Kamizuki Izumo (clouded_moon) wrote in strangergamesrp, @ 2012-09-29 08:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | balfour vallet, closed, kamizuki izumo, log |
[Log] A Steady Hand (2 of 2)
Who: Balfour Vallet, Kamizuki Izumo
When: September 11th
Where: The Domus
What: Balfour goes to the Domus and has a bad experience. Izumo steps in to rescue him. The morning after struggles to find a balance. (Part two of two)
Warnings: TRIGGER WARNINGS: sexual assault, murder, talk of abuse, naked shower cuddling
Open/Closed: Closed
Observable: No
Continued from Part One
The sedative knocked Balfour out quite well, and he slept until sometime in the afternoon the next day, snoring lightly as he was curled up next to Izumo. His head had shifted to rest on Izumo’s chest and his arms had wound around his waist, clinging to him even in his sleep.
It wasn’t until he began to wake that he let go and turned away from Izumo, sprawling out on what was left of the bed, arm dropping in between the bed and the wall.
Izumo had been up and down a few times, without disturbing Balfour in the least. In fact, he’d left entirely for nearly an hour to eat breakfast and get a feel for the atmosphere of the floor today. It was a cheerful one. He was still in Balfour’s shirt and his old sleep-pants, and as Balfour shifted he sat up a little higher and continued his game of solitaire, laying the cards out with sharp precise motions.
He did glance at Balfour, seeing if the man was truly awake yet or just bobbing to the surface again.
He moaned softly, rubbing his eyes a little bit as he sat up, staring around the room, barely even seeing what was in front of him. That was the absolute best night of sleep he’d ever had, but he couldn’t seem to remember why.
Deciding that was as good a reason as any to go back to sleep, he laid back down and scooted close to the other presence in the bed, resting the top of his head against his hip.
“Nn...”
Nope, not time for ‘good morning’ yet. Maybe in a few minutes.
Izumo chuckled and stroked a hand over Balfour’s hair. Ah yes, the joys of waking up drugged. Balfour would probably be hazy for the rest of the day. Apparently he had no tolerance.
Balfour smiled at the hand in his hair, sighing softly as his fingers went up to stroke along the other man’s thigh. He couldn’t put a name to the body next to him at the moment, as he was still waking up, but he felt quite sure that it was someone he could trust.
“Mm,” he murmured happily. Okay, time to wake up for sure.
“M’rnin’.” And wow, that was slurred. If he wasn’t so utterly content, he would have been embarrassed.
Izumo chuckled again, carding his fingers through Balfour’s shorter hair. “Afternoon,” he corrected, finishing up his card game still. He wondered how coherent Balfour would be, and if he even knew it was Izumo he was snuggling up to so cozily.
‘Same-same,” he said quietly, slowly as to annunciate correctly, trying desperately not to slur while trying to put a name to the voice and hand in his hair.
It wasn’t Adamo, though the name sounded almost right. His hand was way too small to be Adamo’s square, strong hands, too gentle to be Ivory--not that the man would ever touch him--too sure to be Raphael. Not to mention the voice was wrong. None of the other Airmen would comfort him like this.
So it wasn’t an Airman.
Could it be--? No. There was no way. He was dead.
He opened his eyes, rolling so that he could see the face, blurred, tan, framed by dark hair.
“What...happened?” Maybe that question would place the name in his mind.
“You had some trouble sleeping,” Izumo answered, calmly. “You had some medication, so you’re a little fuzzy. It’s alright. Just lie still until you get your head together again.”
He offered Balfour a smile, fingers tangled in his hair, and finished up his game with a small noise of satisfaction. Heh, another win.
Well shit. That didn’t help any. He rubbed at his eyes again and sat up, holding his head a little bit as he slumped against the wall—wait, that was a headboard, he didn’t have a headboard—and blinked at Izumo a moment longer.
Shit. Still no name. Those earrings were awfully tempting, though. He reached up, propping a hand on Izumo’s shoulders before touching one gently. It was a nice earring, after all.
Izumo tipped his head into the touch, irresistibly, and smiled. “Easy, Balfour. Just relax. Apparently you have no fuckin’ tolerance at all.”
Balfour looked a bit confused.
“Tolerance...? Oh. right.” Right. The medication that he’d had. It must have been strong. “Do I have brownies?”
Oh man, he wanted some brownies.
“...yes.” Izumo blinked, and looked around. He’s seen them in his search of the room earlier.... Desk. Right. “Yeah, you got some. Want me to get you one?”
“I’ll love you forever,” he said with only a slight hint of the teasing tone so often used with Izumo. He was grateful for the offer, though, rubbing at his eyes again.
“Really though, thank you...” He frowned again. What was his name? It would come soon enough.
“No problem. Sit tight.”
