thirty-ninth post; fanfic- about soft mouths, and why they may suit one better than eyes.
title: about soft mouths, and why they may suit one better than eyes.
characters/pairing: ichiki/inasa
summary: No one wears grey on sunny days, Ichiki.
notes: rinnakins: i always wonder though
rinnakins: wtf is up with those bows on inasa's first outfit.
banger: I KNOW..
banger: MAYBE ICHIKI DRESSES HIM?
rinnakins: ROFLDSFLSD
--and then it turned out not being cracky like i thought it would.
Morning's come and been hanging around for a good few hours, and so Ichiki gently opens the door to the Western style bedroom, and is grateful that last night's clothing isn't left on the floor; she moves to the bed, to the one whom she certainly knows is awake, regardless of his initial silence. "Now, now," she tuts, bending towards him with her hands folded neatly in front of herself, "It's morning. Have you at all brushed your hair, yet? You've just woken, haven't you?"
"Ichiki, it's so cute how you come rushing in. You'd think I've been crying for milk." His voice isn't at all tired; Inasa sits up in his bed, dropping all poses of hushed and eased breathing, and he swings his legs over the side, and drops himself into his chair. His left hand runs over his hair - yes, unbrushed - and he yawns and stretches, displaying the air of a person who's been very inconvenienced but is cheerfully taking it in stride. He's gracious, after all.
She follows his movements by the sounds he makes, smiling as pleasantly as lit hearths, and then she says, "My, my," and crosses the room further, to draw the curtains till she can feel sunlight on her face.
It's bright, and Inasa whines, somewhat, making a great show (for no one but himself) of shielding his eyes with a greyed hand and coiling against the back of his wheelchair. "Oh, Ichiki, close it, it's too bright right now."
"It seems to be a lovely day," is all she counters with. Again, she puts herself near him. "The sun is bright, my dear Inasa-han."
"Hey. That's pretty optimistic of you." Smiling. Leaning forward. Ichiki can hear him do both of those.
"My, my," she says again, and she lifts her wrist to her mouth. "Was it strange?"
"No," he lilts, and reclines. "Carry on, Icchan."
It makes her sigh, but still, as most always, it's pleasant. She straightens the blanket upon his bed, and then she faces him with delicately closed eyes and upturned lips. "Of course."
And she does carry on, skirting the wheelchair that's set before her and opening wide the closet some feet away. Inasa wheels himself around so that he can watch her. It takes her carefully running her hands over the clothes, feeling at the fabric, to pick; momentarily, she lifts a hanger bearing a little jumpsuit from the rack, and presents it. "How does it suit you?"
"It's grey, Ichiki."
"And the bow, at the front?"
"Blue."
"Then," soothing as ever, "How does it suit you?"
"Aah." Again, Inasa reclines; his neck rests against the back's edge of his chair, and he tilts his head upward. "You said the sun's bright. No one wears grey on sunny days, Ichiki."
"Ah, I see. I was mistaken, it seems. These things happen." Smiling.
He watches her.
And then, with such a great sigh, "No, I'll wear it. You can bring it here. It's all right if I'm a little contradictive."
"Mm." She carries it to him, sets it out on the palms of her hands. "Aren't you always? Here you are, Inasa-han. Shall I leave the room, while you dress?" Courtesy, you see.
He takes her wrist, rather than the clothing. There are pauses from both of them.
Then, "I want you to do it, Ichiki."
The faint smile she so often carries melts, with subtlety; replacing it is nothing discernable.
"Very well."
His fingers fall lax, and so she removes herself, and sets the clothes out on the bed. When she returns to him, her hands are offered. To her ears, there's the creak of his chair - the shifting of his thighs.
"Ichiki."
"Yes, Inasa-han?" She's at the third button. (The first had been left undone.)
"Does it suit me? Grey on sunny days."
Ichiki can hear him smiling. Her fingers draw back from the fifth button - the last - and she parts his sleep shirt. "Please lean forward, Inasa-han." (At times, Inasa is quite open to suggestion. He does as she says.) "It's all right if you're a little contradictive." The shirt slides over his shoulders, as she speaks. "Isn't that so?"
A little bit cold, but delicately so - her hand meets his back, possibly by accident, and he leans himself against it. "Grey suits me," he says decisively, as if he's known all along, and of course she can tell what he's talking about. Fingers press against his chest, from the opposite hand: fingers against bruises, against blood that bubbles up underneath his topmost layer of skin. "Is it sore?" she asks him, light-voiced.
"I'm cold," he says back instead; "You've left my shirt off. Ichiki, I'm surprised at you!"
He isn't, actually. She smiles further, and removes her hands and the shirt. "Please stay seated," she tells him, "Let me set this aside." Hearing it tempts Inasa to stand, but he's tired, so he waits until she's retrieved black leggings. A murmur - "Stay still, please, Inasa-han" - and then she moves over him and bends, and places her hands at his waist, to lower the pajama pants down over his thighs. A quiet - pleased, perhaps - calm is there, although she says nothing more till she's gotten them down to his feet. He watches.
"Inasa-han."
"Yeah?"
