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[ Klaus' fingers press into Taki's, the grasp confident. Strange, no, bittersweet to have this privilege again - if never unwelcome. He wouldn't mind stealing Taki away from the world, rather than these precious few moments away from Taki's tight control. ]

Fair's fair, Commander. Set an example, toughen it out.

[ ...yes, he sings something: a short mountain tune about a shepherd and his lady love, which dissolves into whistling towards the end. There are things, many things that Klaus can do - but sadly, holding a proper note is not one of them. ]

[ It's not unpleasant or sour, even if the notes Klaus meanders for are a long ways from songbird-sweet or hit with anything near crystal clarity. But however rough about the edges it might be; Taki is no less reverent in his observation than he would be for the baritone or tenor of an opera. Because this isn't mechanically fabricated through persistent practice nor orchestrated by the dip and sway of music behind the tune. It's real, raw, even so very imperfect around the edges. Yet unexpectedly- wanted, much like the man himself.]

...

[ Funnily enough, as coarsely sung as that melody might have been- it executes the task of blanking out Taki's every thought with a swiftness rivaling any sweetly sung spell. Speechless and without real thought behind the matter he impulsively falls upon a soft recital of the lyrics; his words gradual and with a hint of question in their tone. Eventually they build, not quite near the middle, until he's returning the song for the sheer sake of learning this small piece of Klaus and committing it to memory. Voice still reluctant to raise to even normal capacity even as the tune begins to grow comfortable on his lips. Where Klaus had whistled Taki instead decides to hum; steadily less certain of his choice of reply as silence creeps up in place of the song itself. ]

[ Sheer, almost reverent silence, when Taki has his - 'performance.' Devoid of artistry, it boasts a certain charm.

(This man. This man sings it, and there's a war, and he'll send boys to die tomorrow, or within the hour, and now he's singing about sheep.)

Klaus' free hand comes to hover in a line trailed between the very tip of Taki's nose and his lips. There, the searching finger tries to tap the lower lip in a gesture stuck somewhere between stilted appreciation and playfulness. ]

Show-off. If army life one day no longer suits you, we'll have to pack you up for a Conservatory.

[ Taki remains painfully aware of the conspicuous presence that digit exudes; the way it schools skin to still and quells the voice in his throat to silence. For all his grand ferocity during every verbal altercation the pair parade through- Taki can be rendered still and cautious in his demeanor with an air that would deceive all others into reading as docile. It's a rarity of expression reserved only for Klaus- existing nowhere else but in the very instant they find their way outside of that arena of scathing remarks and grating tension.

So here the commander sits. A leader of thousands; harbinger of strength, faith and direction for his men. Yet he remains a man, nonetheless. One hushed all too easily, simply, by nothing more spectacular than the bridging of a touch between Klaus to himself. ]

Even now- you still aim to convince me there are other lives I should be living, elsewhere?

[ They've had this conversation before, where Klaus imagined a different path for him. In the present it may be a joke, a thoughtless ounce of jestful small talk perhaps, but the words are still spoken. Despite their lack of urgency the idea is still very much the same as it had been before. A lifetime ago, if not in actuality then at least in how distant and unreachable that time feels when recollection grasps for the memory. ]

[ The finger lingers unexpectedly - there are certain things even Klaus can't help and his resolve was never strongest - before withdrawing with a parting full swipe over Taki's lower lip.

Cute. Charming. Innocent. In some part, his. ]

I'm saying you can't tell where life will take you or what you're capable of doing under certain circumstances.

[ Like leaving everything. Leaving your country, your family, your fealty. Leaving everything, for something most men would call a flight of fancy. Leaving for, God help you, love. ]

[ Soon as the lingering weight of that touch vanishes so too does the stillness which had settled itself over him, keeping Taki frozen in place under it's influence. As if to absolve himself of permitting even that much contact the scant bit of space finds itself under one hand- a subtle but efficient swipe of fingers move to chase away any residual warmth in the wake of Klaus' touch. It takes only a handful of heartbeats to inact and ends with the thoughtful cant of his head. ]

It would be hypocritical if I were to deny the honesty of your words. So you have my agreement on that much. It's true that few have prior comprehension of just how far their capabilities extend.

