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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.]
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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.
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[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.]
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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.
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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.]
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[He considers inviting you to the Battledome beforehand - he has time booked there that day, and wonders momentarily if that would help get across a few things they need to cover before they ever get truly physical. But no. It's enough that you know he's a fighter - seeing it and the messy aftermath is a whole different matter.
He's not quite sure yet how you would handle it. Not the holographic blood and gore. That he's sure won't cause you to bat an eyelash. But him utterly off his leash, and pushing himself to his limits? That might put you off. They call people like him and Mister Strawhat and Mister Roronoa and Sanji monsters, and not only because they all savour their fights (and oh, the good ones? They're something else.) but because they all come across as utterly inhuman in the process with their power and skill. Levels of power that's difficult to process for some.
But then again, that's a side of him that one day you'll have to get to know. It's as much a part of him as is the Doctor.]
I'll see you at eight.
[Eight should allow you to get a meal in before you meet him.]