jikan_rpg | [closed] come home with me

Entry tags:

[closed] come home with me

⌛ Who: Scaramouche & Kazuha
⌛ What: Plum blossom date
⌛ When: Early February
⌛ Where: Wakayama
⌛ Warnings: Smooches finally, Smol naked idiots

[It's become commonplace for Scaramouche to find himself over at Kazuha's home, ever since the samurai had gotten one of his own. His visits so frequent, often spending the night, that he's begun leaving things there - no reason to carry them back and forth even if teleportation was something he was capable of. Given what had happened the past month sleeping isn't something he often allows himself when he does end up staying, though Kazuha has managed to get him to do so a few times. The concern of what would happen if he had another nightmare far too present in his thoughts most nights.

So when Kazuha asks him to visit he thinks nothing of it, the request to bring more makeup than what he had laying around the man's home only garnering slight suspicion. Not once since he's known the other Inazuman has he ever seen him wear any, so for the samurai to suddenly ask is odd. Perhaps he was going somewhere later in the day? The Harbinger can't think of much reason past that, though he can't see much reason why the man would suddenly need to wear any to begin with.

For once when he arrives at the small village in Wakayama he doesn't immediately busy himself with climbing the tree in Kazuha's yard to enter through the window. For once he knocks like a normal person, waits patiently for Kazuha to open the door and let him inside. The neighbours are likely staring from that fact alone, though he doesn't bother looking back to see.

He takes a moment to slip his zori off, before turning pointedly towards the samurai. Hair recently cut, drawing all the more attention to the gaze he has fixed on the samurai.]

Since when do you wear makeup?

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Hmm, I'm not sure which would be better...

[The thought of Scaramouche divining his alone activities was maybe just as flustering as the thought of him just stumbling in upon it. What if he was being particularly noisy? Not that he frequently is. At the very least the other man made it clear that things not involving himself are muddied, and such he rests easy on thoughts of other matter sof his private life.

He is maybe a bit too concerned about this. It's probably just his nerves, trying to find something to fixate on rather than the imminent future and just choosing the worst thing to fixate on. Scaramouche's returned squeeze is comforting at least, the samurai reflexively giving him a smile.]

He seems a bit insecure, so I want him to know how special he is to me. Though, hehe, yes I could probably write poetry about his looks.

[He might be a little embarrassed later, but he can't help the underhanded flirting.]

It would stop me from walking in on you when you're otherwise occupied. You'd never even know. I could go gossip with your neighbours while I wait.

[Would he actually go attempt to strike up conversation with the bakeneko? Perhaps if he did actually see that Kazuha was busy and waiting around proved to be boring enough, though he's just as likely to wander in regardless. Comfortable enough around the other Inazuman that Scaramouche doubts it would bother or embarrass him. Nothing he hasn't seen in his life before.

The samurai is dropping more clues yet nothing he says seems to indicate one person or another. If anything it makes it all the more difficult to determine which friend is the one he wishes to court, the immortal not knowing anyone well enough to make use of the hints given. Insecure however seems a rather weak choice in partner, yet is hardly surprising given the nature he's come to know of Kazuha.]

You could write poetry about anything. In fact I'm quite certain you already do, given what I've had to listen to.

[There's no sign of irritation as he says it, more amusement as he returns the smile, soft and small, but there if Kazuha cared to notice it. The immortal leans his shoulder against the samurai's, thinking back on the things he's been forced to listen to as he's come to know the man.]

It wouldn't surprise me to hear you go on about something as simple as what you had for dinner.

With the way you phrase things, that's not quite a comfort...

[Sometimes things come out of the Balladeer's mouth that make Kazuha pause on spot, staring him down. There's a certain suggestiveness at times to his choices of wording that always make him wonder if it's on purpose or if he just is that careless with his words. He's less worried about Scaramouche gossiping about his private affairs than he is about accidentally implying something.

He looks at him, drinking in the sight of that small smile for a moment, even if he should be making a witty comeback to the teasing. The samurai loves it when he smiles— these soft, genuine little things warm his heart and makes his chest ache at the same time, anxiety about the future sitting heavy on his chest. It's easy to be distracted...

The pale haired man hums after a moment, looking out at the scenery.]

If I had a particularly good meal, is it not worthy of praise?

What is wrong with the way I phrase things?