[ A beat. ]

Or what, exactly, some situations might bring them to do.

[ Sometimes, he almost questions whether Taki isn't aware of his effect, of his own disarming. If the master isn't pushing and pulling and wanting and teasing in the neatly cold passive aggression of his people.

Klaus pulls away, possibly still a measure too close, probably knowing it. ]

That's right. Desperate times and...

[ Too much cheek in his smile. Too much warmth. ]

Done anything desperate lately?

...No. Of course not.

[ Immediately defensive, on alarm. He looks less like a man without guilt and more like someone who is protesting unnecessarily and with more vigor than the innocent would proclaim.

Klaus knows all of his impulsive, urgent and thoughtless actions. Down to the dates they occurred. The times of day. Each and every location. It makes little difference if the part Taki played was far less along the lines of committing anything so much as conceding to it.

Asking a question like this feels much less like a question of the present than it feels like a blatant callback to events only they are privy to. ]

What a ridiculous thing to ask.

[ Hastily. Quickly. Some worthless collection of words, senselessly added to pad and further cement the 'factual' nature of his lie. Wasn't this desperate enough? Their conversation, the pull between them. The pair themselves. Pitiful and willing to a degree that should surely satisfy the terms of what that word means. ]

[ Klaus' glance holds. Strengthens. Sharpens.

Taki now is what a map looks like before they plot siege: a perfect picture of promise, frustrations, indelible danger and, upon conquest, rewards beyond compare.

This is also when an officer worth his salt knows to tread lightly. ]

Don't lie.

[ Somewhat barked out, but sometimes Taki only answers to orders. ]

Your shirt was drenched in my blood that morning. That -

[ The emphasis comes not without bite, taunting. ]

- love, was desperate.

[ Everything about that night fit the definition of urgency. The need to retrieve Klaus from the clutches of his self-appointed mission. The river which had vomited him onto shore. Death itself.

Klaus had missed that evening's most important act, one where anguish of only the most blind and overwhelming degrees had truly saturated every fiber of Taki's being. Screaming, begging, praying within his heart to everything and anything holy for the return of something, one thing, which he couldn't relinquish to any.

If Klaus could only have seen exactly how his proud commander had thrown himself down like a marionette with cut strings; hunched over him in the dirt and blood and black of night. To witness Taki's face, disbelief cracking every edge of a once pristine mask, once eyes fell upon a body so impossibly still- then he'd have known what it meant to be desperate.

If linens stained to rust with the tinge of old blood was Klaus' greatest boast- Taki should think himself lucky. ]

Why ask for answers when you already have them?

[ Because even dogs need reassurance.

Somehow, Taki's played a card to switch the power balance between them in a single strike, and with a nod and a half amused smile, Klaus almost wants to add - Well done.

Instead, he makes to (finally) look for his cigarettes. ]

Don't plan to work the back of your hand on me for the endearment?

[ Taki - far too much practice has shown Klaus - has perfected his slap. ]

[ It takes him long enough to even absorb what's spoken. No matter the underlying bitter bite of a term meant for more saccharine moments- even it's twisted appearance out of the blue misses it's original mark. At least for a little while. However, Taki doesn't escape the it's poison for long. It takes the passing of those vivid thoughts from days ago before the commander can manage to realize what Klaus has said. Called him, more accurately.

It's a double-edged sword which rakes through flesh and bone, leaving behind the kind of invisible ache which only a familiar wound can. Enough that maybe the bite of a well-landed hit would have risen to mind as his first reaction. But not now. Not while Klaus baits him to retaliate in precisely that way.

He retaliates without hesitation; giving nothing but a gradual tilt of chin to suggest his defiance. Showing this is, indeed, a counterattack. ]

...I have yet to hear anything which sounds remotely near to that nature.

