[ The things I've never said ]

[wavesoakedlegs]

Characters: wavesoakedlegs and behisstrength.
Location: 12 Olie Street, Phanga neighbourhood.,
Time: Late afternoon.
Style: Prose.
Status: Closed.

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[behisstrength]

Motochika entered Mitsuhide's room without fanfare. Upon stepping through the doorway, his eyes sought out his lover. Mitsuhide sat at his desk was not an usual sight, but what really piqued Motochika's interest was the open bottom drawer.

He had not forgotten the poetry stashed there. As it so happened, he'd been thinking about the snatches revealed whilst they were cursed.

There was no reason to pass up the presented opportunity.

Motochika crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, at the side closest to Mitsuhide and the desk.

"Has inspiration struck you?" he asked.

[wavesoakedlegs]

Mitsuhide's immediate and automatic reaction was to slam the drawer closed.

"I... no, not right now," he replied, sounding more than a little awkward despite his attempts to keep calm. "I was just checking through the drawers, ensuring everything was in place."

That was not a lie, after all. It just wasn't going into specifics. Hopefully Motochika would leave it at that. Mitsuhide turned around in his seat so he could look at the other man, trying not to look too unsettled.

"Has your day gone well?" he asked, attempting to change the subject. "It has been rather quiet, without you in the house."

[behisstrength]

Motochika started at the sudden slam of the drawer, and after his initial surprise faded, he raised his eyebrows at the reaction. Was Mitsuhide... embarrassed by his poetry? Curious indeed.

"My day was fine," he said, as he leant forward; he reached out to place his hands upon Mitsuhide's shoulders and gave them a squeeze, then dismissed Mitsuhide's awkward change of subject. "There's no need to be so tense."

Motochika smiled affectionately, then removed his hands from Mitsuhide's shoulders and gave the mattress a pat.

"Come here."

[wavesoakedlegs]

Well, that wasn't a poetry-related request. Mitsuhide did as asked, taking a seat next to Motochika on the bed.

"You shouldn't be so demanding all the time," he said, laughing a little in an attempt to help himself calm down with humour. "I may have to start refusing your requests, my Lord."

The samurai began to twist a lock of his own silken hair between his fingers, watching Motochika carefully as he did so. If push came to shove then he would be willing to show the poetry that didn't deal with personal subjects; that he was willing to share with anybody, after all.