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

[deathsdoctor]

Why thank you.

[He pads forward silently on socked feet, managing to avoid making the slim chain attached to his belt chime too much with the movement. It's a touch Muraki would probably miss the significance of - he doesn't usually wear something that would so obviously broadcast his movements and alert an enemy with its sound.

It's a date - not a battle. Not a traditional sort of battle anyway, even though it might lead to a locking of swords later.

He peers down at the people briefly, tiny ants from this view on high, and then his attention turns back to you, still smiling.]

Aa. Well, I was nearly ready anyway. No harm done.

[Avoiding giving you the look over? No. Law's going to take a moment to appreciate the view, though it's a very subtle moment. Here and gone again in a flash, and nearly undetectable.

Just a hint in those eyes.]

... you look nice. [Getting first to that compliment and he means it. You look nice. You generally look nice, even if you also wear your clothes like battle armor.

He wonders if the armor would go away if he peeled those clothes off, or if it would just get heavier.

Somehow he suspects it would be both.]

[letsplaysurgeon.livejournal.com]

[His eyes have an excuse to dip lower when he catches the flash of light beneath his line of vision and notes the chain attached to his pants. For just a second, not allowing it to linger before he continues to watch Law approach.

Humming at his comment, he loses interest in the ground behind him and concentrates on his companion. He manages to capture the hint and watches Law to see if he would give him more, the corners of his lips quirking.]

I'm flattered. [When Law compliments him (quite unexpectedly), he shifts and responds with something between a hum and a laugh, almost as if he was going to play coy.] So do you. Dark colors suit you, Mr. Law: it brings out the shade of your eyes. [Vague--almost playful--tone of voice on his end, and he looks away. After Law's invitation into the topic, he doesn't worry much about hiding his aesthetics. Or Muraki reasons that it's not something to conceal to begin with. The fact that it wasn't masculine does not concern him--it was the way he was programmed to behave, and he doesn't feel the need to secure his maleness. He was a man.

Already thinking about undressing him, are we? It was. Removing Muraki's physical armor didn't crack his mental barriers, and those had more of a safeguard than a button or a zipper. Only one set of armor did he really care to let people touch.]

[deathsdoctor]

[He's pretty sure it's proper procedure for dates - making note of the effort the other person has made in looking good for the other party. Definately a necessity with women. Here... well, you are a man who called his tattoos beautiful. The comment was appropriate. Very appropriate because it was true.

Other men, he wouldn't bother. The type of men he's 'dated' before aren't the type to appreciate things like that, and frankly he doesn't care for it much himself. Not one for excessive praise. But thankfully this isn't excessive.

He steps closer. Smile becoming playful, because he sees you watching him. Watching what he's doing.]

Mm. Do they? [His lashes lower slightly, as self-depreciating amusement tugs at that smile.] They're certainly easier to take care of, that's for sure. [Bachelor pirate captains/surgeons aren't the most domestic of creatures, no. And dark colors hide the dirt and the blood better after training. He never uses safeties in the Battle Dome.]

[And as you are watching him, he is watching you to see what you will do.

He is now close enough to touch. Will you?]

Has your day been pleasant so far?

[What of it? Dear Muraki, you've been wondering how he might be underneath the sheets since the rooftop. Admit it.]

[letsplaysurgeon.livejournal.com]

[It was proper procedure for dates, but Muraki still couldn't sink entirely into the idea of being on a real date. He wasn't sure what it was: perhaps it was belated respect for his fiancée back home, or perhaps he didn't know Law well enough yet--or his passion was strong enough that putting a label on the situation made him feel less in control.

He was going to go with the fact that he doesn't know him well enough yet and allows Law to come closer.] So I imagine. As a doctor I'm sure you can sympathize with the dilemma of wearing a white coat as an endeavor to appear clean to your patients, but having such a messy profession, it soon becomes tainted by something or other. It's unavoidable. [And not just blood. Muraki never wanted children (the universe would also thank him for that), but he was probably prepared for it considering how many times he's been covered in other fluids during his career.]

It would be more logical to take a leaf from your book...[He approaches him.] Not to mention friendly to my wallet--but I am much too set in my ways, I'm afraid.

[The thought drifts absentmindedly as he slides his fingertips over the material of his sleeve, up to the edge of his shoulder. His eyes linger on his own knuckles.] It has. As I hope yours has been, as well.

[And Muraki won't admit to anything...so early in the evening.]