when Muraki has an early morning nic-fit and heads to the roof for some smoke and fresh air.
Rating: PG-13 for now, but it's looking like it'll progress into an R rating later.
[Light was creeping through his window as faint as a phantom, and it didn't break the shadows apart as opposed to washing them in a grainy blue tint. This wasn’t nighttime, but it didn’t really qualify as morning, either: it was the hour in between where daylight was slowly being dragged from the dead. And he was awake to experience it. As a matter of fact, he was far more conscious than nature was at this moment.
He watches the world develop contours, bringing his bedroom into sharper focus. He stares at the same corner of his ceiling for ten minutes before deciding he didn't like the clash between the catatonic morning and his buzzing brain. He could get up, shuffle around his apartment and wait on his hands, or he could venture out into the world and watch it sleep.
When was the last time he had a cigarette? He puts on his shoes and coat and then leaves the apartment.
The decision to go up to the roof occurs to him after he acknowledges the familiar way downstairs and decides it wasn't worth the effort. Instead he treks up five flights of stairs and pushes open an unfamiliar door, met with a cold burst of February air before he even walks outside.]
The day of 15th after the roof to up to 17th 1/2
The night passes slowly and uneasily. Dreams are fragmented, and he spends long hours just staring at the ceiling and his hands. At his tattoos.
-The first dream is simple - or at least starts that way. He is a Captain in search of his men who are enjoying themselves. They need to leave with the tide. And like most men at sea who have been on it for months, there are a few things foremost on their minds.
His first stop is a brothel. He'll drag them out by their ears if need be.
He catches in the corner of his eye ornate robes as he stalks past... smells tobacco smoke rising from a carved pipe, and gets utterly lost in the hallways. The sound of women giggling surrounds him, hidden behind paper screens. Weird place. Not typical of what would be found in a port.
He pushes one screen open, and it's not a woman with one of his dallying crew that he finds. Instead...-
He ends up in the shower after that one. Stays in there for a good hour.
-The second dream is the most comfortable. It's the one he would wish was reality.
He roams the Grand Line once more. He is home. He has his nakama. Bepo. He has the sea. He has his lover by his side. They are on the deck and the sails are raised.
It is not a perfect life. It is a hard one, filled with adventure, and battle, and piracy, and all those slow dreadful and wonderful moments in between when there is nothing to do but mind the sub and while away the hours being amused at the crazy antics of nakama, and finding a million and one things to pass the time. It is a better life. He has someone he can entrust his nakamas' lives to when the battle between his dual roles as Doctor and Captain become too much to bear and he can't shoulder both at the same time. Someone who can see the all of him, appreciate every multifaceted side and not define him by one thing, or a few things, but by all things.
He does not dream of sex. He dreams of warm cabins and lazy mornings, and exotic Grand Line islands. The simple pleasure of sunlight and seeing the sea breeze rake through hair. Watching talented hands at work. Apple crisp.
The air tastes bright, and clean, and brimming with the promise of the New Age. The sun breaks, and Raftel awaits, waiting just beyond that far off horizon, for him, for them...-
When he awakens in a start, he knows everything was purely fantasy. And will never be.
-The third is horrifying. Disjointed.
His nakama are dead at his feet. Poisoned and knifed. Irrationally he thinks he could bring them back to life with apple crisp. There is unmoving fur at the corner of his vision. A heap of things burns - a blood red fur coat, a sword and a four bladed axe, ... a straw hat. He is strapped to a table, collared, and restrained in every way, and his power burns at a slow, low burn. His flesh is limned in azure fire, and a scalpel traces around his bared nipple once, twice, thrice - blade flashing as it's turned and twisted and showing no signs of blood.
He doesn't bleed. Not like this. And his powers don't permit pain.
And then the scalpel carves into his chest and Law watches impassively as his heart is torn out, still beating, and hugged tight.
He still doesn't bleed. He never does.-
He doesn't sleep the rest of the night.]
Re: The day of 15th after the roof to up to 17th 2/2
Not enough to avoid Eferin though, but Law had been looking for him anyway. He leaves with burns, a pact, and the jibbing comment he should really be looking for Sona - there's enough water in him to drown the fieriest souls.
She's next though.
He gives himself medical attention and uses Nala's magic to cleanse himself of the slightly stinging injuries.