Izumo climbed easily to his feet and sauntered over to the desk. He’s done a very thorough search of the room while Balfour had been sleeping, and he’d figured out where most everything was. One thing, though, he’d brought back with him - a cold pitcher of juice and a pair of glasses, fetched while he’d gotten breakfast. Juice and brownies probably didn’t actually go together, but... Izumo brought back a brownie and the glass of juice, humming a happy nonsense tune.
Balfour contentedly watched Izumo go over to the desk, eyes drifting along his back, his hips, his legs, before darting away when he turned back.
“Ah, thank you very much,” he said softly, taking the brownie but ignoring the glass of juice, not wanting to drink it at the moment. He unwrapped the brownie and bit into it, moaning in bliss. Yes, chocolate was just what he needed.
“Really...you’re a great friend,” he murmured, adding after a moment in a hesitant whisper: “Izumo...?”
Izumo settled himself comfortably, balancing the glass on his knee, and watched Balfour devour the sweet treat with distaste. “I don’t see how you can eat that. It’s straight sugar,” he sighed, lips curling. Yuck.
He did notice the question, and nodded to Balfour. “That’s right. Huh, you really are out of it.”
Probably for the best.
“It’s chocolate,” was his answer, given straight-faced and solemnly. He looked at Izumo after a moment, a smile curling his lips as he fought the urge to give him a deep kiss with the chocolate taste still in his mouth. “Dark chocolate, actually, so it’s a little bit bitter. Try it.”
He didn’t answer the second statement, just seemed relieved that he got the name right. He knew it wasn’t any of the Airmen.
“It’s still chocolate,” Izumo pointed out. “No thank you.” He eyed Balfour, then grinned and reached up to ruffle his hair. “Cheer up. It’s a nice sunshiny day.”
Another sigh as he leaned into the hand in his hair, yawning slightly as he shifted closer, finishing the brownie just in time to free his hand to touch Izumo’s chest, right above his heart.
“You sleep?”
“Yeah. I’m good. Stupid,” Izumo teased, smiling, without the least hint of malice.
Balfour seemed quite content to slump against Izumo, eyes drifting closed once again, not sleeping but resting. It didn’t seem like he remembered a lot of what happened the day before, which was a good thing, but once he had put a name to the warmth beside him, he knew exactly where he was, who Izumo was.
More or less.
“Good. I didn’t keep you up last night, did I?”
“Nope. Well, not in the bad ways.” Okay, teasing the poor confused drugged-up Balfour wasn’t exactly the kindest thing to do, but Izumo couldn’t resist. He ducked his head, kissed Balfour’s hair. “You’re fine. Stop fretting. Rest.”
Balfour cleared his throat a little bit, looking rather confused when Izumo said that he didn’t keep him awake ‘in the bad ways’. So that mean there was a good way to be kept awake and Balfour was responsible for that.
And he did not remember having sex last night, though such thoughts made him twitch a little, the remembered feeling of being held against a wall, warmth where it shouldn’t be, coming back to him.
“How am I supposed to stop fretting when you’re confusing me?” he asked softly, shivering at the kiss to his hair. Best to not think of that feeling-memory because something told him it was a Very Bad Thing.
“Because. I’m not hurting you,” Izumo answered, though he’d caught that twitch. Hmm, maybe Balfour hadn’t forgotten everything. He took a sip of the forgotten juice, humming a little. “It’s alright. I’m just teasing.”
He chuckled softly, pressing an absent-minded kiss to the curve of Izumo’s throat as he snuggled closer.
“That’s alright. I forgive you,” he said softly. He was still drugged up, though, and despite the fact that he was now awake enough to speak without slurring, he still wasn’t thinking straight.
His throat tasted good, though, so he kissed it again with just a hint of teeth and tongue. It felt right.
“Mmm.” Izumo tipped his head back, allowing better access. He chuckled a little, and reached out, blindly setting the glass of juice on the bedside table, beside the pair of syringes.
“My sentiment exactly,” he murmured, nibbling again before settling down against him, head resting on his shoulder as he looked toward the door.
“Have you been here all night?”
“Mmm, yeah, but that’s alright.” Izumo chuckled and kissed Balfour’s forehead.
No, that wasn’t alright, and Balfour knew it. He pulled back with a kiss to Izumo’s jaw, folding himself back into the pillows again, digging a book out from under a small pile near the corner. He gripped it tightly, but didn’t open int.
“You don’t have to...to stay,” he whispered, shoving the book back under the pillows, then offering a small, plastic smile. “I need a shower anyway.”
“Mmm, alright, let’s go shower,” Izumo answered, shifting, moving closer and leaning in to kiss Balfour softly.
Balfour barely responded to the kiss, shaking his head at the ‘let’s’ in the ‘let’s go shower’. It wasn’t an invitation. He needed to shower. He needed to wake up and get his head around what was going on. He needed to not cling to Izumo, which was probably what he was doing. He had a horrible feeling about the past night, after all, and the fact that Izumo had spent the night either meant that they had sex--here, he twitched. Nope, that probably didn’t happen, especially in his own room--or something very bad happened.
