dear_mun | Canon: Maiden Rose

[ He cannot even begin to comprehend Klaus. The moment he succumbs to the man and finds himself mellowed, even comforted by the force of nature that Klaus is- the other behaves like he wants a literal piece of Taki.

It seems to not even matter, though. They part like repelling magnets; Taki pushing himself an arm's length away so he can simply breathe in enough air to replenish all which Klaus had robbed him of. He feels drained and breathless. A hand catches his face, smothering down and bottling up everything from the moment before. The mask goes back on and he reels himself back in; shoulders square and face marred only by a wary scowl.

He can't keep up with Klaus. Hot and Cold; forever one or the other. Always either scalding or chilling him to the marrow. ]

Do you honestly believe I'd wish for you to be my instructor in such matters?

Better me than most.

[ The lighter takes a few flicker to give flame - gas; have to remember that, stop the damned raids, get gas in the lighter. He enjoys his first drag of the stick at some leisure. The second, more so. Finally, he holds the cigarette out to Taki in silent invitation. ]

Deep breath before. Suck. Release. Inhale - slowly. Slowly.

[ He frowns for a moment, takes the cigarette back to illustrate the point - before returning it out again. ]

Like that. No, slower for you. Then you breathe out. Done.

[Taki's features are unreadable for a good long while. His thoughts are circling around why this moment remains far from two young men sharing a casual conversation and the drags of a cigarrette passed between them.

How could Taki begin to explain to Klaus the strange and inexplicable olive branch he was offering remained taboo? Not merely a practice frowned upon but once which remained condemnable for him. For one who had to be 'Pure'.

Unmarred. Unblemished. Untouched and untainted.

Could Klaus ever understand why offering to take Taki under his wing, and school him upon human vices, was like asking to shame the man, break his vows and betray the spirit of his people? His soldiers.

Perhaps it was moot and even blasphemous to think Taki had not already traversed down that road long ago; considering the tryst-laden history between the pair. But even still- he could not ignore everything he represented, all that he stood for.

Which is why, though fingers deftly pluck the paper-wrapped tobacco from Klaus' callous-laden fingers; it's flickering red embers are carefully rubbed out against the ground nearby. There's no malice there, only an air of calm which extends from the creaseless brow to the gentle way he smoothly returns to face Klaus.

The proximity only ceases to gradually increase once Taki is close enough to count each and every one of Klaus' eyelashes. There he places himself, somewhere dangerously between tempered defiance and curiosity; as if determined to meet the challange presented. It's then that his eyes shut, and he simply breathes the last remnants of smoke lingering on Klaus' breath. The moment is gone before Klaus has time to take a second; in this time Taki has casually leaned away into comfortable distance yet again. ]

Bitter. Earthern yet metallic tasting. It's not terrible.

[ As circumstances of war go, this is when, he imagines, Klaus' capitulation comes as a polite formality, rather than a gesture of great exception. It's painful how taut his leash's been pulled.

...Taki Reizen, you hold yourself too proud.

Bitter? Metallic? Klaus wants to force his lips on this man. Show him bitter. Truly bitter.

He somehow falls into a casual shrug instead. ]

Tsk. High tar. Stays in your lungs.

[ His glance stays fixed on the squandered cigarette. ]

Know about some boys - [ His hand goes up preemptively. ] you're not getting the names [ Then down. ] - they get up in the morning, shine their shoes, do up their uniforms. Kiss the flag. Eat yesterday's ratios. Then take a drink every hour of doing rounds. Small flask in the chest pocket. Guess it's rum. Could be something cheaper.

[ Laughter. ]

Good boys. But I'm afraid I never picked up one of those bottles, so there's no alcohol to give you. Sorry. That lesson'll have to wait.

You have enough vices as it stands.
I'm not sorry a compulsive tendency towards alcohol fails to be one of them.

[It stays in the lungs? He's entirely unapologetic and unceremonious, cloaked more in the role of commander than companion when he moves again. Taki's hands simply brush open the front of Klaus' coat, take a moment to feel along the inside of that garment and then withdraw the remains of that pack of cigarettes which had been tucked there.

No time is wasted in blatantly antagonizing him over the matter; but instead that item is tucked away into one of the little pockets on Taki's person. An act of confiscation.]

Also, I would appreciate it if you didn't deliberately damage yourself.

No one holds the right to sully what's mine.
Not even by your own hands against yourself, Klaus.

As you say, sir.

[ He doesn't bother to stop the 'confiscation,' much as it has no place. It's neither martial policy, nor the commander's due, but the shinka is owed certain dues. That, or Taki. Sometimes, it's difficult to say.

But he's an obedient dog, not a tame one. He holds Taki's glance steadily. ]

There'll be another.

I'll remove them again, then.

