dear_mun | (no subject)

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canon: maiden rose

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There's no shame in an individual deferring to his duties above all else. Everyone harbors responsibilities of his own; so I fail to think an explanation on your abscence would fall on deaf ears.

Yes, incessant excuses can bestow the wrong assumption. And it's true they might even turn the conversation stale. Even still- keep in mind that they are, at the very least, a reply.

Refraining from any return of words remains a response in of itself. One which carries a weight of meaning equal to anything spoken.

Remember that, next time someone is waiting on the other end and you decide postponing action until it suits you best.

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[ 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. ]

[ The hold reaps a secondary advantage, Klaus' arms coming down to pat Taki's sides, first tentatively, then pressing: first the other man's arms, then his waist, the flat expanse of his stomach, the back and chest. Tenuous touches, lingering no more than to see that the man hasn't taken a wound he is far too proud to acknowledge. After all, now that Klaus is denied voyeuristic access to it, Taki's body has become something of a mystery to him.

All throughout, he doesn't dare to let go. ]

Tell me you're untouched. [ In any way; every way. He keeps it to business. ] If you're injured, I'll need to know which area you favour for when I guard you.

[ Taki's no longer naive enough to misread the nature of the fleeting, quizzical touch. Maybe long ago he'd have judged it to be something else- guessed that those hands were more demanding than searching. But he no longer wears the blinders of innocent misconception. Taki's mind, the rest of him, knows the difference between this and something else. Therefore it's forgiven. Acceptable. Or so he tells himself. ]

Of course.

[ Because there's no reason to lash out or struggle Taki ignores that his gut instinct tells him it's enough to be condemnable for. Far more than enough to make him feel. Maybe not due to it's purpose but by the act of touch alone. Maybe sometimes the intention doesn't matter so much as the fact. The very real and tangible fact of equal parts guilt and his own far from altruistic feelings were battling each other for favor behind shut eyes. He doesn't want this to end. Couldn't care less about being set free from the touch. He even refuses to muster even an ounce of concern for whatever bumps and bruises he'd suffered along the way. Everything else outside the circle of these arms cradling him close? It was all of no consequence. ]

Klaus. It's fine.

[ A shake of his head remains faint enough that even Taki finds himself unsure as to whether or not he'd succumb to the pitiful gesture of uncertainty. It does nothing to clear jumbled thoughts, however. Everything remains in tatters, wafted in the scent of gunpowder, the musty weight of tobacco and the smell of the other man which was just a frighteningly familiar as it was foreign- new again after so long. ]

...You're the one who was injured.

[ He hangs his arms around Taki firmly, once finally convinced, encasing the other man rigidly. Lips hover over the top of that dark hair, finally press in. ]

I'm also the one who's seen a surgeon. God knows what you did while I was out cold. Probably waited the bleeding out.

[ Probably hurt. Probably laughed at the hurt. Probably pretended there was no hurt. 'Probable' and 'hurt' and 'Taki' shouldn't coexist semantically. ]

Typical.

[ When the world stands still as it had that day- pain is an insignificant secondary annoyance; the soft buzzing of gnat one can't waste time even searching for to silence. Nothing is irrevocably damaged. Taki can function, perform his duties and bury away the grainy images of a night where he'd been certain everything he needed, desired and kept dear had been stolen from his hands. He doesn't want to think about it.

Yet, sometimes dwelling is the only definite route a person can take when they want the wounds to knit with scar tissue and blend, best they can, with the rest of the old wounds. So maybe that explains why his hands have a mind of their own. How fingers end up hovering over the expanse of Klaus' chest where bullet wounds had nearly hit their mark. He remembers the bruises precious few people get when those shots, by some miracle, are rebuked.

And the shoulder. Another badge of honor Klaus wore without complaint. One thanks to Taki. Because dragging him into this living nightmare was the first toss of the die with Klaus' life. Chancing his survival for the sake of things not even cordial as these moments. He'd risked Klaus' future for such meager nothings. He would continue to do so. ]

Unlike some, I don't always have the luxury of time to be examined.

[ No. There are always more important things. Like watching Klaus' breathing while he's gone to the waking world- all thanks to blood loss or a concussion. These things are necessary: counting every inhale and exhale between the rise of chest or warmth from lips to make certain there are no pauses and all is even. Making certain he doesn't thrash about and tear open wounds or even undo stitches and bindings meant to aid in the healing process. Being there. Because the thought of stepping away drove him mad. Only for the belief that Klaus' spirit would surely decide, while it's master's back is turned, that a perfect getaway was prime in that instant. ]

Regardless of that. Your hands don't lie, do they?

[ He'll turn Klaus' own venture over his form against the other man; claim that it's proof enough that there remained nothing to be discovered in the way of injury. So what sense did he have to bluster about it?

It's defensive and sharp in all the ways it doesn't need to. Prideful. Because some part of Taki has to rebel. If only so that other parts of him, weak and susceptible, may pretend to turn a blind eye to the simple issue that he remains held, without interruption or dispute- willingly.

