[Gojyo's hand is sliding towards the back of his neck, and Gojyo's voice is hoarse. Hakkai is struck simultaneously by the realization that this is the most cliched teenage-romantic situation imaginable, and the realization that it is working on him very, very well.
A confession of mass murder and here Gojyo is, scooting towards him and rubbing his neck. They are both, he reflects, so fucked up.
Hakkai breathes out, tasting a little of the cheap vodka on his own breath, and finds himself leaning towards Gojyo in return, with exaggerated care. Maybe he can pretend it's the vodka, and not loneliness, affection, and far more lust than he ought to be letting himself indulge.]
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[Gojyo's hand is sliding towards the back of his neck, and Gojyo's voice is hoarse. Hakkai is struck simultaneously by the realization that this is the most cliched teenage-romantic situation imaginable, and the realization that it is working on him very, very well.
A confession of mass murder and here Gojyo is, scooting towards him and rubbing his neck. They are both, he reflects, so fucked up.
Hakkai breathes out, tasting a little of the cheap vodka on his own breath, and finds himself leaning towards Gojyo in return, with exaggerated care. Maybe he can pretend it's the vodka, and not loneliness, affection, and far more lust than he ought to be letting himself indulge.]