[Hands don't move from their hold on the Traveler's kimono, gripping tight near the collar as though the other man might try to move away, though the Harbinger knows that isn't the case. Not with how Aether's hand wraps around him, as one finds its way to his hair, and he meets him clearly driven by the same compulsion.
Scaramouche knows somewhere in his mind that this was no more than the tampering of magic, in much the same way the truths were. That he ought to be cautious as the man he was holding onto so tightly was not someone to be in such a vulnerable position with. The thought tugs at him and yet his mind is overcome with too much want to pay it any heed. Too busy pushing against the gentleness, a thrum of electricity dancing against his fingertips, but never broaching fabric. Of finally biting down on a lower lip, all aggression intent on breaking skin. The thought of making the Traveler bleed only spurring him on into a more bruising kiss.
And it feels as though the kiss lasts far too long and yet not nearly long enough, when the haze clears enough for him to pull back, though his grip doesn't loosen. Colour creeps up his face to his ears, as the Sixth tries to fully catch up with what's happened, recognizes that it's something he would do again despite the risks - something he's positive must be the impulse not fully faded. And from the corner of his eye he can see a few tiny fireflies fluttering about, twinkling like stars.
It's in this moment he realizes one thing quite clearly.
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Scaramouche knows somewhere in his mind that this was no more than the tampering of magic, in much the same way the truths were. That he ought to be cautious as the man he was holding onto so tightly was not someone to be in such a vulnerable position with. The thought tugs at him and yet his mind is overcome with too much want to pay it any heed. Too busy pushing against the gentleness, a thrum of electricity dancing against his fingertips, but never broaching fabric. Of finally biting down on a lower lip, all aggression intent on breaking skin. The thought of making the Traveler bleed only spurring him on into a more bruising kiss.
And it feels as though the kiss lasts far too long and yet not nearly long enough, when the haze clears enough for him to pull back, though his grip doesn't loosen. Colour creeps up his face to his ears, as the Sixth tries to fully catch up with what's happened, recognizes that it's something he would do again despite the risks - something he's positive must be the impulse not fully faded. And from the corner of his eye he can see a few tiny fireflies fluttering about, twinkling like stars.
It's in this moment he realizes one thing quite clearly.
He can't stand Kizuna.]