The day consists of people watching, or more accurately, Muraki watching. He takes care not to get too close and he masks all sounds he makes with Kipinn's magic. He doesn't need to get too close - he has binoculars, exceptional hearing, and mastery of wind magic. If he needs to hear something, he just manipulates the air to hear it.
The roof, and the test he gave at the end (yes, that statement/challenge/suggestion was a test too, Muraki) just confirmed he really needed to get to know you a lot more before even attempting to get in a relationship with you, no matter how much he desired you. So a study of you in your natural habitat is in order. How you interact with others without his own presence to shade your reactions.
How you act alone is of paramount interest too, but there are limits of how far he will go right now. Taking away all your privacy is... unsettling. He is already uneasy about stalking in this matter.
He is quite sure normal people in normal relationships don't need to resort to things like this. But this is not normal, the one he is interested in was dangerous, and in this case it is perfectly justified.
And he most certainly does not want this evolving into an obsession. No clarity in that. And even if he is in love... shouldn't he have enough distance to walk away?
How did he get in love so fast?
And...
... and why is he so drawn to you, Muraki?]
[The night of the sixteenth, Law sourly nods to himself and admits perhaps he is a bit obsessed. Because he can't. Stop. Thinking. Of. You. And this can't possibly be healthy. At ALL.
(He can hear his idiots now. About this being the reason he needs to get laid more often.)
Love is really like this? All burning, desire, and need?
Despite himself, despite what's provoked in him, he wants you, Muraki.
But the Captain of the Heart Pirates can't give up his heart so easily.]
[He goes to bed early and sleeps better that night, though he still ends up in the shower at least twice. He sniffs his sheets. He's definately going to have to launder them.
It's an unholy hour of the morning when he does warm up, and then he slips off to somewhere unseen to wait. Sooner or later, you'll get up and go out. He's fully bundled up for the weather and gloved (you have an apparent tattoo fetish, Muraki, Law shall not distract you with that) and he won't start after you until there is a fair bit of distance between you and him.
Now where shall he follow you to?]
The day of 15th after the roof to up to 17th 1/2
Before the stunt you pulled in the end, Muraki had no issue looking you in the eyes and thinking he was in love with you. It wasn’t even the flirtation as much as the fact that it caught him off-guard. He wants to detest the fact that you stole his thunder without his permission. And he does detest it—but there is heat. In this case, his desire is a bone splinter grating against the tendons of his more logical annoyance. He doesn’t reward those who try to dominate him. If that is indeed what you implied.
This wasn’t his usual cup of tea—it wasn’t one of the things that he normally counts as a turn on, either. But no matter how he felt, it wasn’t in his nature to deny himself. If he wants you, he wants you. If he loves you…it’s not hard to comprehend why.
You’re calm, articulate and charming—but on the other hand, daring and (in his opinion) extraordinarily cocky.
Muraki blinks. Ash crumbles off the edge of his cigarette. That sounded familiar.
And that was like the puzzle piece that made sense of the developing picture. It would be sweet narcissism courting someone who mirrors his assertiveness: who wants to play the game with him as opposed to being an attractive body he can prey upon and leave.
Do you also share his fancies? As far as he knew, you expected him to submit if it ever got so far.
The day of 15th after the roof to up to 17th
Muraki spends most of the following day at the clinic, then dinner at Seventh Heaven and a walk around the village plaza. He doesn’t talk to anyone, but he watches the human traffic with a detached look in his eyes. It doesn’t occur to him to look for you so soon—not just yet. Though he considers going up to the roof again, there was no strategy in that, or in knocking on your front door (but he could, and the fact that you live above him makes his fantasies a little more interesting). He needs to plan.
On the seventeenth he wrestles with the idea of staying in his apartment all day and doing just that. Furthermore, the window was open and a cold draft was coming into the room—that weighs against getting out of bed entirely. But emptiness turns his stomach inside out.
It was one of those rare occasions where he feels like cooking for himself. He gets dressed (making sure that he is equipped with all his armor, so to speak), and leaves the apartment.