[ Even the word Love is no exception when it's spat out like a curse. The nature of it's delivery? Well, that leaves it fair game to become excluded from any right to be called an 'endearment'. Besides, isn't it a term better left for use by those who rightfully declare themselves lovers? ]

Striking you for something you haven't said would be pointless.

[ As hits go, Taki can pride a strong one. His head tilts slightly to the right, a soiled smirk blooming when he nods once - touché.

But there are ways - a little crude and rash and cunning - to jolt Taki out of his comfort zone. And sometimes he doesn't mind resorting to dirty weapons that find his lover susceptible.

His voice comes down to a drawled whisper. ]

Suppose I don't mind your hand on me. The weight's good, the skin's smooth. Nice and easy. Clean, strong strokes. You know what to do with it.

[ A measuring glance. ]

...when you discipline. Sir.

[ Nothing could prepare him for this decisive strike. The outright declaration of satisfaction Klaus harbors over breaking Taki enough for him to lash out- it's cruel, but not the cause of his shock. But the sheer and unabashed vulgarity of every spoken word, framing the message itself? Their bare and unmasked implications do.

So instead of words Taki just makes a choking sound- struggling on his own air. He spends too long trapped there. Half a heartbeat, caught, as uttered words turn into unconscious, instantaneous visualization and then flesh and blood recollection. Finally shame. ]

...

[ No. Anger. Because his nose doesn't deserve to be rubbed in that. It's enough to allow himself to break for it. To let roles reverse; handing over the reigns in exchange for the proverbial leash Klaus bears so well. Taki tears off his title for it. His history, and pride- all for submitting himself to moments of such broken will that he surely knows what a damned man feels like. But stomaching this imposed humiliation after it ends? He refuses that. ]

I won't stand here and listen to this trash if that's all you have to say.

[ Unafraid. Burning with rage. He meets Klaus' gaze without a second thought. Close enough to reach out- to land a blow equal to these scathing words; but he refrains. ]

[ Anger's good. Anger's got meaning. Anger reduces them to sharing a level of sheer and utter misery, and anger with him implies Taki's looking at him. Only. At him. ]

Surprised you heard that.

[ There's a cigarette out. Lit. A few drags follow. He'll enjoy them. Tobacco and Taki Reizen's single-minded attention. Fucking sweet..

His mind's going cold. Objective. Rational. There's only one standing truth in this mess of a situation, and it's at times like this that it shows its head most. ]

...say. You're beautiful.

[ His hand is out before Klaus can relish his small reprieve for very long. Fingers unintentionally touch the other man's lips as they press close- plucking away the lit cigarette before flicking it hatefully onto the earth below. The little red flame is extinguished under a boot with one fluid motion. ]

You may not be an idiot- but you certainly seem to enjoy acting like one when it suits you.

[ He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand slowly, as if somehow Taki's unrelenting fragrance can transfer to more parts, to the whole of him.

Afterwards, daring impunity is no more than an act of routine: he picks out another cigarette carefully, brings it up for lighting - then seems to consider, freezing with it hanging limply in his mouth. Looks up. Maybe sighs in resignation. ]

You're serious about the cigarette ban?

[ Rinse. Repeat. Taki's arm goes out again, albeit with a little less zeal than before. Almost carefully this time, with more understanding, he reaches to perform the same action as before. Cigarettes seem a little less abhorrent when they aren't lit like a fuse. ]

You're only now beginning to understand that?

[ The words are quiet in level and smooth in the place of sharp, reprimanding intonation. He knows this imposed rule is stealing something important away from the other man. Taki is selfish; that much is known well and good. He won't pretend otherwise. Neither will he balk about this. ]

[ He gives the decision a moment to set in, before the pack is returned to its (not so) humble abode in Klaus' inner pocket. ]

A man can hold hope.

[ His head shakes slowly, golden hairs in the way - he peels stuck threads one by one off his forehead. Haircut. He'll need to see a fellow with clippers about a bloody haircut. How damnably - domestic. ]

All right. No cigarettes. Anything else the commander would like to prohibit me, while we're on that matter?