“You don’t have to come with me,” he said instead of outright saying it wasn’t an invitation, because no matter how much he wanted to convince himself that he wanted a bit of distance between him and the other male, he did like having him around. He was safe with Izumo. He knew that instinctively.
“It’s fine. You’ll probably fall and crack your head open unless you’ve got help,” Izumo pointed out. “Drugged as you are.”
It should not have been so tempting to rile against Izumo, to yell at him and snidely suggest that fine, he’d take a bath instead. It should not have been so hard to just drop his gaze and nod graciously, to murmur the thanks that slid past his lips.
“Alright. I understand. I appreciate it,” he said softly, standing slowly, and when he was hit with a rush of dizziness, he was so glad that he hadn’t gone off on Izumo. He took a deep breath, concentrating on breathing through it until his vision cleared somewhat, and then moved to get some clothes.
It should not have been so frightening to admit that he might need help in the shower, especially as close as he and Izumo were, as much as he trusted him.
It was.
Izumo popped up and got ready to catch, but Balfour managed and he nodded. Very good. He pattered along behind Balfour, humming absently to himself. He was in a good mood, honestly, well-fed with a nice night of sleep behind him. The shower was clean, he’d taken away the bloody clothes and stuff.
If there was one thing Balfour was good at, it was closing people out, showing the mask they wanted to see, and then leaving it at that. For whatever reason, none of that was working with Izumo. He wasn’t sure what had gone wrong, why he had been so quick to concede to Izumo accompanying him to the shower, but he didn’t like it much.
What he liked even less was, as he undressed, the nasty twist in his stomach that the scratch marks on his abdomen and hip caused. He pretended that they were from Izumo, though his nails were nowhere near long enough, and just clambered into the shower, turning it on a little bit too hot, and scrubbed at his body. There was another scrape on his back, at his shoulder blades, but that, thankfully, went unnoticed.
Nothing had happened. Nothing was wrong. He was still the same even though he couldn’t remember last night.
But why then, a traitorous part of his brain asked, was Izumo hovering?
Izumo stripped and slipped into the shower as well, leaning against the back wall, still humming a cheerful song. He wondered if Balfour was fond of hot showers; if so, well, they might have an interesting time.
“Well, in case you’re wondering, you’ll probably feel more like yourself in the morning. It’s been a while since I saw anyone react so strongly to such a bitty dose. I guess you’re alright, you’re walking in a straight line. I’d just hate to see you get a concussion ‘cause I left you alone.”
Balfour forced a smile toward the wall he was facing, as if Izumo could see it, and shrugged lightly, keeping his hands moving over his body, washing thoroughly.
“It’s alright. I should have warned you that I’ve never had anything quite like that. My normal version of a sedative is tea or work...sometimes alcohol if I really can’t sleep.”
All of it was said in a normal, slightly cheerful tone, as if reacting strongly to a strange drug was somewhat normal--and it was--but Balfour felt like Izumo would hear through to the inexplicable nervousness that he was trying to hide. He kept his back to him, even as he grabbed the soap up again to begin to wash his hair.
“Hey. It’s okay. It’s why I’m sticking around, partly. I feel responsible.” Izumo chuckled, because that was pretty ironic for him. “That, and I enjoy your company.” “Need help washing your back?” he asked.
Balfour’s shoulders twitched a little at the offer to wash his back, but he nodded, rolling his shoulders as if working out a muscle cramp even as he continued to wash his hair.
“Sure, why not?” he asked, voice a little bit softer to hide the tremble, but not so soft as to not be heard.
It was Izumo. Izumo wasn’t going to hurt him. He needed to stop worrying.
Izumo stepped closer, touched Balfour’s shoulders with both hands, the pressure light. He dropped a kiss on bare skin, then stood on tiptoe and reached after the soap. “It’s alright,” he murmured.
Balfour’s breath hitched a bit at the kiss to his shoulders, but he forced himself to not tense, reaching to hand Izumo the soap instead of thinking about how close he was and how wrong it felt. It wasn’t supposed to feel wrong. They were lovers. Not exclusive, sure, but lovers nonetheless.
Why did it feel so wrong?
“Yeah yeah, what’s to say you aren’t going to grope me?” he said, joking tone just as fake as his smiles, backing into Izumo quite on purpose to force himself to deal with the skin-on-skin. It felt nice.
“Balfour. Easy,” Izumo soothed. He put a hand between Balfour’s shoulderblades and stepped back. “You don’t remember, but I told you it’s okay. Take it easy. Only as much as you need. You don’t have to pretend it’s okay with me.”
What was okay? Pretend what? Izumo’s words didn’t settle him any at all, but he remained silent, rinsing his hair.
“Thought you were going to wash my back?” he asked, tone just the perfect mix of jokingly sarcastic and pleading to pass as his own brand of humor. “Or are you scared I’ll grope you?”
