[Closed] What kind of welcome..?

[brbpunchingmage]

Who: Kurogane (brbpunchingmage and Fai (reflectedstasis)
When: Past midnight, night of Kurogane's arrival
Where: starter apartments!
Format: Paragraph
What: Kurogane and Fai stumble home after going to find Kaien.
Warnings: General unhappiness, blood-drinking, possible cursing.

Comments

[reflectedstasis]

This was, suffice it to say, not the best night Fai'd had since arriving

[brbpunchingmage]

A grunt is the only vocal response the ninja offers, too busy watching Fai's movements, making sure that he makes it to the sofa properly. He stands still for a second, just taking in the other man's condition, noting every detail.

That shudder doesn't go unnoticed. Neither does the slower movements, the slight unsteadiness.

How long did Fai say that he had been here again? And how long before that... Kurogane doesn't know, actually, because his understanding of recent events doesn't match up with what his companion has said.

This isn't the time to ask. Because before 'talk', something else has to happen. Because while Fai had taken care of Kurogane's hunger before leaving for the evening... there's still a need between them to be taken care of.

Kurogane takes the small knife that he carries to his wrist in near-silence, and without a single word, simply holds his hand just above Fai's head.

The first scarlet drops slipping down his skin cause a slight shudder, before they fall toward the mage's upturned face.

[reflectedstasis]

It's disconcerting, the way his hearing focuses in on smooth metallic ring of the blade as it slides free of the scabbard, the sound of that sharp edge dragging against skin...the way the very scent of Kurogane's blood curls around his senses, draws him in with a fierceness that can't be denied.

Yet it's that feel of those first warm drops landing on his lip that has his eye slowly opening to reveal a luminescent golden orb. Heavy lidded and as impassive as he can manage, Fai licks the drops off his lip and whispers, "Guess it can't be helped, right?"

And then he reaches up without breaking the eye-contact and draws his partner's wrist down to his mouth, seals his lips around the open wound.

[brbpunchingmage]

It's not as if Kurogane expects something like 'thank you.' Not when it's all his fault that Fai is chained to him this way. Not when every moment of suffering that Fai must have undergone in this strange world, alone and hungry, lies squarely on Kurogane's shoulders.

Still. There's a turn of his head away, from both annoyance at the mage's ungratefulness and the understanding that this is ultimately all his own doing.

Crimson eyes slide closed, and the only sound Kurogane makes is a hitch of his breath as the pain in the new wound goes from being simply yet another injury to... something else.

What that other thing is, he won't think about, refuses to. And though it really would be easier if he sat down on the couch next to Fai, his pride refuses to let him move, standing with his arm held out at a strange angle, the knife still held in the hand of his prosthetic arm.

"Should have done it before you left."

[reflectedstasis]

"I was busy after you arrived." lick. "Had to get get you settled, then get food and water for you, not to mention dishes..." liiiick. "Make your dinner...." A pause then, as he pulled back enough so that his words aren't whispered against the wound, his golden eye bright as it watched the blood begin to seep steadily from the long line once again, bright beads of crimson that trace accusing paths down the ninja’s wrist.

"You should sit - there's no telling how going back into the Mist will affect you so soon after arriving. I'm nearly done."

He could have waited until Kurogane decided, but really - if the man was going to be so stubborn, it was best not to waste the other’s energy or blood, given the circumstances. So he didn’t wait - just leaned back in and traced the little red rivulet back up to the source with the tip of his tongue, then took a long, deep pull from that steady beat… and hated himself a little more for savoring that disgustingly addictive coppery-sweet taste as the man’s blood washed over his senses.