One long walk later (punctuated by bumping into someone in the plaza, in which case he bows and apologizes to them), Muraki is at the grocery store. He picks up a shopping basket and makes a casual beeline to the dairy section. There, basking under the fluorescent lights between the sticks of butter and cylinders of biscuit dough were the eggs. After considering the selection for a moment, he reaches into the back for a plain beige carton hiding behind the pastel pinks and blues, and opens it to make sure none of the eggs were broken. It’s the first item to go into his basket.
But while he’s there, he decides to pick up a few more things and pivots around on his heel to stroll through the aisles of various goods, picking up edamame, strawberries, a bag of coffee beans and filters.]
17th - Grocery store
No, he does not want to dominate you, but in turn he does not want to be dominated himself. He hates passivity and he can't do complete vulnerability. It's... beyond him. He's getting the sense that control will be the making or breaking point of any relationship between them - and if this was going to work, they were going to have to figure out a way to approach each other as equals. Partners.
Difficult. Trust makes it so. What's provoked in him makes it so. The fact he is who he is and that being in control in situations like this is so deeply etched within him and has been been a cornerstone of consent to those rare sexual encounters. Not that his partners have been passive, because they most certainly have not - and there's no fun when he has to do all the work - but he has dictated how the encounter has proceded every time.
(There are practical reasons to this as well as psychological. When the divide of strength is as extreme as it is with him and others, there are certain places where sex cannot go lest he risk suddenly fucking a corpse. There are few who could really survive, much less come out relatively unscathed, having a volcanic round or two with him truly unrestrained and passionate.)
Difficult because... well, you are also controlling. Don't think he can't recognise it in another. They are both dominants. Compromise can't come easy.
But for his part he's willing to give it a try.]
[Once you go inside the grocery, Law waits until you disappear inside, away from the doors, before emerging from his hiding place and leaping to the roof. The grocery store has skylights and he makes full use of them as you stroll the aisles.
He waits until you pause to examine something or other, and then his face breaks out in a grin of utter mischief. Well now. There's something very intriguing on an opposite shelf. A perfect icebreaker. And your basket is just near enough...
Wind magic soundlessly propels a certain small box into your groceries. Hopefully you won't notice until you run into him. And with that he disappears from the roof proper.
And run into him you will. Idly glancing over the display of cigarettes in a different part of the store before bending over to pick up his basket, seemingly blissfully unaware and absorbed in his thoughts. He makes sure to make a little noise as he comes in the front door and heads over to that aisle. No need to sneak up on you unannounced... he thinks that would get this off to the wrong foot.
You can think you caught him offguard instead.]
Re: 17th - Grocery store
Your hat, to be exact. Even in his peripheral vision it sets you apart from the crowd (though Muraki has seen some remarkable statements of fashion in Luceti, no one else seems to be drawn to furry bowler hats). It was like pinpointing the red and white stripes in a "Where's Waldo?" book. ...Though discovering the whereabouts of a smiling nomad with a candy cane fetish was never this stimulating.
When Muraki decides to turn his head and spots you, he feels a second of shock, followed by the wary (pleased) realization that he hasn’t been spotted yet. He doesn’t attempt to hide himself amongst the hair care products, but he stands still and watches you, a little fascinated by his position. There was nothing innately entertaining about watching you shop, but it was amusing to see you trained on your own thoughts. Until he remembers he should be making a decision.
He could slip away unnoticed, or he could make something out of this stroke of good fortune. The first option was too much like running away for his taste; it offended his very arrogant nature. If he had a plan that introducing himself would interfere with, it would be forgivable, but he doesn’t.
Or perhaps he just cannot resist. It was like putting a black forest cake in front of a sweet tooth—he really shouldn’t, but maybe just one, itty bitty bite.
So to speak.
He drops the shampoo bottle into his basket without thinking (easier than putting it back) and moves forward. In the short distance between point A: where he was originally standing and point B: where you are, he considers his actions. He considers touching your arm to make his presence known, and even reaches for it, but ends up flicking that hand back to adjust his glasses.] What's this? Twice in one week? [His expression is nothing short of buoyant.] How lucky of me.
Re: 17th - Grocery store
Oh. Mister Muraki. [The smile turns a bit wry and embarrassed - caught unawares (or so it seems) - for a flickering second and then is all pleasantness again.] Well, it is a small village, but yes, heh, I suppose so. Lucky.
