[He licks the crimson from his lips and cares nothing for the way he heats up, the way his insides twist with familiarity. How beloved is this treatment? How generous to humor Hasebe's needs and desires. The word more comes to mind as he traces the fingertip with his tongue, then withdraws. Let Guanshan brand anything he wants in here with a brush of blood drawn by the kindest of cuts. His small, temporary claims are Hasebe's favorite thing in this place, though the courage to admit that is hard to find. This isn't war or friendship. It's an arrangement Hasebe doesn't get to analyze or ponder overly much for fear of losing it.]

It feels like a hand laying on my back. The bracing touch of a companion whose life I'd guard with my own. [With a murmur, he clarifies, and settles his free hand on the side of Guanshan's neck.] As one would anyone who bore them as a weapon. My integrity is yours, and my victory as well. [He lets it trail down to the younger man's chest, fingers lightly curved, lips close to skin.] It feels like... energy. Connection. It's intoxicating.

[He's a tool, when he's taken in hand, obedient and subservient and intimately joined with every action of his bearer, and every aspect of their will. This is no different.]