Izumo bit his lip, then let his hand slide up, cupping the back of Balfour’s neck. “Hmm, I’m not used to you being so forward,” he murmured, letting his voice drop a notch. “Maybe we should drug you more often.”
Balfour’s breath caught slightly at the murmur and he clenched his eyes shut, trying and failing to keep his shoulders from tensing up. This was normal, though, so the nerves passed quickly. It was just Izumo being Izumo and flirting with him. It was fine.
“Well, I was trying to make up for the fact that you were acting like the blushing virgin,” he said with a snort, shaking his head. It was a lie, but that part was inconsequential. Maybe Izumo would stop treating him like glass.
Izumo chuckled, and slipped closer, softly, gently, laying his head against Balfour’s back. “I should do it more often, then,” he murmured, staying relaxed, at his ease, chakra smoothed and soothed in a low baseline. It was a conscious thing, a calming thing.
“I’m not made of glass,” Balfour whispered, reaching up and finding Izumo’s hand with his own, not caring at the moment that they were bare. He just tangled their fingers together, pulling him just a little closer. He didn’t have the courage to turn around, to face him, but this, this was fine.
“Whatever happened...I don’t remember it, so let’s pretend it didn't happen, okay?”
Well. Izumo hadn’t thought the amnesia would extend so far, but...it wasn’t too unusual. Nor would it be strange if Balfour remembered later. Darkly Izumo wondered if he’d done more harm than good. It had seemed like the best solution at the time....
“Some of you does,” he murmured. “But that’s okay. I get it.” He kissed Balfour’s shoulderblade, testing.
Balfour twitched a little bit at the kiss, but then pressed back against him, eyes closing somewhat.
“I don’t want to remember if it was so bad that you’re afraid to touch me,” he admitted softly. It was a terrible thing to admit, but it was the truth.
“Oh Balfour. I’m not afraid. I’m just trying not to push too hard.” Izumo kept his lips against Balfour’s skin, voice somewhat muffled. “I don’t want to hurt you by accident.”
Balfour tensed again, gritting his teeth harshly as he pulled his hand from Izumo’s, stepping forward into the spray, away from his lips and his hands. This time it wasn’t fear; it was anger, pain, pure venom going through his body, and he had to take a deep breath, head ducked under the too-hot water, before he turned around slightly, just enough to meet his eyes, still hiding the scratches on his stomach and hip from view.
“I want you to stop treating me like I’m going to break,” he said, his voice much deeper and darker than normal, his ‘Amery’ voice, the voice he used when he was breaking apart and didn’t know what else to do. “I want you to stop thinking you’re going to hurt me. I’m fine.”
Fine. He wanted to be fine, at least, and was trying desperately to convince himself that such was the case. Izumo’s kid gloves, however, kept throwing him off, kept reminding him that something horrible had happened, something he neither remembered nor wanted to remember. While Izumo treated him like a fragile doll, he could not be fine.
Izumo looked up at Balfour steadily, solemnly. He could say so many things, hurtful things, things that might help. In the end he said nothing - and without the conscious control hiding the truth there was something bleak and broken in his eyes.
He closed his eyes, shook his head. Wet hair clung across his cheek as he stepped forward and lifted his face, stood on tiptoes and pressed his lips to Balfour’s. Tender, sweet, asking without demanding.
“C’mere,” Balfour whispered as Izumo stepped forward, placing one hand carefully on his shoulder, fingers curling against the back of his neck. He was careful not to touch his right side, not to trap him in, not to unnerve or frighten him in any way at all.
And though the kiss made his whole body tremble a little bit, he returned it sweetly, lips parting in invitation.
This, at least, wasn’t ruined. Just the contact felt strange.
Izumo’s hands rose, braced palm-to-skin on Balfour’s chest. He kissed Balfour deeply, slowly, with a languid pace and exploring touch. Sure he knew all the right spots but he felt his way towards them like finding them again. He leaned closer, closer still until they were pressed flush together, Oriental tan against paler skin.
He drew back at last, taking in a deep breath, palms sliding up to Balfour’s shoulders.
Balfour let out an approving hum when Izumo began exploring his mouth, his tongue getting in on the game as his other hand slid against the wet flesh of Izumo's waist.
But, despite the warning he had that Izumo was going to be up against him, as soon as there was full-body contact, Balfour stepped backward, not breaking the kiss, but clearly not up to being up against someone like that.
"Sorry," he whispered with a deep frown when they broke apart.
"It's fine," Izumo breathed, and kissed Balfour on his Adam's apple, about as high as Izumo could reach while not standing on tiptoe - and even then he had to push his face up. He dropped another in the hollow of Balfour's collarbones.
"Alright?" he asked, hands sliding down Balfour's arms, cradling his elbows.
No, it wasn't fine. It wasn't alright, the way he was shaking from head to toe due to a few kisses, nor was it alright that he didn't want the skin-on-skin contact.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if they weren't naked, he decided, smiling and nodding at Izumo's question, twirling a lock of his hair around his finger.
