[ Sen is caught in a rapt state of immobility, transfixed, exultant as Rin caresses his cheek - fuck all who may be looking on. He breathes relief, deeply exhaling every care: he's home, he's home, and it's still so new to be here with his -
Rin.
(Who isn't his Rin.) (How they are the axis of his world, though. How they are the gravitational center, the wheel of stars, the spiral of galaxies and burn of suns. How they are the impetus of magic and marvel.) (What would he ever have been without them? What lonely, bitter, ignorant thing? Dead twenty years ahead of schedule from a gunshot wound or a burst appendix or a drug overdose. Dead of soul far sooner, having never known them.)
Their hand leaves his cheek and his head falls forward, hair following to fall loose and frame his face, his breath a huff of delight passing across a brilliant, exultant smile.
Sen lifts his face again (ever turning it towards them.) (Ever, and ever again, until the end.) (Christ, he missed them.)
How he wishes his smile could, truly, soothe Rin to sleep. Every night, for as many nights as he has. It's true, he has sent them to their rest with a gentle smile and a careful stroke of fingertips through their hair, but what he wishes is for the reason to vary from a requirement of a fleeting moment to-
(Oh, couldn't they just -)
(Of course they can't. He can't bring that on them.) (But it's his daydream. No one needs to know he fantasizes not about twining rapturously with Rin as their lover, but of the afterward. Of the speaking, and smiling, and drifting to sleep content in their place together. Of waking to them, and knowing it was no accident he was in their bed.)
Their demand of restitution for the not-so-loathed 'P' garners raised brows from Sen; he leans back and cocks his head in faux-challenge, then edges nearer - a slight unfolding and re-folding of his legs (beginning to burn from this crouch, as a matter of fact; how easily he tires now.) ]
Now, Rin. I'm of the opinion that one situation, long past, is far outweighed now by the countless times you've heard that moniker applied lavishly. Affectionately. Dare I say: adoringly. Without any expectation or malevolence.
[ If they keep up this charming coquettish act of theirs, he thinks (privately) he could be convinced to abandon any word they want. To take a vow of silence, in fact.
It occurs to him, Rin must be standing on their toes, slung over the bar to see him as they are, and he is - well, also on his toes. And has drawn near enough that he could straighten, could tilt his head and press his cheek to theirs. Could kiss them if he had the nerve. And so put a stop to any call for the abandonment of the nickname he loves to employ.
Instead, he shakes his head minutely - no - and gives them an impish grin. ]
I will go to the ends of the earth for you. I'll cross through fire and every imaginable hell. I'll leap over this bar and contend with every admirer that afflicts you.
[ He extends that finger again, emphatic and firm. ]
But I will never pay you restitution for that endearment. That stolen thing I've kept all for me, that signifies you? No.
Shan't, and can't be coerced, not even by the loveliest flutter of lashes.
[ As he has done so often before - much to his chagrin and self-deprecating amusement, to find each batted aside or dodged - he kisses the air, this time mere inches from their face. ]
no subject
Rin.
(Who isn't his Rin.) (How they are the axis of his world, though. How they are the gravitational center, the wheel of stars, the spiral of galaxies and burn of suns. How they are the impetus of magic and marvel.) (What would he ever have been without them? What lonely, bitter, ignorant thing? Dead twenty years ahead of schedule from a gunshot wound or a burst appendix or a drug overdose. Dead of soul far sooner, having never known them.)
Their hand leaves his cheek and his head falls forward, hair following to fall loose and frame his face, his breath a huff of delight passing across a brilliant, exultant smile.
Sen lifts his face again (ever turning it towards them.) (Ever, and ever again, until the end.) (Christ, he missed them.)
How he wishes his smile could, truly, soothe Rin to sleep. Every night, for as many nights as he has. It's true, he has sent them to their rest with a gentle smile and a careful stroke of fingertips through their hair, but what he wishes is for the reason to vary from a requirement of a fleeting moment to-
(Oh, couldn't they just -)
(Of course they can't. He can't bring that on them.) (But it's his daydream. No one needs to know he fantasizes not about twining rapturously with Rin as their lover, but of the afterward. Of the speaking, and smiling, and drifting to sleep content in their place together. Of waking to them, and knowing it was no accident he was in their bed.)
Their demand of restitution for the not-so-loathed 'P' garners raised brows from Sen; he leans back and cocks his head in faux-challenge, then edges nearer - a slight unfolding and re-folding of his legs (beginning to burn from this crouch, as a matter of fact; how easily he tires now.) ]
Now, Rin. I'm of the opinion that one situation, long past, is far outweighed now by the countless times you've heard that moniker applied lavishly. Affectionately. Dare I say: adoringly. Without any expectation or malevolence.
[ If they keep up this charming coquettish act of theirs, he thinks (privately) he could be convinced to abandon any word they want. To take a vow of silence, in fact.
It occurs to him, Rin must be standing on their toes, slung over the bar to see him as they are, and he is - well, also on his toes. And has drawn near enough that he could straighten, could tilt his head and press his cheek to theirs. Could kiss them if he had the nerve. And so put a stop to any call for the abandonment of the nickname he loves to employ.
Instead, he shakes his head minutely - no - and gives them an impish grin. ]
I will go to the ends of the earth for you. I'll cross through fire and every imaginable hell. I'll leap over this bar and contend with every admirer that afflicts you.
[ He extends that finger again, emphatic and firm. ]
But I will never pay you restitution for that endearment. That stolen thing I've kept all for me, that signifies you? No.
Shan't, and can't be coerced, not even by the loveliest flutter of lashes.
[ As he has done so often before - much to his chagrin and self-deprecating amusement, to find each batted aside or dodged - he kisses the air, this time mere inches from their face. ]
Pookie.