[There's nothing he can see wrong with what he's said, no unintentional meanings he can find going over the words again in his head. It's possible he's missing something, but he's confident enough to say that he's said nothing he didn't intend. If Kazuha was occupied then he may see out conversation elsewhere and if he used the magic he had learned he could determine if the samurai was busy or not.

Nothing of issue there.

The immortal shrugs against the samurai's shoulder, it's not his place to say whether Kazuha should be allowed to praise his meals or not. The poetry is something he's come to have grown accustomed to, though he does think that sometimes the man talks too much. It's not something Scaramouche feels the need to stop him from doing when around him, even if for something like food he would never do the same.]

I wouldn't go so far as to write poetry about it.

You know what is. I've said it before. Sometimes you just... say things in ways that are slightly filthy.

[Really, who taught him to speak like this? That and the occasional swearing and his mouth was utterly filthy. It was startling hearing those things come from such a beautiful, almost innocent looking person at times.

Of course Kazuha finds no issue with the idea of finding inspiration anywhere and everywhere he can. If inspiration strikes, why not go with it? That's likely why he has so many half finished poems or just lines that flow well but go to nowhere stuffed in his home and traveling pack all the time. He only offers Scaramouche a little chuckle.

The smell of plum blossoms is thick in the air.

The samurai perks visibly, hurrying his step just a bit. It's both to get it over with and because he is, actually, rather excited to see the the trees and see what the other man thinks of the scenery. They're forced to climb a stone staircase, overgrown in parts with wild grass that'll likely flower in the later spring, and once they get to the top they overlook hills of plum blossoms.]

Ah, here we are.

[He's nervous, but he looks over at Scaramouche, rubbing the back of his hand gently.]

They're lovely, aren't they?

None of the things I say are filthy. You imagine things, Kazuha.

[It's something he's been told by more than just the samurai, a memory from the Gala particularly standing out in his mind, though not something he believes despite the evidence. People simply misunderstood his words, hardly fault of his own. There's been nothing he's said today that could be taken the wrong way.

While the immortal's sense of smell is nowhere near that of the samurai's, he smells the blossoms before he sees them, the sheer amount of trees overwhelming anything else that could be in the area. It's a stunning sight when they step up atop the hill, one he hasn't seen in a very long time - though with its own differences to what he had come to love in Inazuma.

He allows himself some time to simply stand and take in the view, indigo looking over a sea of gentle pinks and whites. His hand tightening against the samurai's.

It's no question that the trees are his favourite, that the blossoms are something he enjoys. Scaramouche has said as much, though only once not expecting the other Inazuman to remember. Was this why Kazuha had a specific direction in mind when they left the house? It must be.]

You know this was hardly necessary. I didn't expect you to remember I liked these trees.

[The hand tightening around his own seems like a good sign. He wonders if the other Inazuman is getting closer to figuring out that these preparations — the things he has planned — are all for him. While they stand together in silence, even Kazuha allows himself the time to enjoy the sight.

The smell of the blossoms on the gentle breeze, of clear hillside air, help relax him as he breathes in deep, his eyes briefly fluttering closed. He listens to the wind in the branches, committing everything to memory.]

I don't forget these things.

[Kazuha opens his eyes, looking over at Scaramouche fondly before he gently leads him a little bit further into the span of trees. His steps are careful on the hillside, slow as to not trip or fall as they approach the trees.

The blossoms are new, just beginning to open, a pink across the countryside. It's a stark contrast to the colors chosen for their clothing, though Kazuha thinks it only enhances the immortal's beauty. Against all the soft colors, Scaramouche looks like a raven in the trees.]

When I noticed the naked ume trees, I knew at once I wanted to bring you here when they were in bloom. Though even these flowers pale in comparison to the flower at my side.

[The Harbinger's assumptions are correct, that Kazuha had wished for them to come here when he requested their walk, that he planned to bring them to the trees he found beauty in. Even as friends he doesn't expect much, for the samurai to wish to know such simple things and to remember them, for him to want to do things involving his likes. Scaramouche would never asked for as much, content to spend their time studying, drinking or going out for food on occasion.

It twists something unrecognizable inside him, foolish over something so small. The mortal offering up something so simple as looking at the trees he liked, regardless if he'd done the same months ago.]

It's not something important, you didn't need to, though I appreciate it all the same. I didn't realize your home was so close to them.

