[The immortal chases each kiss as though it will be their last, knuckles white from how tightly he's holding the kimono, abandoning all thought to simply experience the moment for what it was. The gentle way Kazuha touches him, smiles against him. It feels like an eternity before the urgency behind his actions begins to fade, the samurai's response beginning to sink in. As Scaramouche realizes that he's yet to be pushed away, no signs of regret, no indication that this was a mistake.
He places a kiss to the samurai's jaw, light, gentle, before he pulls back in attempts to process everything. What he's just done, everything Kazuha had done for him. There's a thrill behind it all, muddled in with the fear. Scaramouche finds himself wanting to simply kiss him again, eyes looking over just how dishevelled the fall had made him, all their work so easily swept aside. He can't imagine he looks much better, laying with the other Inazuman in the dirt.
Finally the immortal lets go, fingers instead finding some loose strands of Kazuha's hair that had pulled free, twirling them as a soft smile spreads across his face.]
Why is it that even when you dress up, you can't keep from making yourself a mess.
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He places a kiss to the samurai's jaw, light, gentle, before he pulls back in attempts to process everything. What he's just done, everything Kazuha had done for him. There's a thrill behind it all, muddled in with the fear. Scaramouche finds himself wanting to simply kiss him again, eyes looking over just how dishevelled the fall had made him, all their work so easily swept aside. He can't imagine he looks much better, laying with the other Inazuman in the dirt.
Finally the immortal lets go, fingers instead finding some loose strands of Kazuha's hair that had pulled free, twirling them as a soft smile spreads across his face.]
Why is it that even when you dress up, you can't keep from making yourself a mess.