"Want me to wash your hair?" he asked, half a diversion tactic, half actual desire to do it.
"Sure." Izumo was clean but he didn't care. And he'd been right - a part of Balfour still knew. He'd known things were broken and so they were. Izumo smiled, perfect and sweet, and turned around to let Balfour at his hair.
So much shorter, Izumo would have looked like a child, save his proportions were all adult, neatly compact and muscular. He hesitated, then flicked his henge, dropping all but the tiniest patch over his right eye. His form seemed to shimmer, then settle, and the illusion of flawless skin was gone. Scars marked his body, only a few vivid and clear, but there were many blurred across his back, his sides, his arms, all fading fading fading until they were indistinct.
He'd lived a rough life. It showed.
Balfour took the soap in hand, gathering the shorter man's hair to wash, avoiding his eye, and concentrated on that alone, massaging the soap into his scalp with gentle, tender hands, then helping him rinse it out.
It was only once the soap was out of Izumo's hair that his hands skated along his arms, then under, sliding around his chest to hug him from behind, careful to leave his arms unhindered even as he lowered a kiss to the top of his ear.
"Thank you," he whispered. Clearly, Izumo had wanted him to see the scarred form in front of him. Balfour still thought him quite handsome.
Izumo tipped his head back, opening his eyes. "Of course." He folded his hands over Balfour's. "Clean yet?"
"Yes, nice and clean," he murmured, arms tightening protectively around Izumo, eyes closed. If Izumo could be okay, Balfour could. Right?
He didn't want to let go, so he didn't, but he did loosen his grip a bit and buried his face in wet hair before discovering how unpleasant that was.
"I shouldn't be tired," he muttered as he shifted, just resting his cheek there instead of burying his face. "I slept all day."
"You were drugged, which can sometimes be not very restful," Izumo pointed out. "You're probably hungry, too, that'll help some."
"Yeah, food might help," he said softly, still pressed close to Izumo. The longer he stood there, the better he felt. He didn't want to let go.
"I've got some riceballs," Izumo offered. "I got the kind with the sweet pickles." Izumo loved them sour and spicy but apparently they were an acquired taste. Who knew? Riceballs were easy, though, good solid kind of food.
He stood steady, quiet, waiting for Balfour.
"I've never had those," he murmured, drawing back and placing kisses along Izumo's shoulder, finally stopping at the back of his neck. Once he had let go, he turned off the shower and stepped out, too distracted by getting to try a new food to try and hide the scratches left by the woman.
"They're good. A little like...ah, sandwiches in other worlds," Izumo explained, following Balfour out, watching his carefully in case he should wobble.
"Well, I can't say no to rice, or no to a new food, really," he said with a shrug, pulling clothes on, tugging his gloves tightly over his hands. As nice as it had been to touch Izumo, it was still a little too much.
Izumo dried off perfunctorily, and got dressed in his same comfortable sleep pants and Balfour's too-large shirt. He pattered along into the main room, starting to hum scattered notes again. Riceballs were...here, under an upturned bowl, and Izumo plucked one up and bit into it. Mmm, food.
Balfour picked one up and bit into it as well, humming surprised appreciation as he sank into one of the sofas, leaving plenty of room for someone else.
"These are good. How are they made?"
"Mmm, cook the rice up, use a little vinegar and seaweed and stuff for filling. Like pickled plums or vegetables or fish or whatever the hell you want. Leftovers, mostly. Pack it, shape it, eat it. They keep pretty well." Izumo wandered off to grab the neglected glass of juice before he wandered back and sat down beside Balfour, closer than casual, legs touching.
"Mmm, that does sound wonderful, though I'm not so sure about the plums." He just grinned and ate, reaching over to brush his fingers across Izumo's thigh as he sat down. "Will you teach me?"
Izumo snorted. "Hell, mine are barely edible. I can't cook that great."
"I like them!" he argued, laughing and shifting in his seat to throw his legs over Izumo's lap, whole body stretching out as he moaned appreciatively--and somewhat theatrically--through his bite.
"I asked the drones to make these," Izumo snorted. He set the glass of juice on Balfour's knee, settling comfortably against the couch. He knew he could throw Balfour's legs off and get out if he needed to. He was alright.
Things felt like they were back to normal, at least, with his legs over Izumo's lap, laughing and joking.
"Aw, but that's no fun! You can at least teach me how it's done and I'll stock my drawers with these instead of brownies."
Izumo snorted. "Alright. Just don't ask me to actually cook. Unless you like charcoal." He curled his toes, and glanced surreptitiously at Balfour's face, measuring, gauging. Alright, this seemed alright. Good. And from the way the riceball was vanishing... Balfour was indeed hungry.
"Mm...god these are good," Balfour muttered, reaching for another before realizing he'd have to get up. When he did, he brought the whole plate over to a part of the table he could reach, grabbed two more, then resumed his position, handing a rice ball to Izumo.