[The edges of a frown crease the otherwise still and thin shape of hTaki's mouth. It's a struggle to retain the exterior guise of calm when everything, every single thing about Klaus upsets the inner serenity needed to center himself.]

As many times as is necessary.

Have a heart.

[ All the more tender and juicier to bite in. ]

Cigarettes, drink, opium, or women. A man's got to have something to while him on the road.

[ A chuckle, though his eyes stay serious. ]

You want me to beg?

That's asinine.

No man truly requires an object to erode his faculties and deprave his morality. It's simply a poor choice on his part.

[Other men would have sworn and cursed to drive their point home; but Taki isn't much like most. His mind cannot wrap itself around the concept of searching out your own damnation and savoring it, craving the thing, like a drowning man does air. It's a prescription for disaster that Taki believes himself set apart from; unfamiliar with.

Then again, Klaus may harbor a different opinion on the matter.]

I won't stop you from prostrating yourself if you're so eager to do so.
But neither will I aid in your methodical attempt to gradually self harm.

[ He has to stare for a moment; has to wonder whether Taki is (shamelessly) immune to the sheer irony of that.

He kneels every day before his worst poison. He grovels for it. ]

There's a surgeon who'll look after my body, there were professors who looked after my mind. We'll find a priest who'll look after my soul, if you want. None of it's your duty.

No. It isn't my duty.
It's my right to demand better of the man who is my Knight.

[Taki refuses to admit that he genuinely cares. That Klaus' penchant for smoking envokes within him so many selfish and personal feelings; none of which are becoming of a man of Taki's station.

So it all is flung under the ruse of obligation, on Klaus' part. He wants to be hated and felt as a constant nuisance? Well, then. Taki could let him play that part all while he harbors not an ounce of sympathy.

Klaus is without rights. No say. Whether or not the other man cares enough about himself enough to abstain from these poisons or not- Taki does. That's all that matters.]

I'll have a talk with this surgeon, then.

[And perhaps just to spite Klaus-]

A priest wouldn't hurt.

[ ...few things can still leave him gaping, and the thought of actually taking the rites is one.

Much as he likes to play the part of the common soldier, he's blood blue, born and bred. He's been walked through enough churches.

The prospect of revisiting them is not unlike receiving a child's discipline. Humiliating. ]

Hah. You don't say. And then what? Care to listen to my confession, sir? Make sure I don't slip national secrets with my communion?

Do you have that much to confess to?

[A heartbeat later Taki's demeanor mellows out; the hard edge to his speech melding into that which still recollects a history which has not always been marred and mangled with distrust. He's known Klaus long enough to practically feel the near palpable tension which bubbles out of the other man in words laced with the sour note of sarcasm. His aim was to goad; not torment.

No Priest, then.]

Do you suspect that I would allow a man with such a loose tongue to act as my sword and shield?

[Such paranoia. It's frivolous worry; as Taki has forever been Klaus' sole unwavering advocate. For Taki- Klaus' fidelity has never come into question.]

[ He rubs his forehead tenderly, thumb and ring finger catching his temples. ]

Killed a few people since I last saw a priest. [ Obviously. ]

I've done some other things too.

[ Things of which they're both aware, things best gone unsaid. His eyes flicker with pale humour. ]

S'ppose I should put insubordination down for the count, shouldn't I?

'Insubordination'.

[That actually forces Taki's lips into something of a rogue smile; one which escapes the strict hold of composure schooling the remainder of his features into cool and steady reservation.

Congratulations. Klaus' nonchalant assumption supposing he has a piss poor tolerance of Taki's authority, when he can get away with it, actually amuses the Commander.

At least in it's quality as an understatement.]

Yes. That's one way to put it.

Don't tell on me and I might get off easier.

[ He dares a conspiring wink.

Laughter's... strange between them. Lighthearted companionship. It has the marks of untrustworthy sand that'll crumble in Klaus' hands. But he can't help savoring it. ]

I'll give you a good bribe.

Oh really?

[ Taki's brows lift in slight exaggeration, as if feigning the most sincere sort of wonder. A curiosity that might not be entirely falsified. Still, this ruse is completed by just the slightest inclination of his form; one to suggest a cursory lean forward. Perhaps it speaks to the expectation that Klaus might whisper the answer covertly from the distance between them. ]

And what, exactly, have you convinced yourself to believe that I would want as a sufficient payoff?

[ There's not even the illusion or tone of suggestion in Taki's words. His thoughts don't earnestly, or even consciously, traverse that line of thought. If anything he may honestly want to know the answer. It would be a small glimpse into the strange and convoluted mind belonging to a man whom forever remains perplexing to him. ]

[ He falls into the theatrics easily, leaning in turn as if discussing minor bribery with border patrol officers. ]

Bought a few stamps sheets off a town last month. Got some rare ones, good for a nice collection. What do you say?

Ah. Sorry.

