| [Feb. 12th, 2010|07:26 pm] |
Kakashi was having a hard time keeping his head balanced atop his neck. It kept wanting to loll back and rest on the chair-back, something that made precisely no difference to the view.
There were still fingers wrapped around his throat, but they'd shifted their grip now, pressing firmly against the slow, rolling pulse beneath his skin. A cool grip, solid but not painful, irritating in a background-itch kind of way. Kakashi tried to shake it away and got exactly nowhere.
A flame sparked to light above his head, blinding bright. Kakashi winced, but it only lasted an instant, replaced by a dull orange glow. Smoke trickled down and seared his nose. He sneezed hard enough to whack his head against the chair-back, and groaned.
"Y'need to stop that." The words sounded like a mumble and a slur, slipped out and gone before Kakashi could stop them. He rocked back with horror -- or tried to, the hand on his neck brought him up short.
"Stop what?" Takajin inquired. His voice came from up high, level with that floating orange glow. Kakashi knew the interrogator was standing right behind him, far too close, but he couldn't sense a flicker of body-heat, or hear a whisper of clothing, or smell anything but that damn cigarette.
He bit down hard on his lower lip, trying to shock himself back to clear thinking. Blood welled around sharp canine teeth, but the world stayed slippery and warm, spilling through his gory fingers like a handful of hot syrup. Pain faded away, leaving insidious relaxation in its wake.
He felt easy, suggestible, and toweringly angry underneath. Terrified beneath that.
Takajin exhaled a long ribbon of smoke. His hand dropped from Kakashi's neck, replaced by a lean-muscled arm draping over Kakashi's shoulders. The cigarette light lowered, held in a mouth hovering far too close.
"So," said Takajin, "tell me about your mother."
And Kakashi wanted to.
He arched his back, trying to get away, a move all physical and nothing logical, but the leather straps just creaked. Metal chains tremored. Takajin waited patiently. Kakashi wrenched around to bite his face off, but had to jerk back when that burning ember-tip singed his eyelashes.
"Fuck you," he spat out, and clamped down on the flood of words that wanted to follow. Tried to hold onto his fury, instead of the light-headed giggling that wanted to bubble up.
Takajin snorted. "Not today. Do you have some immunity to truth serums, Kakashi? I wouldn't be surprised, but this one is relatively new."
Kakashi sang out a rattle-fire series of multiplications in answer, as high as he could hold the numbers.
"Interesting," said Takajin, and slapped his hand over Kakashi's mouth. The words cut out. "Clever, too. What do you think about Konoha?"
The hand pulled away. Kakashi's head rocked back against Takajin's shoulder, smile spreading like oil on water.
"I think they're coming here," he slurred, and could have killed himself. Would have killed himself, if the thought had stayed inside his head long enough for his teeth to find his tongue. His voice lifted and sing-songed. "Think they're going to kill you..."
Takajin's fingers slid through grey, sweat-soaked hair. "See?" he said. "I knew we'd have so much to talk about." |
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