Ever since the events of Mifunashiro, the Collector found himself more or less alone in Asakusa. The streets had emptied, but he couldn't complain much - he liked the freedom to be himself, to wander in the sands looking for anything that caught his interest without enduring every other manikin warning him about the dangerous world outside. Of course he knew about the dangers of the outside world! Why else would he go through so many bells? He knew better than to fight, was agile enough to run whenever he was caught by surprise, and all in all, it was worth the risk to spend a bit of time and a lot of luck searching for goods to stock his store with. Time, effort and luck were all anyone needed to find treasures in the sand.
Still, it was something of a surprise when he fell down the side of a sand dune and found himself at Futomimi's feet - something that wouldn't have been quite so surprising were it not for his last having seen his leader with most of his skull missing.
Guess the Hitoshura really did have a knack for making the impossible happen.
.
"I had to bring him back," Naoki broke his characteristic silence to murmur outside the fountain of healing, and while the Collector could see the dual layers of meaning he still thought there was something cruel in bringing Futomimi back to Asakusa, even for a much-needed rest looking at the state of the party.
Futomimi had nothing to say about being brought back to the home he couldn't save and had died fighting for, but the silence meant nothing. The Collector watched Futomimi, knew his leader well enough to know when he was tense, and couldn't shift the desire to ease that pain. Most people wrote him off for not quite being as sharp-witted or smart as them, but one thing he did have going for him was observation; he knew how Dante settled Naoki's nerves, had seen the two in private, and it seemed simple enough.
.
Futomimi seemed fit to jump out of his skin when the Collector initially laid hands on his shoulders and dug in his fingers. Fair enough that he should seem startled, given most of his recent experiences of touch would have been through battle, but he settled quickly enough on realising who had snuck up on him (even if there hadn't been much sneaking involved at all).
"What are you doing here?" asked Futomimi, shoulders tense but not flinching as the Collector rubbed them, wondering how exactly this had worked for Dante and Naoki.
"I figured you were upset, and I saw Dante doing this to the demi-fiend..."
"That is not what I meant," Futomimi explained, still stiff as when the Collector had started, so shifting the grip of his fingers up towards his leader's neck didn't seem so strange an idea. "How could you stay here?"
"There's always something to find," mused the Collector, giving up on the squeezing and moving to sit at Futomimi's side instead, letting his fingers trail along his leader's neck in what might have seemed like an absent-minded gesture. There was no point resuming his attempt at copying Dante seeing as this 'massaging' thing wasn't working, but he couldn't help being fascinated by how soft the skin there was. It didn't seem quite right, that it should be so delicate, but as much as he ought to be frightened of his own clumsiness and how easy breaking that skin would be, he found he couldn't really resist stroking it. Futomimi's neck was beautiful, and it wasn't as if his curious nature had ever hurt him - even that embarrassing little incident with the Kabuchiko prison had been cut short courtesy of the demi-fiend. "Where -"
"Shh," the Collector interrupted, fingers moving up behind Futomimi's ear and drawing a gasp from his leader, irritated by the questioning when he was trying to concentrate. "It's okay."
"It is not 'okay'," Futomimi replied, a little sharply. "It's my fault that -"
"No it isn't," The Collector interrupted again, stroking the smooth length of skin going down from behind Futomimi's ear and into the curve of his neck.
"It -"
"Isn't. It's not your fault. I don't believe it's your fault." The Collector wondered why stroking like this would make Futomimi gasp, wondered if it was related to the strange heat settling between his legs and the sounds he had overheard Naoki making with Dante - and with Cu Chulainn and Parvati before that...
"Will you just -"
"Will you shh?" The Collector interrupted once more, hoping it would be for the final time. He didn't care about blame and fault and responsibility; anyone could study the past, but worrying about it? That was for people with futures, and he was fairly sure none of his kind had those. "Just want to see you smile, that's all."
"We lost," Futomimi reminded before the Collector covered his mouth, and it was strange feeling breath hot against his hand, stranger still feeling that it was damp. He'd always known his own mouth was wet on the inside but hadn't really thought about the same being true of others, and that just seemed to make the heat between his legs burn worse. He didn't really know much about what life had been like before he woke up here, but -
Futomimi made a very strange noise when the Collector replaced his hand with his mouth, covering Futomimi's lips with his own and pushing them apart, trying to breathe in the damp heat that had made what felt like a pleasant if strange sensation turn into a need. A reciprocated need at that, if Futomimi's movements were anything to judge by, and he didn't quite know how this went but he'd seen one or two things that might be related to this; definitely might be related given the way Futomimi arched up when the Collector slid his hand up beneath his leader's robes and rubbed the hardness he felt there.
It had been incredible enough just to do that to Futomimi - having Futomimi return the gesture nearly killed him, or so it felt, his breath hitching and heart racing as battle-roughened hands gripped him, repeating the gestures he was trying out and okay, some weren't so good, some actually hurt, but some of it was really, really good, and Futomimi's breath on his skin made him ache for mercy, ache to be saved, ache for the moment he felt Futomimi spill out over his hands and his chance to do the same.
"Why," Futomimi asked, breath still shaky but his stroking steadier and maddening for it, "Why are you - why do you -"
The Collector felt his body seem to tighten up before he was spilling out too, jerking into Futomimi's hands and feeling more than a little faint with it, all too ready to lean against Futomimi a little for support afterwards. "Why what?" He asked, exhausted and tired of all the questions. Why couldn't Futomimi just relax and enjoy what time they had?
"Why do you trust me?"
"Because," The Collector replied. "I just do. I like you." He shrugged, barely making any effort in the gesture, feeling a little as if he'd somehow turned back into mud on the inside. "Nothing else matters unless humans used it."
"I'll never understand you," Futomimi announced, shaking his head and smiling; just a little, just faintly, but enough that the Collector caught it, unable to resist grinning in return, and remembering the other reason he'd wanted to catch Futomimi in the first place.
"Get Naoki to take a look at this when you can," The Collector asked, digging through his pockets and trying to find the small packet. "I found something really cool."
"'Really cool?'" Futomimi repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"Instructions," The Collector announced before dropping the packet into Futomimi's hands and letting himself doze lightly against Futomimi's shoulder. He wasn't quite sure how someone knew if they were about to 'fuck' or why they'd need extra clothing, but Naoki probably had a good idea.
.
He'd have to ask later.