[Gojyo pulls back -- then pulls away entirely, leaving Hakkai's hand hovering in the air. He almost reaches out. No, don't stop, just--
But that's disgust on Gojyo's face, sheer horror and nausea as he tries to wipe away the filth a murderer's skin has left on his palms. Hakkai had been wrong: he wasn't weightless at all. Just falling.
As always, it is the sudden stop at the end that hurts.
His hands feel frozen and clumsy as he sits back, dropping his gaze from Gojyo's face and fumbling to tuck his shirt back in, button his pants, his belt. He can't brush away the signs so easily. He's still aroused, despite the hollow shame that's all that's left of the desire that had fired him a few seconds ago. His throat aches, his lips are cold as the moisture there dries. He can guess what he looks like.
Why'd I have to fall in love with you?
He can't look up again; can't bear to see that disgust again. Hearing it, the twist on you in Gojyo's cracking voice, is bad enough.
Gojyo has never said love to him before, not once. He's let this go too far. Much, much too far, if Gojyo'd thought, before tonight, that Hakkai was the kind of person he could love. If it's this awful for him, learning he was wrong.
His own voice comes out even, to his surprise: high and fragile with tension, but not faltering.]
I don't know. You deserve better.
[Blood washes off, but the stain doesn't come out. He can feel it, he can almost taste it at the back of his throat, thick and metallic. He doesn't deserve forgiveness. He certainly doesn't deserve love, not ever again, but knowing that doesn't make it any easier to see Gojyo sickened by his mistake.
He crosses his arms, hugging himself tightly against the chill. Had the night been so cold before? He's freezing.]
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But that's disgust on Gojyo's face, sheer horror and nausea as he tries to wipe away the filth a murderer's skin has left on his palms. Hakkai had been wrong: he wasn't weightless at all. Just falling.
As always, it is the sudden stop at the end that hurts.
His hands feel frozen and clumsy as he sits back, dropping his gaze from Gojyo's face and fumbling to tuck his shirt back in, button his pants, his belt. He can't brush away the signs so easily. He's still aroused, despite the hollow shame that's all that's left of the desire that had fired him a few seconds ago. His throat aches, his lips are cold as the moisture there dries. He can guess what he looks like.
Why'd I have to fall in love with you?
He can't look up again; can't bear to see that disgust again. Hearing it, the twist on you in Gojyo's cracking voice, is bad enough.
Gojyo has never said love to him before, not once. He's let this go too far. Much, much too far, if Gojyo'd thought, before tonight, that Hakkai was the kind of person he could love. If it's this awful for him, learning he was wrong.
His own voice comes out even, to his surprise: high and fragile with tension, but not faltering.]
I don't know. You deserve better.
[Blood washes off, but the stain doesn't come out. He can feel it, he can almost taste it at the back of his throat, thick and metallic. He doesn't deserve forgiveness. He certainly doesn't deserve love, not ever again, but knowing that doesn't make it any easier to see Gojyo sickened by his mistake.
He crosses his arms, hugging himself tightly against the chill. Had the night been so cold before? He's freezing.]