[Lips brush skin - incidental - grazing the surface as a subtle oral fixation works itself out. Takasugi doesn't notice how his bottom lip curls, or how he tilts his head just-so to settle further into the curve of the man's structure.
He's simply comfortable, the honesty in return a sweet overture.
Not one he knows how to carry on, but it ensures the warmth between them remains pleasant, instead of stifling.
His scalp prickling from the gentle touch, a rare sensation, Takasugi arches his back to not so gently headbutt his accuser. Shut up and go back to petting him.] I wouldn't ever try to make something up to you.
[There it is, that necessary roughness. Yield entirely and he'll roll out his med kit again. Also quelling any alarm is the fact that he can't smell anything questionable; fresh wounds, blood, suspicious odors. Anything that would augment things superficially.
In short, the headbutt's appreciated.]
That's the problem with you, isn't it?
[He does go back to shuffling Takasugi's hair in reverse. One would think it'd be easy to slick his greasy hair back like Draco Malfoy, but it doth protest.]
[A lack of liquor had given way to a regrettable moment of clarity. It wasn't when they'd both spilled each other's blood in the forest, nor when he'd tangled his body with Solomon's monstrous form. Not even the ritual in Wyver had driven his mind to such maniacal places as the future.
Walking in the moonlight, at the crest of a hill, Takasugi had realized his solitude. Hyper-aware, like when one tries to fully comprehend what it means to have a reflection, he'd made a fleeting wish for a certain someone's presence.
In the throes of missing the bastard, Takasugi had composed a poem. A simple piece he almost regrets, but for the warmth it's brought him. The tingling feeling from his scalp melts over the rest of his body, gentleness easy to soak up when it's labeled as indulgence.]
Tedious, huh...? [This intimacy is tedious - Takasugi feels heavier for letting it sedate him so easily. He's frowning, now, but Solomon won't see that, with the samurai nestled so close.] That's the problem with you.
[For an embodiment of the trite, Solomon is an effective reprieve from meaninglessness.
Somehow.
That's a poem for another day - and for no one's eyes.]
[With how wacky things can be, Solomon should maybe fret about Takasugi's wellness a bit more; at the same time, he'd like not to make such a big deal out of this, lest he refrain from being so honest in the future.
And yet, his consideration tonight shouldn't be so unremarkable.]
I wonder...perhaps you've fallen in love.
[His grip strengthens, only in anticipation of an automatic refusal wrought with disgust, something like that. He'd been denying himself a similar sentiment, though all aspects of love and enchantment bleed through when it comes to the samurai.
It's a trifling thing to have to fight on the daily.]
[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.
[It's a forbidden word -- concept, for sure. That response, the bout of laughter, it's better than what he'd anticipated, creepy smile included. Not the best response, but he'd expect nothing less.
And, Takasugi only provides a window of opportunity.]
My only love sprung from my only hate, too early seen unknown, and known too late...prodigious birth of love it is to me, that I must love a loathèd enemy.
...Something like that.
[He won't hold Takasugi hostage after that. There's a quasi-escape that transpires, only for him to be summoned nearer. He's obeying, though he's probably gonna get choked the fuck out for quoting Romeo & Juliet. Into the lion's den he leans, not bracing for anything in particular.
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no subject
He's simply comfortable, the honesty in return a sweet overture.
Not one he knows how to carry on, but it ensures the warmth between them remains pleasant, instead of stifling.
His scalp prickling from the gentle touch, a rare sensation, Takasugi arches his back to not so gently headbutt his accuser. Shut up and go back to petting him.] I wouldn't ever try to make something up to you.
[Cooed, like some sort of lover's affirmation.]
no subject
In short, the headbutt's appreciated.]
That's the problem with you, isn't it?
[He does go back to shuffling Takasugi's hair in reverse. One would think it'd be easy to slick his greasy hair back like Draco Malfoy, but it doth protest.]
You're lucky I find such numbers tedious.
[Plus he's a full-time Yes Man himself, so.]
no subject
Walking in the moonlight, at the crest of a hill, Takasugi had realized his solitude. Hyper-aware, like when one tries to fully comprehend what it means to have a reflection, he'd made a fleeting wish for a certain someone's presence.
In the throes of missing the bastard, Takasugi had composed a poem. A simple piece he almost regrets, but for the warmth it's brought him. The tingling feeling from his scalp melts over the rest of his body, gentleness easy to soak up when it's labeled as indulgence.]
Tedious, huh...? [This intimacy is tedious - Takasugi feels heavier for letting it sedate him so easily. He's frowning, now, but Solomon won't see that, with the samurai nestled so close.] That's the problem with you.
[For an embodiment of the trite, Solomon is an effective reprieve from meaninglessness.
Somehow.
That's a poem for another day - and for no one's eyes.]
no subject
And yet, his consideration tonight shouldn't be so unremarkable.]
I wonder...perhaps you've fallen in love.
[His grip strengthens, only in anticipation of an automatic refusal wrought with disgust, something like that. He'd been denying himself a similar sentiment, though all aspects of love and enchantment bleed through when it comes to the samurai.
It's a trifling thing to have to fight on the daily.]
That's why it's so tedious.
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.]
no subject
And, Takasugi only provides a window of opportunity.]
My only love sprung from my only hate, too early seen unknown, and known too late...prodigious birth of love it is to me, that I must love a loathèd enemy.
...Something like that.
[He won't hold Takasugi hostage after that. There's a quasi-escape that transpires, only for him to be summoned nearer. He's obeying, though he's probably gonna get choked the fuck out for quoting Romeo & Juliet. Into the lion's den he leans, not bracing for anything in particular.
Curious.]