[Every muscle in Takasugi's body winds tight; he wants to spill from the bed. Raise his sword and cut the man in half for even suggesting such a stupid thing. Solomon's tightened hold keeps him there, belays the original impulse and soothes it into an ache.
Pain that works its way out in a shrill laugh - longer than a chuckle, head tilting to reveal the disheveled bandage and a contorted smile.] Would you prefer that?
Being killed by someone who loves you, instead of someone who hates you? [As if love and hate aren't the same damn thing. Takasugi can't feel one without the other - a single exception in his history not even worth mentioning (he can't bear the weight of thinking about that now).
So he drives the conversation back somewhere familiar. Violence. Carnage. A promise of death he can keep so much closer to his heart than fondness.
He pulls away from the embrace, his retreat made with an arched back and a shift of hips that leaves him prone. Deliberate, his hand crosses his chest to tug on Solomon's arm. Come here.
no subject
Pain that works its way out in a shrill laugh - longer than a chuckle, head tilting to reveal the disheveled bandage and a contorted smile.] Would you prefer that?
Being killed by someone who loves you, instead of someone who hates you? [As if love and hate aren't the same damn thing. Takasugi can't feel one without the other - a single exception in his history not even worth mentioning (he can't bear the weight of thinking about that now).
So he drives the conversation back somewhere familiar. Violence. Carnage. A promise of death he can keep so much closer to his heart than fondness.
He pulls away from the embrace, his retreat made with an arched back and a shift of hips that leaves him prone. Deliberate, his hand crosses his chest to tug on Solomon's arm. Come here.
To be choked. To be kissed.
He hasn't decided.]