[His free hand plucks down some matches off the shelf to toss them in his basket, and he carefully turns to avoid knocking his nodachi into the shelves and sending the aforementioned cigarettes flying so he can lean against a post casually. One or two boxes hang precariously above him anyway, ready to fall if he nudges the shelves with any real force.]
So what brings you out today? Just shopping for dinner?
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Breakfast, to be specific. And a few unrelated essentials. [With the exception of omelets and a couple other simple dishes, Muraki doesn't like to cook for himself. He wouldn't even have to if he were at home, but here, he's been going out almost every night.
His gaze tapers to the side, at the display of cigarettes behind your head.] Oh? I wasn't aware that you smoked. [Perhaps it was rude of him not to offer you one before...]
no subject
Of condoms.
Eyebrows settle back down into polite smiling neutrality, though there is a touch more inquiring curve to that smile. Why, Mister Muraki...]
I see.
I don't, actually. [Sigh. This is painfully true.] But this place drives a man to consider it.
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[He loses his train of thought when he notices you're looking at something other than his face. Arching a thin brow, he follows your eyes to the basket.] Is everything all right?
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Aa... none of my business, Mister Muraki. Just... I guess you have plans for the weekend.
None of my business.
1/2
And sees...
Oh.]
2/2
[He takes a better look at the condoms, trying to do the math inside his head. Were they even his size?]
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[Because he put them there. And if they are or are not your size? Well... Law put forward his best guess on that. How close to the mark did he get?]
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That was a naughty thought. He smirks at it and shrugs his shoulders.] I'm afraid I don't have any plans of that nature. With that in mind, they just make me look optimistic.
no subject
[Speaking of naughty thoughts. Closing his eyes.]
Maybe you shouldn't rule out the weekend so quickly.
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At the moment, just the one.
He looks at you, absent of an immediate comeback as he tries to read the atmosphere. He considers telling you that that would be an awful thing to tease a man with--as you should very well know. His face betrays some of his fascination, seeping into the amusement in his voice.] ...Is that so?
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[Oh an awful thing, huh? Law continues to smile as he keeps his eyes closed (perfectly aware of where you are regardless), relaxed against his post. Such an awful thing, suggesting the possibility that he may be interested.
... good thing he's no saint.
His lips curve up more.]
It is.
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Muraki wasn't a saint, either. But for him, so far, he had been gentle. An angel, even.]
It sounds like you'll have a personal hand in this...in which case, I will say the same thing I said to you when we first met. [He thinks back to that afternoon as he fixes his glasses again. The trees. The snow. Your black coat.
He dares you.] Why wait?
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But...
... if you simply can't wait...
[Law opens his eyes, and instead of the ice of their first meeting, they smoulder with the beginning of flame. He pushes himself off the post, smiling as he closes the distance between them, and placing the basket on the floor.]
... perhaps a taste.
[And still smiling he leans in for a kiss. Nothing delicate or shy or feminine about it... it is most definately a man's kiss. Bold, aggressive, and demanding the same in turn. With enough heat to scorch down to the bones.
Just a taste.]
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For the first time, Muraki allows his expression to shed a glimpse into what he truly felt (certainty, desire, predatory lust), though he doesn’t stir. He dared you to move, and he wants to see what those words compel you to do. As the gap becomes shorter, his eyes linger on yours until you hunch over to put down your basket; then drop to your mouth, sliding over the curved edges with ease.
When you kiss him, his stomach doesn’t flip. His foot doesn’t pop, either (he would shoot himself if that was the case). It was relative to the warmth of liquor burning a pleasant path down his throat. It was the confident, demanding press that wiped the smirk off his lips in favor of parting them. And causes him to muse:
Oh, if only it were so easy to get Tsuzuki like this.
Not that he could think about anything (anyone) else when the scratch of trimmed facial hair brings him back. And that’s twice that you got him off his mind...perhaps later, he’d be in the right mind to notice.
Muraki is soft at first, for maybe a second or two as his hand traces over your bicep to the plateau of your shoulder blade, and uses that leverage to compress the distance even further with a flattened palm. And once he’s unfeasibly close to you, he almost massages the back muscle beneath your clothes and kisses back, aggression matched flames for fire (chuckling on the inside because he was being oh so forward). There is a flash of teeth, a slight scrape of your bottom lip when he catches it between his own. But precisely what you said: just a little taste.]
no subject
Those emotions don't even cause him to blink. They are just further confirmation of what he already knows. Dangerous. Deadly. Wanting... him...
