[Guanshan scarcely knows what it's like to be on the receiving end of those things, even when a boy who had never said it but proved it had put his own energy and connection into sheltering him, both under his fists and his jacket still warm with body heat; Hasebe coiling around him is so similar that he can't help but wonder if he's offering warmth or taking it]
[is he a snake? is he cold metal, or is he the man behind him? is he both? he doesn't know]
["intoxicating" is a good word for it, though; this man, who he's offered so little and been given so much in return -- he wants to please him, feels the pressure of it weigh between shoulder blades, in the heft of the blade in his hands, despite his skepticism concerning his promise]
[he says nothing, just continues with the wordless stoicism Hasebe's come to know from him when it really matters, not asking for permission this time as he has so many times before when he dips his head down and, with his nose bumping almost cutely against the bloodguard, presses a kiss to the collar of the blade holstering it towards the hilt]
[the touch trails across cold steel, keeping close to the blunt mune, and lips part once they find the dip of a blood groove, hesitating...]
[before a warm, wet tongue lashes out to strike across it a single time, waiting for a -- hopefully -- favorable reaction]
no subject
[someone whose life he'd guard]
[Guanshan scarcely knows what it's like to be on the receiving end of those things, even when a boy who had never said it but proved it had put his own energy and connection into sheltering him, both under his fists and his jacket still warm with body heat; Hasebe coiling around him is so similar that he can't help but wonder if he's offering warmth or taking it]
[is he a snake? is he cold metal, or is he the man behind him? is he both? he doesn't know]
["intoxicating" is a good word for it, though; this man, who he's offered so little and been given so much in return -- he wants to please him, feels the pressure of it weigh between shoulder blades, in the heft of the blade in his hands, despite his skepticism concerning his promise]
[he says nothing, just continues with the wordless stoicism Hasebe's come to know from him when it really matters, not asking for permission this time as he has so many times before when he dips his head down and, with his nose bumping almost cutely against the bloodguard, presses a kiss to the collar of the blade holstering it towards the hilt]
[the touch trails across cold steel, keeping close to the blunt mune, and lips part once they find the dip of a blood groove, hesitating...]
[before a warm, wet tongue lashes out to strike across it a single time, waiting for a -- hopefully -- favorable reaction]