LOVELESS - A Different Taste - Soubi/Kio
Title: A Different Taste
Characters: Soubi x Kio
Disclaimer: Does not belong to me.
Soubi tastes like blood.
Kio notices this from the first time he tastes him. He isn't bleeding and isn't badly hurt (now), but his lips have a coppery bite to them, as if the whole in and out of Soubi is a healing wound. He also tastes vaguely of cigarettes.
Kio hates dressing the wounds. There aren't too many bandages to apply tonight - just four - but Kio wants to kiss every one of them. Wanting to kiss everywhere that it hurts.
"I want to kiss everywhere that it..."
It sounds ridiculous out loud. And probably a little cliche.
"Hm?"
"Nothing."
But he does so anyway, letting his lips linger on the bandage. It is on Soubi's shoulder and Kio is tempted to kiss the skin around it to see if it tastes the same.
It does.
Soubi is either asleep or pretending to be when Kio is finished. The way his body is turned causes the light of the room to hit Soubi at odd angles and Kio wonders how this image would look on canvas. He wonders if there are enough colors to capture every shade and if he has a brush fine enough to paint every crease of Soubi's skin, every hair that is out of place.
He's known for a long time that painting Soubi is pointless because no matter how closely he can recreate Soubi's image, he can't paint the taste of blood or cigarettes. He can't find the right texture for painting scars.
It's three in the morning and Kio is tired, but he sets up the easel in the corner of the room and starts painting in strong brush strokes. It would probably be more efficient to take a picture, but a picture would change the light, and the depth of the shades are what makes Kio want to paint. Soubi moves and Kio changes the lines with his movements, blurring the old ones until he ends up with a jumbled mess of lines and limbs. It looks real. When he is finished, the Soubi on the canvas looks as though he is breathing.
The brush is, as he suspected, not thin enough even though it's nothing more than a handle with a few hairs.
He thinks about getting into the bed and pulling the covers around him, wanting to fall asleep close to Soubi's skin.
He's still thinking when he falls asleep on his chair in the corner of the room. About warm sheets and how tomorrow he'll need to look for a thinner brush.
Characters: Soubi x Kio
Disclaimer: Does not belong to me.
Soubi tastes like blood.
Kio notices this from the first time he tastes him. He isn't bleeding and isn't badly hurt (now), but his lips have a coppery bite to them, as if the whole in and out of Soubi is a healing wound. He also tastes vaguely of cigarettes.
Kio hates dressing the wounds. There aren't too many bandages to apply tonight - just four - but Kio wants to kiss every one of them. Wanting to kiss everywhere that it hurts.
"I want to kiss everywhere that it..."
It sounds ridiculous out loud. And probably a little cliche.
"Hm?"
"Nothing."
But he does so anyway, letting his lips linger on the bandage. It is on Soubi's shoulder and Kio is tempted to kiss the skin around it to see if it tastes the same.
It does.
Soubi is either asleep or pretending to be when Kio is finished. The way his body is turned causes the light of the room to hit Soubi at odd angles and Kio wonders how this image would look on canvas. He wonders if there are enough colors to capture every shade and if he has a brush fine enough to paint every crease of Soubi's skin, every hair that is out of place.
He's known for a long time that painting Soubi is pointless because no matter how closely he can recreate Soubi's image, he can't paint the taste of blood or cigarettes. He can't find the right texture for painting scars.
It's three in the morning and Kio is tired, but he sets up the easel in the corner of the room and starts painting in strong brush strokes. It would probably be more efficient to take a picture, but a picture would change the light, and the depth of the shades are what makes Kio want to paint. Soubi moves and Kio changes the lines with his movements, blurring the old ones until he ends up with a jumbled mess of lines and limbs. It looks real. When he is finished, the Soubi on the canvas looks as though he is breathing.
The brush is, as he suspected, not thin enough even though it's nothing more than a handle with a few hairs.
He thinks about getting into the bed and pulling the covers around him, wanting to fall asleep close to Soubi's skin.
He's still thinking when he falls asleep on his chair in the corner of the room. About warm sheets and how tomorrow he'll need to look for a thinner brush.