"Is it sore?" Her fingers linger at his now-bare calf, which also isn't exempt from the spreading bruises. She is smiling, continuously. He elevates the leg she's touching just a little bit.
"Maybe."
"I see, I see." Setting pajamas aside, reaching for leggings. "Are you enjoying it?"
There's a sound from Inasa's throat - an atmosphere of laughter - and he prods at Ichiki's shoulder with his toes. (Her fingertips rest atop his ankle, passively batting him away.) "Maybe."
The leggings are worked up past his shins. "I am so glad to hear that you are favoring your experience," she murmurs, and he laughs at her.
Black cloth, above his knees.
"Please lift yourself, Inasa-han."
It isn't a difficult task. He could have decided to stand, to make this easier on her. In fact, he could have dressed himself. Instead, he holds tightly at the armrests of the wheelchair, and lifts his upper body. The waistline of the leggings is pulled up quickly. "Well, there we are." Pleasantries in her tone. "Shall we do the same with the rest of your clothing?" Which means the jumpsuit arrives.
During this time, Inasa doesn't pay attention, when she speaks at him; he watches her hands, and inspects, whenever her wrists or fingers touch him directly. He complies when he's asked to lift himself again, and he curls his fingers while the buttons are done up. Ichiki pats him down gently, in order to smooth and immediate wrinkles, and then she straightens herself and makes sure that her smile is in place just as neatly. "How fine," she says.
To that, he waves his hand. "My gloves, though."
Of course, of course - aah. After two moments have passed, she sets them against his lap.
"Ichiki." The hem of one glove meets his wrist.
"Yes, Inasa-han?"
"When can I go out and make use of the kinjutsu?"
Ichiki smiles at him, so brilliantly, and she bows in again. She kisses his mouth once, for just a very short time, and then she opens her eyes halfway for him to see: blue, touched here and there with misshapen grey spots from medicines that never would work, and with a refusal to focus on his face. "So soon, my dear Inasa-han. Shall I gather your boots?"
It makes him grin widely, the entire display - a baring of teeth - and he taps Ichiki's chin with his gloved index finger. "I'll do it. Hyouka can do it. I'm going to ask her for breakfast."
Sigh - wrist to mouth - smile. Once again, she straightens. "Of course." Her head inclines, and she crosses to the bedroom door, out of courtesy; it seems, then, that she's no longer needed in this room. (What sort of lady stays past her alloted time?) Still, she asks him, "Was that all, then?"
"No," is the immediate response. She pauses against the doorway. "You didn't tell me good morning."
As always, she smiles. Her eyeslashes are low. "Good morning, my dear Kasa; my dearest Kira user."
He's happy.
characters/pairing: ichiki/inasa
summary: No one wears grey on sunny days, Ichiki.
notes: rinnakins: i always wonder though
rinnakins: wtf is up with those bows on inasa's first outfit.
banger: I KNOW..
banger: MAYBE ICHIKI DRESSES HIM?
rinnakins: ROFLDSFLSD
--and then it turned out not being cracky like i thought it would.
Morning's come and been hanging around for a good few hours, and so Ichiki gently opens the door to the Western style bedroom, and is grateful that last night's clothing isn't left on the floor; she moves to the bed, to the one whom she certainly knows is awake, regardless of his initial silence. "Now, now," she tuts, bending towards him with her hands folded neatly in front of herself, "It's morning. Have you at all brushed your hair, yet? You've just woken, haven't you?"
"Ichiki, it's so cute how you come rushing in. You'd think I've been crying for milk." His voice isn't at all tired; Inasa sits up in his bed, dropping all poses of hushed and eased breathing, and he swings his legs over the side, and drops himself into his chair. His left hand runs over his hair - yes, unbrushed - and he yawns and stretches, displaying the air of a person who's been very inconvenienced but is cheerfully taking it in stride. He's gracious, after all.
She follows his movements by the sounds he makes, smiling as pleasantly as lit hearths, and then she says, "My, my," and crosses the room further, to draw the curtains till she can feel sunlight on her face.
It's bright, and Inasa whines, somewhat, making a great show (for no one but himself) of shielding his eyes with a greyed hand and coiling against the back of his wheelchair. "Oh, Ichiki, close it, it's too bright right now."
"It seems to be a lovely day," is all she counters with. Again, she puts herself near him. "The sun is bright, my dear Inasa-han."
"Hey. That's pretty optimistic of you." Smiling. Leaning forward. Ichiki can hear him do both of those.
"My, my," she says again, and she lifts her wrist to her mouth. "Was it strange?"
"No," he lilts, and reclines. "Carry on, Icchan."
It makes her sigh, but still, as most always, it's pleasant. She straightens the blanket upon his bed, and then she faces him with delicately closed eyes and upturned lips. "Of course."
And she does carry on, skirting the wheelchair that's set before her and opening wide the closet some feet away. Inasa wheels himself around so that he can watch her. It takes her carefully running her hands over the clothes, feeling at the fabric, to pick; momentarily, she lifts a hanger bearing a little jumpsuit from the rack, and presents it. "How does it suit you?"
"It's grey, Ichiki."