[ Taki could add to that which is prohibited; make a whole and proper list out of it. But he's stripped Klaus of enough for one day. The conversation they'd had just days ago remains very clear- vices to him are moral to men like Klaus. They keep such men afloat. And the last thing Taki wants to do is shove this man's head under the water, or watch him drown. ]

The cigarettes are enough.

[ So, as much as it remains a pitiably poor exchange- Taki tries to offer something else to keep Klaus' head above water. Some touch of humanity which he's so often denied. ]

You won't be able to trim it decently with your shoulder, and I imagine barbering is the last thing on anyone's mind right now.

[ Small talk. Excuses. Frivolous little reasons to permit a reason for why Taki's hand changes course and wipes away the remaining bits of Klaus' bangs still persistently clinging to his skin. ]

Still..I can cut it.

[ A peace offering; even if peculiar. He may be a particular type of nobility among his people- but getting hands dirty or completing tasks like this for siblings or himself are more than possible. ]

[ He leans into the fleeting touch, ever the pet whose itch has finally been scratched -

Then withdraws simply. ]

Don't think it'd be wise for you to go touching the dog so much.

[ No bitterness there, no small reproaches. He makes no self-delusions about his own control, the lack thereof, the well-nigh-tragedy where last that took them. His promise. His promise that could so easily break, because damn Taki and damn his eyes and damn his hands. (And kiss all three). ]

Might be he's got fleas.

[ He wonders, fleetingly, if such bespoken desperate times allow for little more than the absolutes of all or nothing. No exceptions. No grey middle ground. Just the harshest black and white of every scenario. Once friends, lovers, now instead they only don the roles which pit them against one another. Bickering or not speaking at all, tearing one another apart or never bridging the gap to touch.

The endless push and pull makes Taki nauseous. Hits him in the gut and roots itself there like he's a man who just can't find his footing. His hand swings away, falls without the effort of grace, as if it knew all along that it's aim was futile. ]

I've been bitten by worse things.

[ These are the times when Klaus' good eyes betray them both.

He can pretend not to see arrogance, relish in Taki's anger, treasure his smiles. But he can't for the life, and likely the early death of him take a Taki who seems defeated.

He covers the distance between them in the only way gestures of mad extravagance can be executed: fast step, confident, no ado about anything. Never mind this will cost him a kick in the shin, or a slap against his face, or his liquor along with his cigarettes. He captures - there's no room in their lives for something sweet like an embrace - Taki in his arms, holds tightly. Tighter. ]

I'll tear him apart for you, if one snaps at your fingers again. How's that?

[ There's no need to resort to violence, retribution, petty revenge. But only because Taki is far more greedy than he would ever openly admit. The lucky fact that he isn't the one to close that expanse of space? It doesn't forgive him from being just as guilty of wanting to. Perhaps, in the honest end, his blame would stretch out ten times more so than Klaus' own. After all, its his fault. For trying to orchestrate- in every way which refuses to be honest and straightforward about it's intentions, exactly this. Contact. Forbidden proximity. Communication. Something which isn't throwing the pair across the endless divide that is separation. Even before that, his every machination has been to pull Klaus into the inner circle of his world, to trap and hold him captive beside Taki. Using the other man's own feet to carry him there. ]

...

[ He shouldn't let those arms go around him. He hasn't earned the right for this; stealing another piece of this man away. But Taki will, in the face of everything, still take it. Hold on. No matter that his hands remain fists, clutching not for the sake of rage but to steel himself- to remind that he can give nothing grander than the act acceptance. He can keep this moment. And breathe. ]

Alright.

[ Heaven help him if he moves. If he breathes too quickly. Because even too many words seem like a danger to disrupt whatever compels arms to encircle Taki and wrap him up in the center of their hold. One tight and close enough to the other man that he forces eyes to shut just so they don't deceive him over the reality of the precious few seconds this may last. ]

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