The hairs on the back of his neck don't rise this time, now that he has a better idea of what you are, and the predatory lust does not give him pause (though carefully, oh so carefully, it is filed in the back of his mind along with everything else he knows, as it flags his attention). He would not stop now even if given cause to feel disturbed - to hesitate in battle is suicide. And though this is not battle, sometimes it is better to push through to the end.
It is the split second of inattention he finds jarring though. There is someone else here with them, or at least something, if only for the moment. A wondering thought for when the kiss has ended - he is not so impolite to take his attention off someone while busy with them - and not enough to cause him any jealousy.
Probably someone from home.
And as he's pressed close, the wondering fades to the distant background as the kissing begins in ernest and lips truly begin to duel. He lightly and playfully nips your lower lip as you draw back from scraping his... smiling as this tiny round comes to a close.
Just a taste.
They are still pressed together awfully close. He's comfortable for now like that, arms loosely around you, fingertips lightly caressing the fabric over your spine.
He tilts his head slightly, and the smile becomes a shade more inquiring.]
So... about that weekend...
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Scientists theorize that kissing was a method of comparing genetic notes to find an ideal match for reproduction. Of course you’re another male, which makes the search (even on a subconscious level) for qualities in a co-parent redundant. So he wonders what it is you picked up about his synthetic nature.
Because he loves you, he could only be exclusively gentle for so long. But for the moment, he tapers back into tenderness. He considers dropping his basket to stroke your face (not wanting to let go of your back), but that would mean breaking his eggs.
He tilts forward instead, sending various signals that he was planning to kiss you again; then looks sly when he stops short and cocks his head to ghost his lips over your cheekbone.]
Such a passionate display, and you still wish to be apart from me. [A short laugh, coming out as warm air against your skin.] You wound me, Mr. Law. I may never recover.
[Though he seems far from hurt or discouraged. His eyes follow the line of your jaw; stopping where it connects to your ear and he muses how backwards things were with you. It was his preference to go for the throat before the lips—fitting probably for someone often referred to as a vampire. And the impulse to latch onto your neck feels so natural and hard to resist, but he does so. He has indulged enough for now.
His back straightens, pressing against your hands, but he lets go of you in favor of curling some hair behind his ear.] Regarding the weekend, I have no prior engagements. I’d be more than willing to give that time to you, if you’re free. [A slow, affable smile.] It would be vicious to refuse me.
no subject
A new piece in the growing picture of the real you.
The man he wants and loves.
Yet still can't give up his heart to. He knows it's unwise. Especially at this stage of knowing you. But would it surprise you that even knowing all he knows, that still he feels the way he does?
His eyes follow the path of your lips and his lips crook a little more at your sly expression and sensation of your lips gliding over his skin.
[Chuckle.] Oh? You are impatient. [He is so teasing you.] But don't say never. Not without giving me a chance to mend those hurts.
[He steps back, allowing his fingertips to trail across fabric teasingly and does not miss how your gaze is fixed on his neck. He does not enjoy too much attention focused there]
Vicious, huh? [Quite the choice of words there, Muraki] Then I shall not. Good Spirits Saturday evening for a drink? We'll see how the evening goes from there...
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But more than that, while you knew a part of him that many others were too naïve to see, you didn’t know what he believed to be artificial about his being. It was one thing to love him despite the obvious risks and another to love him knowing the entire picture. Things that he only expected Tsuzuki to understand.
He laughs again, warm and restrained. But not for the same things you find amusing. It was your next comment. He patronized it mentally at first, thinking how quaint it was that you offered to mend his wounds. Then he notices the undercurrent of hunger beneath his humor. Pain combined with comfort—the full spectrum of experience. You just hit a nerve, making his smile crooked with interest.]
I have no doubts that you could. [And that was all he was going to say to that, at the high risk of making—or egging on—occupational dirty talk.]
It’s a deal.
[Finally he reaches for your face, thumb grazing the corner of your lip as it moves over your cheek and lingers there for a moment.] ...I’ll be looking forward to it, Mr. Law. [And then he turns to leave.]
(no subject)