disclaimer: kinoshita, et al., not mine.
note: originally posted on lj december 2004.

'expectations'


Up close, Narugami smells of old grease, probably from his latest part-time job, and linseed oil. He tastes of green-tea cake, with a bitter undertaste of coffee, and his lips are chapped. The bottom one splits open during the kiss. The blood tastes like blood.

Narugami pushes Yamino away, using Mjollnir to maintain the distance between them. The wooden swordpoint is pushed against his chest with no real force, and Narugami doesn't sound particularly scornful when he says, "There'll be time for that later."

It's easy to forget, Yamino wants to say; he smiles instead, a different sort of lie.