[He isn't. Not really. Taki's more surprised than anything else by such a deceptively forthcoming statement, and one with an exceedingly benign nature to boot. It throws him for a loop and, in the moment, temporarily leaves him to forget that this was a subtle in-joke between them.

There's a flicker of something very near to confusion as it works from the fold between brows and the set of his mouth. He's a bit too honest for this much acting.]

I don't collect stamps.

[ Philately is a taste most noble children acquire up with ease... but it's somehow unsurprising that someone of Taki's station wouldn't have had the time. Inclination. Damn. ]

I'll give you my set, if I ever get my hands back on it. [ Empty promises. As if he'll ever make it home again. ] You can have everything.

[ But the thing about proximity and a somewhat relaxed Taki who has the indecency to look so innocent is -

Klaus really can't help covering the small distance and trying to steal his kiss. ]

[He simply doesn't have the heart to refuse Klaus' oath to bestow a gift which surely took years to compile. Even if stamps themselves were not entirely considered treasures or even fascinating slivers time-lining locations and the histories they hold- this information might be.

Taki is almost lost within the surreal picture he has of a man like Klaus delicately handling tiny slivers of paper. Klaus; an imposing figure of chiseled flesh and bone, who seemed almost forged from the mold of a warrior, his form juxtaposed against the shrinking shape of a small wooden desk not fit for his size. And on it would be the littering of stamps salvaged, booked and roved over with eyes; time and time again.

So caught up in the image Taki creates from just this knowledge- he nearly misses the next moment. The movement which encompasses all of it. Klaus takes on that tell-tale lean; eternal and almost reflexive in the way the body tilts and shifts in just the precise way so that it may align features with someone else. Taki knows it all too well.

Klaus has pulled him into this sort of exchange more than once. Enough times to be ready, no matter his inital instant of surprise. Yet for how sudden it comes on and the second-long pause his heart decides to take upon realization of it all- Taki's reaction could not be more composed. Or gentle.

It's just the scantest cant of his head; but that slow and careful turn to skew their features- eyes, lips, everything in between; it's enough. Millimeters of space are ample enough room to throw off an alignment which cannot become more than simply forward propulsion and a sudden stop.

Even if Taki's eyes are shut, his cheek is all which Klaus encounters. But not with cruelty, nor malice. The way he remains so very still, even in the sudden halt of breathing, admits what his silence does not. I can't. ]

[ From this distance, a twist of Klaus' hand could break a man's jaw. There's a sadistic comfort in how so much defiance could reap permanent retribution. In how harming Taki right back is a possibility, if never a probability.

He dotes instead on the offered cheek, excessively reverent - as if it were his aim all along. Light kisses trail over the line of Taki's unscathed jaw, until lips close against the ear, whisper. ]

I said I wouldn't do anything.

[ But even this scant caress still exists as one which is infinitely taboo; undeniable no matter who might try to mince their moments or levels of intimacy into categories from extreme to subdued. It's not the touch Klaus intended, Taki knows that much, but remains just as obscene. Tawdry. Somehow harboring Klaus' skin on his, without throwing true distance between them, feels like a betrayal. One against his men, those who thought they knew him so well, and to himself.

Only Klaus could do this. Turn Taki's hope for salvaging the light moment between, and what should have been the most carefully designed method of dissuasion, into a language between lovers which Taki refuses to acknowledge. One he cannot accept.

Uncertain of how many times the words falls between them, for the longest moment he's only aware of two littering the quiet space left for his reply. 'Please' and 'Don't.' That's the sum total he can muster; because this, all of it, wrenches his heart in two directions. Accepting both choices would destroy him; so a choice has to be made. ]

...But you are.

[ Quietly. ]

And you must stop.

[ Klaus' laughter comes away bitter. ]

It must be nice. Must all this be damned nice for the master.

[ For you. He pulls away, glance lowered. Easier to be honest with stones on the ground, easier to strike against them. ]

But I've seen good dogs ruined like this. You get one tied, wave a bone with some meat in front of'im, pull it away... until one day he breaks the chain, Taki, or he writhes til he chokes himself.

[ His tongue clicks against a parting show of insolence. ]

...sir.

Far from it.

[ Nice. Of all the absurd accusations; this was probably the farthest stretch. This is a fight, a constant battle. It doesn't matter if he's truly struggling under Klaus' bare hands or if in the next round Taki is staring down the side of himself no one sees; a man who needs to be held, loved, treated as a person not an idol. It's never, not once, a joy. Truth be told- was there ever a moment that this path wasn't a glorified personal hell? Desired as much as it's hated between the proximity and the torture. Klaus'. His.

It never really makes a difference who delivers the next blow; or if it comes in words or bruises. It always, always hurts. ]

Everything necessary is given.

[ He tells himself that Klaus has all that he can give, gaze still focused on a point off and to the side of where Klaus looms. ]

I never mean to bait you.

Canon: Maiden Rose

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