[He made it, and he even remembered to close the door this time. Crisp night air sticks to his clothing more poignantly than the scent of tobacco or liquor, though both have their place. Still lingering on his tongue, just as the embers of his pipe still glow a dull orange.
It's been discarded on the coffee table, spilling ash over the surface - for Solomon to clean in the morning, and invisible in the darkness of the room.
Takasugi's state of consciousness too, is difficult to surmise. He's laying with an arm draped over his face, eye obscured and bandage ruffled. Legs spread languidly, he's showing off way too much thigh in pursuit of a comfortable position.
One he's regretfully roused from, a groan his only utterance as he sits up slowly. His hair's a mess, his yukata is off one shoulder. He's a damn mess, but he offers Solomon the same coy smile he always does.
It's surprising they haven't started sharing the same bed more regularly. Maybe this was all a ploy to crawl his way into somewhere more suitable to sleep (it wasn't - it was unfortunately genuine).
Takasugi rises, leaving pipe and rustled cushions in his wake. Approaching the stairs, he lingers at Solomon's side. His head lulls, resting on the man's shoulder. He's tired, damn it. So he leaves it to the man to move and guide him to the second floor, and into the warmth of his sheets.]
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It's been discarded on the coffee table, spilling ash over the surface - for Solomon to clean in the morning, and invisible in the darkness of the room.
Takasugi's state of consciousness too, is difficult to surmise. He's laying with an arm draped over his face, eye obscured and bandage ruffled. Legs spread languidly, he's showing off way too much thigh in pursuit of a comfortable position.
One he's regretfully roused from, a groan his only utterance as he sits up slowly. His hair's a mess, his yukata is off one shoulder. He's a damn mess, but he offers Solomon the same coy smile he always does.
It's surprising they haven't started sharing the same bed more regularly. Maybe this was all a ploy to crawl his way into somewhere more suitable to sleep (it wasn't - it was unfortunately genuine).
Takasugi rises, leaving pipe and rustled cushions in his wake. Approaching the stairs, he lingers at Solomon's side. His head lulls, resting on the man's shoulder. He's tired, damn it. So he leaves it to the man to move and guide him to the second floor, and into the warmth of his sheets.]