[ The sunset suits him. Turns his eyes a honey-gold color, makes his hair shine. But he's always been easy on the eyes, notable, even that first day they met. With Pinocchio pretending to be interested in a glass of water, and Akechi warning him that the refreshments were likely drugged, and why.
He had thought Akechi mad. How naive he'd been. ]
I kept you waiting, [ observes the puppet on his approach, his leather shoes whispering through the sand. A metal digit of his steel prosthesis reaches out to lay, cold and unyielding, across the soft ribbon of the other man's lip, meaning to pause him, ] You want me to make it up to you.
[ It's not a question.
Everyone wants something, when they deign to give their attention to a puppet. He was built to serve. And, perhaps, if he's very good, if he can serve well, he might earn his place among the real, the living, the human. He's tried stealing his freedom for himself, and all it's brought him is the bitter taste of grief. But here, under this burning sunset, perhaps he might take a little more.
From him? When he had stood witness to his marriage to his friend?
That steel palm, smooth and cool against his skin, slides around to catch him by the cheek and chin, as he leans down, bending at the waist, until the mahogany locks of his hair drift across Akechi's brow and cheekbones, intending to gentle him with a kiss. He pauses, a breath away, to dare the detective to deny him: ] Tell me you don't.
no subject
He had thought Akechi mad. How naive he'd been. ]
I kept you waiting, [ observes the puppet on his approach, his leather shoes whispering through the sand. A metal digit of his steel prosthesis reaches out to lay, cold and unyielding, across the soft ribbon of the other man's lip, meaning to pause him, ] You want me to make it up to you.
[ It's not a question.
Everyone wants something, when they deign to give their attention to a puppet. He was built to serve. And, perhaps, if he's very good, if he can serve well, he might earn his place among the real, the living, the human. He's tried stealing his freedom for himself, and all it's brought him is the bitter taste of grief. But here, under this burning sunset, perhaps he might take a little more.
From him? When he had stood witness to his marriage to his friend?
That steel palm, smooth and cool against his skin, slides around to catch him by the cheek and chin, as he leans down, bending at the waist, until the mahogany locks of his hair drift across Akechi's brow and cheekbones, intending to gentle him with a kiss. He pauses, a breath away, to dare the detective to deny him: ] Tell me you don't.