| [Aug. 29th, 2009|10:14 pm] |
For the second time in less than ten waking minutes, Kakashi's words died in his throat. Ryouma's hard grip chased the blood from cold skin, whitening Kakashi's fingers; he returned the hold, heavy callouses laid over battle-scarred knuckles, and thought there might be an odd kind of symmetry in a clasp between two hands that could kill with a touch.
Then he hauled himself up, braced his shoulder against Ryouma's chest, and flung his free arm around Ryouma's neck. IV lines tangled between them, snagging on rumpled blankets and clothes, but Kakashi didn't care. Ryouma's voice was breaking, Kakashi couldn't even find his, and he'd be damned if he was going to pay attention to the no grabbing rule when Ryouma was half a heartbeat away from crushing every bone between fingertips and wrist. When it felt like there was a hole where his chest was supposed to be, filled up with shattered glass and fledgling hope.
He pressed his masked mouth hard against the hinge of the knife-blade jaw, and wondered if Ryouma would mind pulling up his shirt so Kakashi could climb inside there with him.
A fleck of sense returned with scent and heat as he inhaled against skin.
"Didn't plan on doing it the first time." He closed his eyes and drew a deeper breath, ignoring the now familiar streak of hot salt coursing down from Obito's eye. "Might be tempted, though, if you plan to stick around every time I wake up." |
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