| [Jan. 5th, 2010|10:49 pm] |
Clearly there was something to be said for sticking your fingers in someone else's religion. If this was the reaction everyone got, it went a long to explaining a human history of holy conflict...
...was what Raidou would have thought, if he hadn't been so busy trying not to swallow his own tongue in surprise. Or Genma's. He straightened up, feeling that almost-familiar angle click back into place as Genma's chin lifted and his own lowered, mouths fitting together like lock and key. As Genma's hand settled on his shoulder, and Raidou's curled around the back of Genma's neck, sliding beneath long brown hair. A flush of heat kindled in his lower belly.
And that was it, really. One hand still holding oranges, a kitchen that smelled like boiled ramen noodles, an act of something new rewarded with something newer -- and something inside Raidou snapped back together. Thought yes without adding no, or maybe, or what if?
This was right, and it felt like it, and how could he have ever thought otherwise? Ever wanted anything else.
He tightened his grip -- still careful, always careful, even while his fingertips pressed into the delicate skin surrounding bone -- and leaned in, got closer, groaned something into Genma's mouth that might have been a word but was mostly just need, strung together by breath and a quickening heartbeat. |
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