Wedding bells ain't going to chime, with both of us guilty of crime

[letsplaysurgeon.livejournal.com]

Who: letsplaysurgeon and deathsdoctor 
What: Katas, cigarettes and copious amounts of banter. Muraki alone on a roof at daybreak with someone he's deeply smitten with.
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.]

Comments

[letsplaysurgeon.livejournal.com]

[And after the round is over, Muraki's lips snap back into a smile like an elastic band, not feeling compromised. If he had any threads of shame for his actions (if he could feel shame for that matter), it was the fact that he allowed the silk to slip off a corner of his sharper intentions before he was alone with you. But how could he be polite when he was being kissed with such heat?

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.

[deathsdoctor]

[That it is synthetic. But that he's always known, since the woods, more or less. Again, the arrival process displays the true nature of the beast, however briefly. The predatory lust is new for him, and again, it's cause for caution.

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...

[letsplaysurgeon.livejournal.com]

[It wouldn’t surprise him—he’d take it as one more thing you two had in common. Muraki collects beautiful broken people. The more dysfunctional, the deeper his affections ran.

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.]

[deathsdoctor]

Till then...

[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.]