How to make the mighty crumble
Who: Fai D. Flowright, Kurogane
When: Thursday evening of Vampire Week
Where: Kurogane's room (9C)
Summary: Kurogane's stubbornly been refusing to drink blood all this time, locking himself in his room. Fai decides enough is enough and goes to pound some sense in him. Again.
Rating: NC-17, to be safe.
Warnings: Language, blood, and who knows what might happen if these two lose control
Kurogane was huddled between the dresser and the bed, sitting in seiza. The past hours he’d meditated, thought of home, of old Suwa, went through an entire’s day of tasks and studies in his childhood that had nothing to do with blood. He thought back to calligraphy, learning the lay and law of the land, the people. Tea ceremonies and long scrolls of history unrolled, the paper crisp and white under his fingers.
He thought of laughter, and his father’s walk, his mother’s voice when singing. He thought in images and sounds, in detail, doggedly, making them wash over the white walls all around him, the sounds outside his room; the weakness in his shoulders, the tightness in his gut; the hunger. He’d managed, for hours and hours still.
And then the mage broke down the door and stepped inside.
When: Thursday evening of Vampire Week
Where: Kurogane's room (9C)
Summary: Kurogane's stubbornly been refusing to drink blood all this time, locking himself in his room. Fai decides enough is enough and goes to pound some sense in him. Again.
Rating: NC-17, to be safe.
Warnings: Language, blood, and who knows what might happen if these two lose control
Kurogane was huddled between the dresser and the bed, sitting in seiza. The past hours he’d meditated, thought of home, of old Suwa, went through an entire’s day of tasks and studies in his childhood that had nothing to do with blood. He thought back to calligraphy, learning the lay and law of the land, the people. Tea ceremonies and long scrolls of history unrolled, the paper crisp and white under his fingers.
He thought of laughter, and his father’s walk, his mother’s voice when singing. He thought in images and sounds, in detail, doggedly, making them wash over the white walls all around him, the sounds outside his room; the weakness in his shoulders, the tightness in his gut; the hunger. He’d managed, for hours and hours still.
And then the mage broke down the door and stepped inside.