Taki's words can cloak his blatant betrayal to everything; as arms give reason to gravitate towards Klaus himself, and the lips upon the top of head excuse his own murmuring into the space of a shoulder that isn't his. Then those hands? Shameless they remain on Klaus. Feeling every reassuring rise of that strong chest- a undeniable reminder that this is real. ]

As I said before- I'm alright.

[ He flinches, at first, half-wondering how safe that smallest secret is: the needles and the substance and the marks they've left behind.

Then he withstands scrutiny with something close to methodical discipline, control - his sister did this, when she'd had to give him his bath as an infant; his supervising officers, when carrying out inspection; the camp surgeon, when performing examinations -

Cold anger seeps in. And now his lover does this, when life gives them no other opportunity.

This is more than Klaus has hoped for, less than Taki deserves. He wants the distance between them alive and material, so he can rip it apart with his bare hands. ]

...sorry.

[ Add a lie to the invisible count, as he makes to capture Taki's wrists, then his lips with his own - ]

Won't happen again.

[ - and another. ]

[ He doesn't understand the trigger which sets Klaus into motion. So for the life of him Taki can't piece together whether the culprit is what been uttered, how his hands have touched or if such close proximity throws off the complacent serenity of holding one another. Maybe all of it. Possibly none.

Klaus might as well speak in Greek or tongues for all that Taki can comprehend. He's a reaction set off at every moment by a catlyst Taki knows he alone hands over- but what exactly? That's the trick. The punch line of the running gag that is their tortured lives. No one does much explaining here. There's no room for it amongst the charade of accusations and avoidance.

So when there's movement and steady contact merges into grasping restraint he hasn't a clue as to why. Yet what follows- every ounce of his being can suspect. Enough to carefully step backwards and hide features off to the side with a turn of his head. It doesn't matter that arms, locked in the vice of Klaus' iron-tight grip, keep him hostage. Or that Klaus could merely lean in to compensate and realign their mouths to meet. This isn't an escape. There's no way to run; nor the wish to either. ]

..What are you doing?

[ It's obvious. The question is pointless. Then he's back in his room at the academy, or on that fateful train-ride home. It doesn't matter the time or location, because it's always this same place. Klaus is a force barring down upon him, entreating Taki towards distraction and every dishonest step he's made towards that same man. All the while Klaus has the audacity to even ask if this is a one-sided venture. As if he can't see clear as day, now just as always, that even the force of his heavy breath, terribly close and warm as it washes over a bare cheek, is enough for Taki to forget himself over. The other man may have to bring him here, pushing and dragging with words spat between them. But afterwards?

It's shameful, to what degree his world, heart, Taki's very soul stills- waiting for Klaus to call Checkmate. To pull him a little bit farther in to a place he cannot seek out of his own will. ]

[ If it were any other cause, any other man, any other day, maybe one rejection would be too many. Sadly (fortunately), he never learned that lesson. Skipped - slept through one too many classes in strategy. That's enough, somehow, to raise a smile even under the circumstances.

What a pain, this man, this Taki Reizen. What an unnecessarily complicated person. Klaus could have married. Could have sired children. Could have perpetuated a domestic existence somewhere in the countryside. Things could have been -

...meaningless without this person. Strangely, he doesn't try again, only holds Taki tighter - here. He's here. That's enough. ]

Breaking my word.

[ Warm whisper in a defenseless ear. ]

Let me.

How can I?

[ ..Stop you? Act like I don't want this? He asks partial questions, feigning the sort of innocence real refusal stems from. How much of their life, this passionate dance of 'chase and be chased', had been a show? How much of the real Taki Reizen did Klaus get to study and steal forbidden glances of before he was locked up tight below a mask that spoke the words 'Don't' and 'No'. Lies, straight from the thin lips Klaus so often sought out.

A mouth that is bitten with it's own teeth, skin tucked neatly inward so that it may be shielded. Ushered away from a fate of daring to let slip a single sound nor tremble helplessly. Taki can't allow himself to openly expose what this does to him, what it's like when words breathe themselves into being against the shell of an ear.

When he was young people had always touted the power of a kiss. He'd seen it's allure secondhand behind cracked doors or in darkened corridors when no one was supposed to be looking; Places which always left room for a child's curious eyes. With only a basic understanding of romance he'd assumed that kisses and the act of intimacy itself were the summit of such entanglements. Imagine his shock to learn of everything in between. To encounter the incomparable power it had; one which rivaled the intensity of it's simpler and better known brethren.

Klaus had taught him this. How no one needed the direct nature of locked lips to command another to their knees and stir their very soul to move. Every otherwise innocent feature pressed to any inch of skin could be equally devastating; if not more so if one was creative.

It seems it's a lesson he gets to relearn from scratch. One where the principle teachings persist whether or not eyes shut out the teacher and lips catch themselves as captives- denying the change to betray the effectiveness of what's being learned. ]

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