[A small smile settles on his face as he looks out at it all, allowing Kazuha to lead them further into the trees, so entranced with their surroundings that it takes a moment for him to register what the samurai is saying. A moment more for a blush to creep up to his ears, positive he's misunderstanding things. Is Kazuha calling him beautiful?

Certainly he's hearing things.]

...What?

[Everything is suddenly in motion. Kazuha feels the pull, the momentum started by their arrival to the sea of plum trees. He can't stop it now, can't slow down, now that he's started. This is what he's been preparing for— yet his cheeks grow rosy and his heart slams against the cage of his ribs like a wild animal thrashing for freedom. He feels dizzy, almost detached, his eyes glued on the man next to him.

He moves, clasping his hand around the one already entwined with the other man's, holding it with both hands now. Standing beneath the branches of the tree, he could almost blend in, the pale flowers blending with his hair. The stars are numerous— the ocean of emotion he's holding back manifesting in kizuna, dotting across his hair like a white galaxy.]

I thought when we met that my thievery would be the only such transgression between us. Alas, I could not predict that in the end, it would be my heart stolen.

[Kazuha doesn't know how to put things simply because the way that he feels about the immortal moves him to speak it with poetry. Simply stating his desire seemed inadequate to convey that he's been feeling. His hands are shaking slightly, a light tremble against Scaramouche's hand.

He dips closer. Should he ask to kiss him? Should he just do it? Beneath the veil of his lashes, Kazuha looks along the doll's delicate jaw. His skin is like porcelain, flawless and white. He wants to tip his head up, put a bruise along the perfect flesh.]

I do this for you.

[The samurai seems almost nervous, moving to hold his hand tighter with both hands, the colour that Scaramouche can see filling out his face. His own mind working as fast as it can just trying to keep up with what's unfolding before him. It's difficult, attempting to make any sort of sense to it, the way their bond feels so warm, more stars than he thought possible scattered across a sea of white.

Words spill forth, on how he's stolen the samurai's heart and he almost laughs nervously, biting his tongue to keep from making any comment. He's not capable of such things. Kazuha is simply joking. Testing honeyed words on him for later, when he would meet with the person he was courting. No one has ever truly felt such things for him, and he doesn't expect them to. Perfect but not nearly enough to receive such emotions. Too lacking in a heart of his own - obtained Gnosis aside - to be worthy.

He can feel Kazuha shaking or perhaps it's him, he can't tell, all he knows is attempts to find words of his own come up empty. He was the one that... Kazuha did this for him? It's a terrifying thought. Terrifying that within the jumble of emotions he feels he knows there's a pang of want, terrifying as he realizes his own desires.

Despite his growing blush, the maples so plenty that they near mirror the quantity of stars, there's that telling look in the immortal's eyes. It's one Kazuha has seen plenty of times before now, that look he gets when he feels the need to remove himself from a situation, too overwhelmed - suffocating from too many emotions at once to know how to handle himself. A thunderstorm raging within him to do something, say something. Leave.

The words are a lie, they have to be. They always are. Could he really afford to trust again after he'd been abandoned time and time again? His breathing picks up, held too tightly to run, unsure of what decision he should make. What would be safe.]

[The mixture of emotion welling in him is probably stronger than any drug he's had recently. The samurai's face feels hot, his heart pounding, his chest tight. He also feels elated, like he'd just finished climbing to the summit of a tall mountain, and his ravaged body could finally begin its descent.

The way down from here seems like it's going to be rougher than he hoped.

He recognizes the look and his stomach drops to his feet, making him draw back away from him, tilting his face away. Kazuha feels almost breathless, like someone had come and stolen all the air from his lungs. He forgets to breathe, his eyes flicking across his features covered in fear. The samurai clutches his hand tighter, desperate now, terrified that he was watching it all crumble around him. Worst case scenario.]

Please don't leave.

[To be reduced to this, pleading with him to reject him gently. He thought he'd prepared for this, but he finds himself fumbling to think of what he'd chosen to say in this case. He looks downward.]

I didn't mean— I wasn't sure— I'm sorry, I was mistaken.

[He shouldn't have been so blind, so optimistic, in face of the clear lack of interest. Still, he thought to push onward anyway, to try.]

