[ Even in a dream, Pinocchio can't escape the betrayal of his own manufactured body. Its weight, specifically, and how solid he is. His knees sink into the sand when he lands over him, pulled by the ruffled lapels of his billowing shirt. He follows because of course he does: he thinks he might starve without the taste of Akechi's lips.
His hair falls in a tumble of mahogany, concealing the other blue eye, breath puffing across his mouth, his own hanging open and pupils blown wide, dark around the glassy blue. ]
Tell me you want me, [ he says, rising up on the knees sinking into the sand, his free hands bracketing Akechi's face, warm on one side, cold steel on the other. His thumbs, different as they are, drift affectionately over his cheekbones, his cool eyes gazing down into the lurid shade of Akechi's own.
The request is selfish, any way one looks at it. He just wants to know that this desire is shared, mutual. That he's doing something good for the both of them. Marina... it might be fine, and if he must flay himself for her forgiveness he will. But for now, his lips flutter across Akechi's, relishing the feather-light brush, ] Tell me, and you can have whatever you want of me. [ He leans in ever closer, flogged on by the black mark on his wrist: ]
no subject
His hair falls in a tumble of mahogany, concealing the other blue eye, breath puffing across his mouth, his own hanging open and pupils blown wide, dark around the glassy blue. ]
Tell me you want me, [ he says, rising up on the knees sinking into the sand, his free hands bracketing Akechi's face, warm on one side, cold steel on the other. His thumbs, different as they are, drift affectionately over his cheekbones, his cool eyes gazing down into the lurid shade of Akechi's own.
The request is selfish, any way one looks at it. He just wants to know that this desire is shared, mutual. That he's doing something good for the both of them. Marina... it might be fine, and if he must flay himself for her forgiveness he will. But for now, his lips flutter across Akechi's, relishing the feather-light brush, ] Tell me, and you can have whatever you want of me. [ He leans in ever closer, flogged on by the black mark on his wrist: ]
I'll grant your wish.