"And the bow, at the front?"
"Blue."
"Then," soothing as ever, "How does it suit you?"
"Aah." Again, Inasa reclines; his neck rests against the back's edge of his chair, and he tilts his head upward. "You said the sun's bright. No one wears grey on sunny days, Ichiki."
"Ah, I see. I was mistaken, it seems. These things happen." Smiling.
He watches her.
And then, with such a great sigh, "No, I'll wear it. You can bring it here. It's all right if I'm a little contradictive."
"Mm." She carries it to him, sets it out on the palms of her hands. "Aren't you always? Here you are, Inasa-han. Shall I leave the room, while you dress?" Courtesy, you see.
He takes her wrist, rather than the clothing. There are pauses from both of them.
Then, "I want you to do it, Ichiki."
The faint smile she so often carries melts, with subtlety; replacing it is nothing discernable.
"Very well."
His fingers fall lax, and so she removes herself, and sets the clothes out on the bed. When she returns to him, her hands are offered. To her ears, there's the creak of his chair - the shifting of his thighs.
"Ichiki."
"Yes, Inasa-han?" She's at the third button. (The first had been left undone.)
"Does it suit me? Grey on sunny days."
Ichiki can hear him smiling. Her fingers draw back from the fifth button - the last - and she parts his sleep shirt. "Please lean forward, Inasa-han." (At times, Inasa is quite open to suggestion. He does as she says.) "It's all right if you're a little contradictive." The shirt slides over his shoulders, as she speaks. "Isn't that so?"
A little bit cold, but delicately so - her hand meets his back, possibly by accident, and he leans himself against it. "Grey suits me," he says decisively, as if he's known all along, and of course she can tell what he's talking about. Fingers press against his chest, from the opposite hand: fingers against bruises, against blood that bubbles up underneath his topmost layer of skin. "Is it sore?" she asks him, light-voiced.
"I'm cold," he says back instead; "You've left my shirt off. Ichiki, I'm surprised at you!"
He isn't, actually. She smiles further, and removes her hands and the shirt. "Please stay seated," she tells him, "Let me set this aside." Hearing it tempts Inasa to stand, but he's tired, so he waits until she's retrieved black leggings. A murmur - "Stay still, please, Inasa-han" - and then she moves over him and bends, and places her hands at his waist, to lower the pajama pants down over his thighs. A quiet - pleased, perhaps - calm is there, although she says nothing more till she's gotten them down to his feet. He watches.
"Inasa-han."
"Yeah?"
"Is it sore?" Her fingers linger at his now-bare calf, which also isn't exempt from the spreading bruises. She is smiling, continuously. He elevates the leg she's touching just a little bit.
"Maybe."
"I see, I see." Setting pajamas aside, reaching for leggings. "Are you enjoying it?"
There's a sound from Inasa's throat - an atmosphere of laughter - and he prods at Ichiki's shoulder with his toes. (Her fingertips rest atop his ankle, passively batting him away.) "Maybe."
The leggings are worked up past his shins. "I am so glad to hear that you are favoring your experience," she murmurs, and he laughs at her.
Black cloth, above his knees.
"Please lift yourself, Inasa-han."
It isn't a difficult task. He could have decided to stand, to make this easier on her. In fact, he could have dressed himself. Instead, he holds tightly at the armrests of the wheelchair, and lifts his upper body. The waistline of the leggings is pulled up quickly. "Well, there we are." Pleasantries in her tone. "Shall we do the same with the rest of your clothing?" Which means the jumpsuit arrives.
During this time, Inasa doesn't pay attention, when she speaks at him; he watches her hands, and inspects, whenever her wrists or fingers touch him directly. He complies when he's asked to lift himself again, and he curls his fingers while the buttons are done up. Ichiki pats him down gently, in order to smooth and immediate wrinkles, and then she straightens herself and makes sure that her smile is in place just as neatly. "How fine," she says.
To that, he waves his hand. "My gloves, though."
Of course, of course - aah. After two moments have passed, she sets them against his lap.
"Ichiki." The hem of one glove meets his wrist.
"Yes, Inasa-han?"
"When can I go out and make use of the kinjutsu?"
Ichiki smiles at him, so brilliantly, and she bows in again. She kisses his mouth once, for just a very short time, and then she opens her eyes halfway for him to see: blue, touched here and there with misshapen grey spots from medicines that never would work, and with a refusal to focus on his face. "So soon, my dear Inasa-han. Shall I gather your boots?"
It makes him grin widely, the entire display - a baring of teeth - and he taps Ichiki's chin with his gloved index finger. "I'll do it. Hyouka can do it. I'm going to ask her for breakfast."
Sigh - wrist to mouth - smile. Once again, she straightens. "Of course." Her head inclines, and she crosses to the bedroom door, out of courtesy; it seems, then, that she's no longer needed in this room. (What sort of lady stays past her alloted time?) Still, she asks him, "Was that all, then?"
"No," is the immediate response. She pauses against the doorway. "You didn't tell me good morning."
As always, she smiles. Her eyeslashes are low. "Good morning, my dear Kasa; my dearest Kira user."
He's happy.