[Scaramouche doesn't mean for his reaction to hurt, too lost in his own emotions to begin to consider what the samurai may be feeling. Of his thoughts struggling against one another trying to determine if any of this is real, if Kazuha was so cruel to torment him like this. He knows, from their past interactions, with the months of time they've spent together that the samurai isn't that, he would never harm him in such a manner - always so gentle and patient with him. But it's hard to trust so fully. To be vulnerable.

The grip on his hand tightens and he knows he's reacted poorly, the look on the mortal's face, the tone of his voice as he asks him not to leave, not to run. Where such pain would be a joy to witness anywhere else, again he finds that on someone he cares for it brings only discomfort, a pain pulling at his chest and coiling tight against his throat. He can do nothing but stand there, staring back as he tries to calm the storm in his mind.

He been able to trust the Inazuman with things he's told no other, though he still keeps plenty private and to himself the samurai knows more of him than anyone else in Nippon. Nothing has been done with that knowledge, he's treated him no different, going so far as the foolishly wanting to protect him, as though he wasn't an immortal with power capable of protecting himself.

Trust is something he's afforded the man and he's only done things to nurture it, allow it to grow. He wouldn't betray him if he were to show more vulnerabilities would he? The way Kazuha looks he doesn't think he would. Doesn't think the Kazuha he's known for months would. Understanding of his life as a Harbinger, of his creation, of nearly killing him.

Scaramouche swallows a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, eyes uncertain as he searches to find his voice - quiet and shaky.]

You... did this for me.

[For his talent in being able to read people, Kazuha would trade that all right now just to be able to understand what the Harbinger was thinking at times better. He likes to think he's gotten slightly better at deciphering the thoughts running through the immortal's head, but in these tense situations he still finds him worryingly difficult to understand.

The question makes him pause, ruby meeting indigo as the other Inazuman composes himself. Kazuha aches from how tense he's holding himself, has to hold himself in order to not tremble.]

I shouldn't have deceived you.

[Another apology. He should have realized it wouldn't go well, that Scaramouche doesn't enjoy heavily emotional surprises. Maybe it was selfish of him, wanting to prepare all this. He flicks his eyes downward, tilting his head in a bow.]

I wanted the gesture to show the depths of my feelings— to be to specifications you'd enjoy. It was not out of maliciousness that I hid it from you. I've only spoken the truth today.

[He was unclear about who he was speaking of, but he's spoken things he's felt in his heart and his intentions for the day. Scaramouche can cast his judgement on him now.]

You're still important to me, even as a friend.

[Scaramouche focuses on the samurai's hold on his hand, using the feeling to ground himself, still the screaming thoughts in his mind enough to act. Everything was for him, the makeup, the fancy clothes and jewellery, the hair done up in more than a simple ponytail. Kazuha was trying to impress him, prove himself worthy of his attention and affections. All entirely unnecessary when he truly lets himself think on it, on how despite his teasing he finds the samurai to be stunning. How he desires his company so frequently that he allows things he would accept from no other.

Heart stolen, much like how the mortal had taken his, though far less literal. He doesn't want to see Kazuha upset, doesn't want to be the source of that pain, not when he can't find any lie in the words that fall. He can't read the samurai very well, but in this, in the way the other Inazuman looks right now, he thinks he understands.

The air feels thick between them as he struggles with himself to find a response, if he could permit himself something like this. It's terrifying to identify what he feels - to act. Moments pass and he realizes he doesn't wish to lose the samurai.]

You're a moron.

[And he let's himself go, allows himself to want again, grabbing hold of the fabric at Kazuha's chest with his free hand as he pulls them together with such force that he stumbles dragging them both down to the ground. As he slams their lips together hard enough to bruise. There's a certain neediness, an urgency behind the kiss, as though he craves the feeling of lips against his own - and perhaps he does, feelings not quite sorted, not fully identified.

Kisses are something he rarely partakes in, back in Teyvat and even here in Nippon. They're vulnerable, exposing too much of himself that even when being intimate he tends to avoid them. The few he's had in Nippon can mostly be attributed to magic - a compulsion creeping into his mind until he gave in. But this kiss is different, fully in control of his actions, something he was choosing for himself with no outside influences. It's like a hunger, swallowing down everything Kazuha will give him, will allow. Scaramouche kisses like he doesn't need to breathe, doesn't need to come up for air, and he doesn't. Hand tightly holding onto the samurai as though if he were to let go the man would change his mind.

