[ it takes him a great amount of effort not to smile against hijikata's lips, but he does it anyway, because he's the extremes of the spectrum — his heart is either emblazoned onto his sleeve, or it's hidden from human sight, and in this case, it's the former; if he could, he'd shower hijikata with his affection, but for now, he'll settle for pulling him closer, kissing him back with just as much force, allowing his eyes to close shut.
he lets out a gasp when the golden accessory at his neck is yanked, voicing some kind of muffled involuntary protest, inhaling air from hijikata's lungs directly, to compensate how his breath cuts. (and there's a part of him that wishes hijikata would do it again, until he can't breathe anymore— but that'd be asking for too much, he thinks, so tsurumaru resigns for merely grabbing small bunches of black fabric and tugging insistently, because while swords don't need oxygen, really — humans do.)
when hijikata pulls away, tsurumaru's chest feels as if it's on fire, and he doesn't doubt that it's the same way for hijikata. with him hovering less than a centimeter from his face, tsurumaru opens his eyes then, seeing his own gaze reflected in hijikata's; and he comes to the startling realization that he's close — close, in the way that tsurumaru's spent almost his entire life fearing, but maybe it's because of the unique circumstances that had preceded this — maybe it's because of more things than he can think about at this moment, his head spinning with more thoughts than he can comprehend—
but for the first time in eight hundred years, tsurumaru allows himself to ask for what he truly wants, and when he speaks up again, it's full of determination, and even through the sound of the fireworks, his voice is audible. ]
I want you to want me. I want you to look at me, and tell me that I belong to you— and I want you to mean it. I want to belong to you more than I want to belong to the Saniwa.
[ naturally, it comes out a little stifled, with quiet gasps and whines sprinkled in between, as he tilts his neck towards the side, fingers curling into the edges of hijikata's robe; because while he isn't going to admit it as clear as day, he likes this attention — it makes him feel spoiled, it makes him feel valued, and he revels in it, until he's absolutely certain that no amount of adjusting the chains at his neck will hide the darker marks left behind. tsurumaru moves afterwards, separating until he can gently cup hijikata's cheeks with his hands, then leans in, bumping his forehead against his.
he doesn't take too long to think, because truthfully, it's already been something on his mind for a while — while tsurumaru can come up with variations of the name hijikata until the world ends, chopping off letters here and there to piece together tinier nicknames, that's only half. so, tsurumaru finally says it — slowly, deliberately, like a child pronouncing a word for the very first time. ]
Toshizou.
[ and, beaming proudly like the child who's pronounced it correctly on its first try, yellow eyes glowing with delight: ] That's your first name, isn't it?
ugh... it's what you're best at... hangs up Collaring Ph. D on your wall
he lets out a gasp when the golden accessory at his neck is yanked, voicing some kind of muffled involuntary protest, inhaling air from hijikata's lungs directly, to compensate how his breath cuts. (and there's a part of him that wishes hijikata would do it again, until he can't breathe anymore— but that'd be asking for too much, he thinks, so tsurumaru resigns for merely grabbing small bunches of black fabric and tugging insistently, because while swords don't need oxygen, really — humans do.)
when hijikata pulls away, tsurumaru's chest feels as if it's on fire, and he doesn't doubt that it's the same way for hijikata. with him hovering less than a centimeter from his face, tsurumaru opens his eyes then, seeing his own gaze reflected in hijikata's; and he comes to the startling realization that he's close — close, in the way that tsurumaru's spent almost his entire life fearing, but maybe it's because of the unique circumstances that had preceded this — maybe it's because of more things than he can think about at this moment, his head spinning with more thoughts than he can comprehend—
but for the first time in eight hundred years, tsurumaru allows himself to ask for what he truly wants, and when he speaks up again, it's full of determination, and even through the sound of the fireworks, his voice is audible. ]
I want you to want me. I want you to look at me, and tell me that I belong to you— and I want you to mean it. I want to belong to you more than I want to belong to the Saniwa.
[ naturally, it comes out a little stifled, with quiet gasps and whines sprinkled in between, as he tilts his neck towards the side, fingers curling into the edges of hijikata's robe; because while he isn't going to admit it as clear as day, he likes this attention — it makes him feel spoiled, it makes him feel valued, and he revels in it, until he's absolutely certain that no amount of adjusting the chains at his neck will hide the darker marks left behind. tsurumaru moves afterwards, separating until he can gently cup hijikata's cheeks with his hands, then leans in, bumping his forehead against his.
he doesn't take too long to think, because truthfully, it's already been something on his mind for a while — while tsurumaru can come up with variations of the name hijikata until the world ends, chopping off letters here and there to piece together tinier nicknames, that's only half. so, tsurumaru finally says it — slowly, deliberately, like a child pronouncing a word for the very first time. ]
Toshizou.
[ and, beaming proudly like the child who's pronounced it correctly on its first try, yellow eyes glowing with delight: ] That's your first name, isn't it?