"Yeah," Izumo agreed, nibbling at a second. He wasn't as hungry as Balfour, mostly full and lazily loathe to move. He curled his toes in a silent rhythm, watching Balfour be relaxed and smiling. Okay. It was going to be okay. Izumo touched the cuff of a glove, with a little smile. Pushing, flirting, what would the reaction be?
Balfour smiled softly at Izumo, amused that he was after his gloves again. He pulled his hands away and took a deep breath, steeling himself before tugging the one on his right hand off. He'd just touched him without gloves in the shower, he reminded himself, dancing his fingers along the back of Izumo's hand.
Izumo went very still and raised both eyebrows. He watched Balfour's bare hand, eyed the tan-line from the gloves worn so often.
"Every time I think I can predict you, you surprise me," Izumo murmured, gently turning his hand for Balfour to touch his palm.
"Well, you keep going after them," he whispered, keeping his fingers moving along Izumo's skin, trying to hide how off-kilter it made him feel to not have something between them. "I figured we could skip the beating around the bush, this time."
There were few marks on his hands, mostly just from normal use, and one scar along the side of his hand where he'd insisted on helping with dishes when he was little. A knife got him, hidden in the cloudy dishwater.
"I'm mostly teasing," Izumo admitted, then leaned in and kissed Balfour on the cheek.
Balfour smiled and moved to tangle their fingers together again, pressing a kiss to Izumo's lips as he rested there. "That's okay. Just don't take them," he murmured.
"Why would I do that? They're yours." Despite the fact that Izumo had taken any number of personal possessions over the years, with and without returning them. He lightly smoothed a single fingertip over a bare knuckle, the slightest of touches.
"I meant take them off of me," he said softly, deciding to not elaborate on the fact that he often got his gloves taken back home. His fingers curled at the touch to his knuckles, twitching slightly, but he just smiled.
"Alright." Izumo nodded and let his hand still. He eyed Balfour, then smiled. "If you wanted, I could teach you to use that smile a little better. I can tell when it's hiding something."
"What do you mean?" he asked, curious about the offer but not admitting that a lot of his smiles were meant to hide something.
Izumo shrugged, and set his empty glass of juice aside. He folded his hands into signs. His features and body rippled, and suddenly, Balfour was sitting on the couch with Balfour. Izumo tipped his head in a very Izumo-like-gesture, then smiled one of Balfour's "no I'm not really okay" smiles. The features were detail-perfect, the muscle-motion mirror-precise, and the smile was almost completely transparent - at least it was to Izumo, who could read such things well. Izumo cleared his throat, pushed his voice to a slightly higher register, and with a slight struggle managed to give a damn fair imitation of Balfour's own voice and accent.
"You're not as good at lying to me as you think. But then, I'm paying attention."
Balfour watched Izumo curiously, always eager to witness new magic. It was clear that the young man loved to learn if the way he watched strange things so intently said anything.
But when he was met by his own body and face, he cried out in surprise, scrambling away fron the sudden appearance of his twin.
"What the hell!"
And he totally missed Izumo's point, though he did do a damn good imitation of that so-carefully-crafted smile of his. It was like looking in a mirror, at an image of himself with thoughts of its own.
Izumo couldn't help it; he burst out laughing. The laughter was his own, but the smile was all Balfour's, blue eyes crinkling at the corners. He ran gloved hands through short dark hair in a careless gesture copied from Balfour's habits and offered again in a voice very close to Balfour's: "I'm a ninja. I actually specialize in small illusions like this - if you try to pat me on the head you'll figure out I'm still about five inches shorter. It's a visual hook only, but sometimes that's all you need."
The shrug was Balfour's own as well, not Izumo's rolling shoulders.
"That...was definitely not something I was expecting," he said, still shaking from the startle as he settled down on the couch again. "You're a really good mimic."
"I have to be." Again that brilliant flash of Balfour's best smile, his good smile, the one Izumo had only coaxed out on rare occasions.
Balfour couldn't tell the difference between the plastic smile and the real one, actually, and he didn't really think many other people could.
"Well, I can't lie to you because you actually pay attention. It works on everyone else," he said with a shrug and a small smile, the smile he gave when deep in thought or upset or tired.
Izumo mimicked the smile. Then he dismissed the illusion. "Maybe it's because I'm really seeing you." He touched Balfour on the arm.
Needless to say, Balfour was glad when the mirror image of himself was gone. It was most certainly unnerving to speak to yourself, even a duplicate of yourself.
"Well, that's...not exactly something I'm used to," he admitted softly, tugging his glove back onto his hand, staring at the white leather rather than over at Izumo. He didn't know what to do if Izumo was able to see through him so well. He was usually good at making sure people saw no reason to worry; if he was smiling, he was happy, and no one cared past that. What was he supposed to do with someone who cared?