The same thing that's been happening over and over in his past, feeling as though he's wanted for just a moment before reality caught up and the crushing weight of abandonment left him raw. Alone. He doesn't want that to happen again, clings so tightly spurred on by fear. Life is fleeing, how long would this last before it was ripped away like everything else, before the samurai changed his mind. Scaramouche wants everything he can get while it lasts, kissing deeply like Kazuha will be ripped away from him any moment now. Decide right after this to push him away.]

[Kazuha imagined their first kiss, should they have the opportunity, as something tender and sweet beneath the petals of the plum trees. The soft, uncertain brush of lips as he asks for silent permission, and then the chaste meeting spreading warmth in his chest. It's a very romantic daydream of his, one he'd meticulously planned for against most of his usual ways of conducting himself.

He at least got the plum tree part of this fantasy correct.

He's lucky that he doesn't get the wind knocked out of him when they tumble down, because Scaramouche steals the air from his lungs with his kiss. Hours of preparation are undone in an instant— his kimono is tugged loose, smudged with mud as he lands in the soft earth, his hair disheveled. He even loses a geta. Yet Kazuha can't find it in himself to mind, his lips curling upward in a smile as his lips press back into the kiss, stunned surprise and anxiety melting into elation.

It's not the soft and tender kiss he imagined, he might taste a little bit of blood, but it's still good. More than good, because they've never been perfect together as friends, so the little bit of hurt is rather fitting. Kazuha tempers Scaramouche's hunger, opening to his fierce kissing, but he inserts his own sweetness, his free hand raising to cup the other man's cheek. Fingers stroke over flawless skin, feeling the heat of his cheeks. This is worth it all— his loneliness fading.

The tragedy that one of them is only mortal, and if he didn't need the air that he finds such affinity with in his lungs, then he might never part from the doll's lips. Kazuha draws away only to breathe, dizzy from the lack of air and just dazed by the happenings, their lips making an audible (embarrassing) little 'smeck' as they part. He hovers close, reluctant to let Scaramouche draw back far.]

I'm open to learning.

[He can't help a teasing little smile on his face, his fingers brushing strands of Scaramouche's hair back behind his ear. He dips in, taking a kiss for himself this time— much more like how he imagined. He baits more kisses with small pecks, light and sweet against the corners of Scaramouche's lips.]

[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.

[As the kissing slows to an eventual stop, it gives the samurai's brain a moment to catch up with him. His heart beats quickly in his chest, like hummingbird wings, caught between excitement and shock. He's still a bit breathless when Scaramouche draws back, curling his fingers around his hair, and Kazuha's eyes watch his face as he just spends a moment drawing a few heavy breaths into his lungs.

Oh, he's so pretty.

Kazuha's willpower wanes again after a moment and the vagrant leans in, pressing another light kiss against the other Inazuman's lips, then another. He'd probably not stop for a while if he lets himself, so he forces himself to draw back again, his head flopping against the soft earth.]

Would you believe me if I said it wasn't my fault this time?

[A certain immortal was to blame for the mess they've made right now. Though Kazuha takes full blame for the way he places a hand on Scaramouche's hip, rolling him over so his back is flat on the earth, one of the samurai's arms caging him in as he leans over him. His smile is warm, affectionate as he looks down at him.]

I take it that the feeling is mutual.

[There's a small moment where the immortal is given the chance to simply watch as the man catches his breath, appreciate how he looks now that feelings have been laid out. Even in a less than ideal state the effort put in is more than perfect to him, fingers idly playing with the samurai's hair. This wasn't how he expected his day to go, fully prepared to help Kazuha with what he'd asked and then be on his way. Even with his hesitation, his fears, he can't find much fault with how things have currently turned out.

When the samurai decides their lips have been apart for too long Scaramouche easily reciprocates, pressing into each kiss with fervor. Was this how kissing was supposed to be? A constant desire for more, craving to be close with no concern over vulnerabilities. He can't decide if it was better or worse that he'd allowed so few in his life until now.]

That sounds like an excuse, but I'm willing to let it slide this time.

[There's a teasing tone to his voice, amusement written all over his face. Given he's more than aware as to why Kazuha's outfit no longer looks pristine, as his hair struggles to free itself from the bun. It's not something the Harbinger would outright admit to being wholly responsible for, regardless of it they both knew it.

