| [Jul. 7th, 2013|11:34 pm] |
“Nice of you,” Raidou said, and settled his hand on the back of Ryouma’s head, sliding his fingers through the dark, rumpled hair. He’d read once, somewhere, that well-balanced people needed eight good touches in a day for maintenance, and twelve for growth. Unpaired ninja got—well, a lot less than that, especially if you didn’t count sparring. Given the chance, Raidou liked to share what he could.
Ryouma gave a deep, relaxed sigh, and shifted a little closer. “‘m actually a nice guy, deep down,” he mumbled. “Shh. Don’t tell.”
A quiet laugh rumbled in Raidou’s chest. “No one’ll hear it from me,” he said, and kept up the gentle carding of Ryouma’s hair until Ryouma’s breath slowed and settled, his tired chakra signature banked down to a sleepy ember, and the faint lines of his face smoothed out.
Everything before this had been a charge—one that Raidou was still coming down from, slowly, getting back in touch with the parts of himself that had varying opinions about twisting other people up until they both came. He’d have to be careful with himself tomorrow, but he’d had some practice at not hating himself the day after. Hopefully Ryouma did, too.
And there was still this part to enjoy. Raidou had been with men—and a few women—who’d lay themselves bare in the heat of the moment, and run the moment clothes came back on. Shinobi, unsurprisingly, weren’t good at extended vulnerability. Not many could relax this thoroughly in the arms of, for all intents and purposes, a stranger.
Though, from the hints Raidou had picked up, Ryouma had some serious doubts about coming back from the mission he was heading out on tomorrow, so maybe he just didn’t care anymore.
Raidou hoped that wasn’t true.
Carefully, he brushed his thumb over the blade of one sharp cheekbone, making sooty black lashes flicker. Ryouma stirred; his fingers twitched against Raidou’s ribcage.
“Sorry,” said Raidou, very quietly, and held still until Ryouma settled again.
When he was sure he wouldn’t disturb the other man, he reached over and switched the bedside lamp off. Darkness flooded the room, giving way slowly to bars of moonlight filtering through the blinds.
He’d leave before the sun rose. He already had plans to turn on Ryouma’s rice-cooker, send him out for his mission with a decent breakfast, write a good luck note, maybe, if he was feeling particularly ridiculous. Or maybe that was too much, and rice was enough.
Either way, for now, he was happy right here.
He settled down in the darkness, ducked his head to rest his chin on top of Ryouma’s head, and slipped into a light doze that held no memory of blood, or dying men, or anything but comfortable warmth and temporary trust. |
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