[log] knife called lust

[behindhiseyes]

Who: Uchiha Itachi (behindhiseyes) and Rokudo Mukuro (shiftingtruths)
Status: Closed
Style: Action, Present
Where: Hisato; "Mukuro's house".
When: Week 5, Day 7. Following this conversation.
Rating: NC-17. You have been warned!
Warnings: Sex. Likely also violence.

Comments

[shiftingtruths]

[ He does not knock, and Mukuro has already anticipated it. The door is left unlocked, the dim light of a lamp burning low. He's relaxed, lounging on a proper couch.

The hitomi is turned off, tossed carelessly to the side like trash, and Mukuro would be lying if he had not angled his answers like an invitation, reeling this dark-haired, red-eyed man in.

He is waiting, a simple shadow in a dark room lit by a single lamp, edges of his mouth lifted in a smile that is almost Cheshire-like, a gatekeeper of the secrets he's promised Itachi before this.

He is restless even when he is peaceful, the tension an undercurrent deeply buried a veneer of nonchalance (after all, he still possesses a human's body, and thus, while he is more skilled in handling his own base desires, he is still relatively mortal. And, of course, it takes a longer time to get back in proper sync with your own body after ten years of being held in .)

Mukuro rises, fluidly, as if he has all the time in the world to waste it on here, and now. ]

You're early.

[behindhiseyes]

[ Yes, he is early. It is those dreams. Those dreams he is dreaming which are not his dreams; the hands and feet and mouths and all the synchronous murmuring bodies: piles of bodies, writhing, snake-like, alive. Itachi has learned to tune out these callings. But not when he is watching them through a lens which may as well be wired to his neural network.

Even that, he supposes, he could withstand, if not for.

That. The ache. The slow, steady throb. The uncertainty. The feeling of being on the edge, on the precipice of some discovery, some new and heightened awareness. Perhaps this will help. ]

Hmph.

Am I?

[ Quench the thirst. Slake the lips with ice. Anything. Anything to -- ]

You asked me something before I came here.

[ Several things, actually. But. ]

About the last time.

So I am going to ask you the same. Yours. What was it like.

[shiftingtruths]

[ Mukuro pays no heed to Itachi's personal space perimeter - there is no need to, not when he senses the agitation, the dangerous knife edge of hunger, sharp and unyielding beneath the veneer of calm.

He is thrilled by this, with the prospect of teasing, taunting, drawing the proverbial beast out. And so he reaches in, he moves closer, long fingers grasping the tendrils of agitation and a sexual hunger barely sated - tugging.

Tugging, just barely.

He stops before him, a mischievous, playful creature, and he barely touches him. ]

You are going to have to be - [ and he leans in, closer than close, his lips barely brushing against Itachi's ear, and he's fearless, leaving himself open for reprisal, should the other man wish to strike out at him ]

- a lot more specific than this.

[behindhiseyes]

[ A touch incoming, a whisper, lips to the skin, or --

Itachi's gaze remains fixed. Steady. Rapt attention. For lips may as well be the edge of the blade; the blade he will taste. But not yet.

(These eyes will open the windows between the worlds. If it becomes necessary. Or desired.) Breath quickens by a beat. Unmeasured. ]

You asked me.

I could show you.

[ Pull. Someone must be there to do so. ]

[shiftingtruths]

[ He pulls away, allows him this. He will take that offer, for what it's worth, even if he doesn't know exactly what a man like Uchiha Itachi is capable of (he can guess).

After all, the risk of it is a part of the thrill, right? ]

Show me.