"Well, get used to it." Izumo grinned and patted Balfour on the knee. "Because I know Balfour, and only Balfour."
"Heh...I guess I'm flattered," he said, looking a little bit lost rather than flattered. He bit his lip and folded his hands together, glancing at the onigiri before grabbing another one. Yeah, he was pretty well addicted to those.
He wouldn't say anything, but he was tempted to take Izumo up on that offer of making his smile even more of a wall, making sure no one could see through it. He didn't like that Izumo could see through it, but he'd deal with that. If anyone else saw through his smiles, though, he might well go insane.
"Liar," Izumo pointed out, and smiled. "Don't worry." He reached up, and touched Balfour's cheek, gently. "I won't let anyone know."
"I'm not lying. I am flattered...just not sure what to do now," he said softly, leaning his face against Izumo's hand, his own hand coming up to hold it there. "I don't know. I guess I'm used to hiding and no one ever knowing the difference. I don't know what to do when someone actually does."
"I think your family sucked as much as mine did," Izumo told him, calmly, and knew it was a lie but it wasn't a bad one. A childhood without love or abuse wasn't really that much better than an abusive one, though Izumo honestly didn't think he'd had much of a childhood.
"Nah," he said, shaking his head. "I think...they were just trying to train me for the real world, you know?" The real world being a world that didn't care, either. As long as he wasn't hurting anyone or breaking any laws, no one cared, and if you didn't look like you were okay, you were a target.
He didn't believe that, though. There had been plenty of people who had parents who were affectionate. His parents were affectionate to Amery, after all, but he and Carina got tossed by the wayside. They were never wanted.
"That is the worst excuse I ever heard." Izumo grimaced. "That's the problem with tender hearts like yours. You try to forgive." He shook his head.
"Well, it's better than lingering on the fact that I once heard my mother say that Carina and I were just useless mistakes," he said quietly, a slight bitter tone in his voice. "I don't like thinking like that. I like to pretend that she was trying to prepare me for a world that doesn't care. And she did. So there."
Izumo chuckled, but it was without mirth. "The heir and the spare, and the oops. Is it better when they keep you and raise you despite all that? I think the damage is done either way."
Waste of skin, should never have been born, useless hatehatehate.
Izumo tipped his head back. "Godsdamn why do we keep poking eachother where it hurts?"
"Mm, I'm not sure," he said, deciding to respond to the second question rather than the first statement, shifting on the couch to wind his arms around Izumo, holding him gently as he pressed a kiss to the exposed neck. "I didn't mean to poke." And Izumo really wasn't doing any damage to him, either. He'd long ago accepted that he wasn't wanted. The heir, the spare, and the oops was about right for his family.
"That's exactly how it works. Nobody means to." Izumo shook his head, turned his face to kiss Balfour's cheek. "At least tell me they never hit you. Your parents, your exalted brother." They were lumped together in Izumo's mind, brother and parents as the ones who'd forced Balfour into the shell of a life he could never grow into, a life that would stifle and choke him until he ended it, one way or another.
"Amery was kind to me," he said softly. "Even when I was young, I wanted to be just like him. He was amazing." So no, he hadn't hit him. "I tried to take care of Carina, myself. She was sick. My parents...thought she was either faking or broken, I’m not sure which. They never paid her much attention." So no, they hadn't hit her.
Had they hit him? He wasn't going to say. He didn't want Izumo to be angry. His mother hadn't, but then she had very little to do with him. She was better at being cold and aloof than being a parent. His father had to take up the slack and was very harsh.
Izumo wasn't sure why he was pressing. He just...needed to know. "Break bones?" he asked, quietly.
Broken arms, ribs, ribs, Izumo's ribs were riddled with small bony knots of healing, and not all from his life as a ninja. He rubbed his nose, glanced at Balfour earnestly.
"No," he whispered. "No, it was just... It was mostly withholding affection. I don't know, after a while, I got used to it. I suppose that's why I enjoy this so much." He nuzzled against Izumo's shoulder, referring to the way they were curled up together. "But sometimes...Father would be very angry with me for one reason or another. He was quite fond of switches."
The words were said with a light, dismissive air, but they caused his stomach to turn. Why was he even telling him this?
"Good." Izumo considered, then added in a flat voice, "My bastard father broke my arm the first time when I was four. It wasn't the last time either."
Balfour's grip tightened without him even realizing as Izumo said that about his father, his face burying further into his neck, shoulders spreading a little bit. He wanted to protect him from that, from those memories. There was nothing they could do, though.
"It's over now, at least," he whispered, drawing back to press kisses to the top of Izumo's head.
"Yeah. At least there's not a lot of personal hate when the enemy gets ahold of you. They hate the idea, not the person." Izumo nodded, and stroked Balfour's hair.
Balfour shifted, sighing quietly as his fingers found their way into Izumo's hair as well, playing with the ends as he held him close, eyes alert for any possible threat. Izumo's words had triggered the protective instincts in him and considering eh couldn't go beat the hell out of Izumo's father, he would make damn sure Izumo was safe, at least from hate.