The mortal rolls him over and he allows it without fuss, hand gently moving through his hair until it settles at the back of the man's neck. There's little way he could say that his feelings are not at the very least similar in nature.]

You're smart enough to figure that out on your own, aren't you?

[In the end, if his appearance was enjoyed still by Scaramouche, that was really all that mattered. The immortal wasn't wrong that the preparation was unlike him, how he typically cared very little about what his appearance was like as long as it was practical enough for bladework. He's fairly certain the judgement from the other was simply out of jealousy at another imagined paramour.

How silly it was for Scaramouche to think there was possibly someone else. Only his feelings for Diluc come close, but he'd made his choice clear to the nobleman just a few short weeks ago.

He stares down him quietly for just a little longer, drinking in the sight of the other man beneath him. Kazuha had spent weeks thinking about this, but his thoughts had made so many plans in case he was rejected. In the face of returned affection, he finds himself a little lost. Aimless.

It's kind of nice.]

Maybe I want to hear you say you're mine.

[His. Kazuha has never been a possessive, jealous type. His nature as a wanderer was never conductive to to it, when staying in one spot is never in his plans. Months ago, he'd jokingly teased Tartaglia that he doesn't keep 'pets' as a reference to his tendency of non-attachment, that his lifestyle isn't conductive to romance.

The mortal brushes his fingers against Scaramouche's cheek, then laughs lightly as a tiny bit of dirt smudges against his skin. The warmth of his laugh morphs into an even more joyful smile, and he leans his head down, kissing against the opposite cheek.

It's brief, and when he pulls back the expression on his face is much more teasingly flirty.]

Hmm, so, you doing anything later?

[Somehow Scaramouche finds himself content with this, laying in the dirt, simply enjoying the mere presence of someone he'd grown terrifyingly close to. It's soothing in a way and he thinks he's beginning to understand why he so often desires the samurai's company, that it involves more than just the man's importance. Kazuha's managed to carve out a hole in the wall he so often surrounds himself with, slotting out a place in his life with ease.

Nails gently graze against the samurai's neck, all of this was something the Harbinger would have never expected, would never have really allowed himself to think. Whether it will turn out of the best in the long run he doesn't know, but he finds himself wanting to try. He wants, so why shouldn't he allow himself this after all the years alone.]

Yours... You want me that much?

[Hearing those words helps place just what Kazuha wants to get from this, something more than the friendship he had so much trouble admitting to a few months ago. That the other Inazuman cares for him more than just wanting to kiss him, the mention of partners from their earlier conversation ringing in his head and burning colour into his face.

The full realization of what is being proposed settles in his mind, clear, away from the fear and excitement.]

What does that make you then?

[It's not what the samurai has asked to hear, but for now it's all he offers, allowing himself to consider a proper answer as Kazuha places a kiss to his cheek. As he smears dirt on his face and he can't even offer up more than a barely irritated huff.

This particular flirting he catches, difficult not to given the expression on the samurai's face, their current positions. Scaramouche can't help but roll his eyes at the attempt, pulling the man down again to press a soft kiss to his lips.]

My clothes are at your house. I can't go anywhere yet.

[Through time spent with the immortal, Kazuha's learned that Scaramouche is rarely direct with his speech. This should annoy him, as the samurai preferred ways of conversing that left little to interpretation, but it's just one of the things that endears Scaramouche to him now. He no longer finds it so troublesome. The question still makes him pause, his expression looking thoughtful.

Of course he wants him. He's wanted him for some time now, tormented by his feelings of desire and longing. He understands what poets and writers of older were speaking of when they wrote of wanting.

He closes his eyes briefly, just feeling the scrape of Scaramouche's fingers light on is neck. It feels good, his former anxiety almost all gone in favor of basking in the feeling of being wanted back, even if the other man hasn't said it. His actions say enough.]

The luckiest man in Nippon. [He can't help the little tease as he opens his eyes.] But hopefully, your boyfriend.

[It's a blunt way of putting it. Kazuha didn't want to leave anything unclear about what he wanted from Scaramouche. More than friends.

It's whim he decides to emphasize his affection, taking one of the doll's hands and kissing the knuckles, before he presses it into his loosened kimono against the warm beat of his heart. The thing that the samurai said had been stolen-- accurate in a way, since Kazuha had never meant to give it to someone else.]

You aren't naked, Scaramouche. You can leave any time you please. I'm not stopping you.

