𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 ; 𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐚 . ◈

bizarre

                                    CW: NSFW

They don't touch again for a week and a half after that, much less bring it up in casual conversation, which makes Scaramouche a little wound-up, to put it lightly.

The image of Kazuha on his knees for him is still burned into Scaramouche's mind, the sound of Kazuha's soft little whines playing in a loop in his head, and he spends a good chunk of every day that follows re-imagining it, until he gets tired of his own hand.

When it gets to that point, he goes to find Kazuha.

The other is cleaning off his sword in one of the communal halls when Scaramouche nearly kicks down the door, and the sound of the wood rattling dangerously against its hinges makes the other occupants of the room startle like rabbits. The nameless soldiers gathered in the room look cautiously between them, their gazes going back and forth from the sheer aggression written across Scaramouche's face to the gently bowed curve of Kazuha's head.

Kazuha doesn't even look up, continuing to wipe at his blade in careful, even strokes, and Scaramouche feels something of a dangerous grin pulling at his mouth.

Wisely, the soldiers take one look at that and decide to flee.

The tension doesn't dissolve as the room empties itself out--in fact, it pitches up higher as Scaramouche takes one, two steps forwards, coming to a stop at the opposite end of the table.

"Hello," Kazuha offers, neutrally, his gaze darting upwards for a fraction of second before he resumes his task. The motion makes the collar of his kimono slide away from his neck, exposing the pale slope of unmarked flesh.

Scaramouche runs his tongue over his teeth, which suddenly itch with impatience, and his fingers nearly ache with how badly he wants to reach out.

He doesn't. Instead, he props himself up so that he sits on the edge of the table, tilts his head to examine his reflection in Kazuha's spotless blade.

"I think it's clean enough," he says, after a moment of quiet study.

Kazuha lowers his gaze, shakes his head in the most minute of motions.

"I dislike leaving my work half-finished."

"Yeah, and I don't like waiting around."

"Yet you are here."

Scaramouche grins, allows the comment to slide for all of two seconds before he reaches out in an instant, catching Kazuha's wrist in his grasp, hard enough to bruise. The other looks up at him cautiously, expectation hanging in the air between them, his skin darkening beneath Scaramouche's hold.

"Getting real comfortable, aren't you? Don't think you can get all friendly, just because we're fucking."

With his free hand, Kazuha sets his blade down, uses his trapped fingers to steady the sheath as he slides the sword back in.

"Of course."

Scaramouche tightens his grip, allows Kazuha to feel the flash of electric threat beneath his skin before he jerks the other roughly forwards, and forces their lips to meet in a bruising kiss. It's messy, more for the physical feel of it than any sort of affection, and he's surprised at how sweet Kazuha tastes--faintly of the strawberries he smells like.

Somehow, they go stumbling away from the table and up against the wall, where Scaramouche breaks away for long enough to hear Kazuha speak, the calm of his voice strained with breathless want.

"We shouldn't...not here," he murmurs, and Scaramouche ignores this at first in favor of shoving Kazuha harder against the wall, jerking down the fabric of the other's scarf to bite a firm mark into his neck.