Kiku's bed was constructed within a few days, and the owner of that wonderful contraption stood watching as his donor lied upon its surface, his eyes shut. Mr. Kirkland appeared to be sleeping, but his mind was always rushing wildly with thought. It was not an uncommon sight to see his eyes lidded while ideas flew through his thoughts as a hyper flock of birds.
"…Mr. Kirkland?"
The blond did not stir.
"Mr. Kirkland?"
Yet, there was nothing.
Kiku sat upon the edge of his new collection of sheets, regarding his English visitor in his temporary peace, a few fingers afflicting his visage with a light touch and tracing his unmoving frame. His skin was not nearly as rough as the Japanese adolescent had suspected it to be; it was actually quite smooth. Those cautious blades wondered to that neck, so gently experiencing the flesh of that sleeping demon.
Kiku did not hesitate unbuttoning the first few clasps of that British man's shirt, fabric peeling from his chest slowly to reveal a scarred collarbone, ugly with white marks decorating that once smooth area. His fingers traced over those near blemishes, his eyes always wanting that very area ever since Yao had ruined it. There was a knot where his bone had healed, and with easy numerals, Kiku graced that eyesore as well.
Yet, there was something beautiful about that torn canvas, that destruction so affective years ago leaving its horrid kiss upon that pale skin.
"You deserved it…" Kiku whispered for the satisfaction of his own ears, ghosting his finger towards the man's neck.
Something lovely shone within that awful man, with those emerald eyes and hair composed of radiant sunshine. His skin was nearly as pale as his admirer's, and the fact that he was utterly broken instilled a new sort of attraction upon those European features.
The subject was very much awake; having lain down only a moment to rest his seemingly tired eyes. He did not feel like answering his treasure's inquiries and found himself in pleasant surprise. A bit of stone was gathering between his clothed thighs, and it was lucky that the cause had not taken notice of the symptoms.
Kiku came a little closer to his English beast, his lips only seconds from the man beneath him.
That fantastic scent drifted into the faux sleeper's senses, possessing him as a sort of potent drug and giving him desire to open those lying eyes and press him mouth against the one who was examining him, mold their tongues together and smooth over his property's skin, tear him from the inside out and claim him only as his own. Yet, he was committed to an untruth, and a heavy price was placed upon innocence.
And Kiku breathed in the scent of Arthur Kirkland, his clothes, his flesh laced with the essence of tobacco and money…It was the smell of a surplus of undying power.
Softly, he connected their mouths, not at all surprised when he was kissed in return and held lazily by those strong arms.
Yet, he was shocked when his bottom lip was suckled upon lightly, and even more so when pleasure overtook his quick flowing blood. His tongue was offered to his owner, his hated god, who held that organ between his lips and savored it as quality sugar.
It was his first kiss allowed by romance, bringing him memory of an accidental kiss Mr. Kirkland had bestowed upon him years previously. He had said something or other that drew a miniscule smile upon the blonde's visage, and his cheek was affected by a gentle touch that was nothing but nonsensical impulse. Nothing like this…
Arthur opened his mouth, allowing their tongues to slide past one another and curl together as rich ribbon caught within a braid, bringing pleasure from the kokeshi's throat.
Kiku was held at an even closer proximity, their kiss growing with far more passion. The Japanese youth's blood began to boil with certain conviction, his member kissing softly to the robes Mr. Kirkland had wrapped around those shapely limbs.
They came apart softly and stared at one another an extensive moment, Kiku's face illuminating with blush and Arthur's eyes over occupied by lust. When the event in its entirety registered, the younger felt his stomach curl into a foul knot.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Kirkland…I-I lost my mind for a moment…" His nervous fingers secured those buttons at their original standings. "Thank you for the bed…It's very nice."
The Englishman caught Kiku's hands within his own, holding them as precious trinkets and rising from his place upon the sheets, allowing his gaze to meld with those wonderful ink colored wells.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Kirkland. It won't happen again. I'm unsure what came over me. I was-"
His worried syllables were executed by the soft touch of Arthur's mouth to his own, their tinge far less possessive than the last.
When they separated, their eyes only communicated a moment before interruption struck with an unforgiving hammer.
"Kiku! Will you come help me with something?"
Without words, the grown doll stood and rushed from one universe to another.