[Blunt works much better for the immortal, makes the job of figuring out just what Kazuha was thinking, feeling, much easier. The term is one he could have grasped on his own given everything that's been said, but hearing the samurai say it settles it more in reality.

What Kazuha desires from him is a relationship, romantic in nature.

He's already made his decision, though not yet put it to words, and Scaramouche wonders if he even should. He knows nothing of being in a relationship, knows little of if he'd even be capable of the emotions the other Inazuman would want to get out of it - he doubts he's capable of everything. Kazuha doesn't even know that he lacks a heart.

The temptation of feeling wanted is a particularly large draw, and that the trust he's placed forth hasn't been broken only further adds reason to his own wants. Though the mortal is perhaps a bit too unnecessarily sweet with his actions and words.]

Mm, trying rather hard aren't you. I suppose I could be then... Yours.

[The word comes out soft as his hand is taken, pressed up against Kazuha's chest, a mix of emotions as the Harbinger takes a moment to simply focus on the beat of the man's heart. He lacks one of his own, will possibly never have one no matter how hard he tries, so was it fair if he stole one from another? Did he even care when the samurai was offering it up willingly, even if it wouldn't be the same as having his own.

He should tell him, warn Kazuha that despite what he feels or thinks he feels he may never be able to fully give him what he wants. But he's never been so selfless, easier to just take what he wants, and he does want.]

I never said I wanted to leave. Simply that I have no intention of doing so without my clothes.

[In truth, Kazuha wasn't expecting much from Scaramouche. It was usually the best way of dealing with the doll-- to expect little, and be pleasantly surprised instead. He wasn't like most other people. Kazuha finds him irritatingly (pleasantly) unpredictable.

His. It was more than what he could ask for. The samurai's bright smile could light up a night sky. After all the tragedy that's followed him, finally he feels... he feels good.]

Ah, is that so? So if I hide your clothes like a tennyo of legend, you'd stay until you found them?

[Kazuha leans in, kissing Scaramouche hard and passionately, with a fierce hunger that nearly matches the way the other kissed him not long before. He thinks he'll never get enough of kissing him, that the doll could give him everything he has and he'd want for more of him. His fondness is like a double edged sword- as his it grows, so does his desire.

It's not his place to want to keep him. Everyone is entitled to be free and Scaramouche is maybe more free than others. He could hardly bear to clip his 'strings' and tie him down to him, just as Kazuha would despise returning to a life indoors. But... right now, he wants to keep him close by.]

[The way Kazuha smiles at him, at his agreement to the term placed to what their relationship was, what the samurai wished it to be, is something the immortal decides he wants to see more often. It instills a similar sort of enjoyment in him that the sight of fear and pain often do. Something pleasant and easily readable.

The idea of Kazuha hiding his clothes just to keep him around is endearing. A annoying gesture if the samurai ever did go through with it, but endearing all the same. To be wanted to such an extent is something he doesn't think he's ever truly experienced, doesn't know how he'll handle it over time, but for now it feels good. For now he allows himself to laugh, not concerning himself with the possibility of abandonment down the line.]

I could borrow yours, but I may have to stay until I find mine. Maples don't suit me nearly as much as they do you.

[There's more he could say on the matter, more he could tease back if he wanted, but the option is taken from him as the samurai steals another kiss from him. His hold on the man shifts as he leans up into it, all too willing to return that hunger, teeth scraping over his bottom lip.

If this was an example of just what would change between them, Scaramouche thinks he will manage fine.]

[Scaramouche is gorgeous— even the way he leans up to meet his kiss seems elegant, his neck all too pale and slender. Perfect for marking. The other's bit of roughness only seems to help seize him with the desire to do exactly that. It's with a shuddering breath when they finally part again, the samurai's lips flushed pink from the eagerness of their kissing.

He smiles at him again, but it's far more mischievous than his smile before.

He slips a hand beneath Scaramouche's head, lifting it up from the dirt, but then he slides it just slightly downward, making his back and neck arch back. Kazuha drags his tongue down the pale skin, kissing him sloppily, before he fixes his mouth down and sucks hard at it.

The samurai knows from experience that this is uncomfortable slightly. His new boyfriend will just have to forgive him for how pleased he looks when he draws back and eyes the cherry red spot he left.]

No, they don't, but red looks very good on you.

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