"Some don't hate at all," he murmured. "Sometimes they are just doing what they're told to do."
Sometimes those are the worst.
Izumo smiled, wide and with the dark, dark sense of humor shinobi developed to stay alive. "Balfour, Balfour, oh Balfour. They hate, they kill, they drag you down to the basements and take you apart and hope you'll tell them everything between the screams, just so they can find you village and take it apart stone by stone, soul by soul. Orders only take you so far. The rest is hate."
He knew. They indoctrinated that, creed and cry, soul and song. Hatred was the fire that kept the fighting strong. Duty only brought one to kill - hatred brought one to hunt and torture and rape and slaughter.
Izumo had seen it, tasted it, wept and reveled in it. The war was not that long gone.
"I never hated the Ke-Han," he whispered, fingers combing through Izumo's hair, shifting slightly in his chair to make it easier to hold him, lips brushing across his temple. He never did hate the Ke-Han. He had only flown out there in order to protect the others. It was his duty to run reconnaissance, to protect the others, and he did just that, not out of any hate, but out of loyalty to his country. "Sometimes the soldiers are doing it because they want to protect their families, not out of hate. It translates in the same way, I suppose, but there is a difference. If faced with a Ke-Han native today, I would bemore likely to shake his hand than to beat him into the ground."
Even faced with people who looked like the Ke-Han, he wanted to protect them. His closest friends here all looked like the people he had fought back home.
"Maybe you're a better person," Izumo decided, sprawled lax and boneless against Balfour, not so much as twitching. "And maybe it's different for you. What Gekkou-san called 'honest fighting.' You hate and you hurt because they're going to hurt you. Break every bone in your hands, beat you bloody, heal the bruises up just so they can do it again, whip the skin and flesh off your back until your ribs are bare. That's all if they want you alive after, see. If they don't, you can live for days while they take you apart, piece by piece by fucking godsdamned bloody piece."
There was no tension in Izumo's frame, and the blackest of humor in his voice as he laughed a little. "They always wanted me alive. I was too pretty a toy for them to throw away too fast."
Maybe it was different for him, considering he'd never wanted to be a soldier in the begin with. He wanted to be a healer. His hands were too gentle, urge to protect too strong. He ran his fingers through Izumo's hair again, pressing another kiss to the top of his head.
"Never again," he whispered, his voice dark, angry at the picture Izumo was painting, at the words that he had just spoken. Never again, if he could help it. He wouldn't let anyone hurt Izumo like that.
Izumo turned his head and kissed Balfour's jaw. Still there was no tension in him, no violent anger, merely acceptance of the truth, a passive understanding that this was life and he lived it. He lay relaxed against Balfour, quiet and at his ease.
"It'll happen again. It always happens, if not to me then to someone else. That's just the risk we take. It's a hell of a life but it's our life."
He held up a hand, curled every finger down except the slightly-crooked pinky. "There's hurt and there's healing too. We get patched back together if we make it home.
He squeezed Izumo gently. At that moment, he didn't care much about what happened to everybody else. Izumo was the one protecting him, caring for him, and he didn't want him to get hurt for it, for his efforts.
"I can't protect everyone else," he muttered, his hand going to slide along Izumo's, fingers brushing up his broken pinky. "I'm not even sure...sure I can protect you."
"You don't have to protect me." Izumo turned his hand, limber as ever, and twining his fingers with Balfour's. "I'm alright. Worry about yourself."
He nodded.
Protecting was one of the few things he was good at, not to mention the fact that he didn't want any harm to come to Izumo. He didn't say anything else about it, though, just squeezed his hand gently and relaxed there, eyes closing.
"I worry about myself enough," he whispered. "Mm..."
He wasn't sure what else to do, what else to say. He seemed happy there, though.
"You would have liked my dragon." And Anastasia would have been able to protect Izumo where Balfour couldn't.
"Mmm, maybe." Izumo nuzzled at Balfour's jaw, then nibbled at the tender skin there. "I don't know. And I'd worry about you. Even I get to take the mask off sometimes."
He let out a soft, contented hum at the nibbles to his jaw, his head tilting to the side.
"What do you mean?" he asked softly when Izumo mentioned taking the mask off every once in a while, squirming next to him
“I get to be me when I want. You should be Balfour whenever you want. Healthier.” Not Amery, not the soldier, but Balfour, with the kind eyes and the quiet smile.
“I think... I think I am being me,” he said softly, unsure in that small fact. Was he being himself, now? He’d spent so long trying to be his brother that that was second nature, not being himself.
Instead of dwelling on the question of whether or not he was being himself, he tilted his head a little bit, exposing more neck, fingers rubbing along Izumo’s ribs.
“What I do know is that I’m happy right now.”
“Good.”
Izumo leaned up and kissed him thoroughly, deeply, sweetly.