| [Jun. 5th, 2009|03:54 am] |
Still perched on the end of the bed, the clone lifted its gaze to the ceiling and whistled softly. "Ouch."
Kakashi broke his hold on it without looking, banishing it in a flutter of smoke. Chakra snapped back into his coils, stinging like a whip strike. He exhaled through his teeth. A low shiver of heat, trapped behind iron control and years of practice in leashing emotions until they could be useful, rippled through his stomach and demanded blood.
"Like what? Kissing someone just long enough to pass out on them? Standing in the door of their hospital room until they wake up and feel obligated to come check on you because you've collapsed in the hallway?" The words flowed like an arctic river, smooth and dangerously cold. "Or maybe you're thinking about my missions. Like the last one I ran, when my teammate fell and I did all the right things. Like getting captured and tortured, instead of putting her out of her misery long before she broke."
Ginta smelled like nausea. Like sickness wound through too-hot flesh and too much misery. Like bitterness and grief and the urge to grab hold of something and squeeze until it shattered.
"Or maybe," Kakashi said, soft and nasty and unrelenting, rising to his feet, "you just feel victimized because your friend picked the man you wanted to fuck over you."
He picked up the dishes, left Ginta's mostly untouched sports drink by his hand, and stalked away to throw them in the waterless sink. |
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