| [Jan. 4th, 2010|04:48 am] |
"Reckon that could be arranged," Raidou said, quiet and warm, and slung a careful arm around Genma's knife-sharp shoulders, pulling him in until Genma's left side tucked against Raidou's right, that sling-bound hand held forwards where it wouldn't jar again. Genma sighed and slumped against him, all angles and bones and weary muscle, grateful and showing it.
Kid, Raidou thought again. Grown up kid, but still someone who'd had the living hell kicked out of him less than a month ago, and no breathing family in the world left to hug. Raidou tightened his grip a little, and ducked until he could rest his chin on the top of Genma's head. Fine, wind-tousled hair tickled his nose; he inhaled and caught a strange mix of hospital soap, natural hair oils, and Genma's own scent. Something and nothing like brandy and oranges.
Genma sighed again, a little quieter, and turned until his nose was pressed against the shoulder of Raidou's hoodie; Raidou rubbed his thumb over the lean muscle of Genma's upper arm, right where his ANBU tattoo would have been, if it weren't on the opposite side.
"Y'know," he said, letting his voice dip until it rumbled, because that was comforting, "we could go home, too. Home'd be nice."
And also had beds, but that was a different kind of comfort. |
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