[ It's the daemon's first clean look at one of Matoba's hands; his gaze is hot in intense study of nails to knuckles, along delicate fingers, over hints of bluegreen that run beneath a tender wrist. Drawn to the texture of callus flushing over straight lines and supple joints—graceful yet masculine. And steady, with not a tremor as a narrow fingertip traces over rough-cut grooves.
Then up his arm, over his shoulder. That closed distance gives the daemon view of Matoba's swanlike neck and the way dark hair falls across it. His brazen gaze drags across the soft juncture between jaw and throat, where a hint of warmth belies ivory in another flush of bluegreen—his gums itch.
Despite not hiding his scorching assessment whatsoever, Rokurou does meet Matoba's eye when it returns to him. ]
Why? [ he feigns both ignorance and concern, eyebrows knitting, ] Oh, I see... so you're illiterate?
no subject
[ It's the daemon's first clean look at one of Matoba's hands; his gaze is hot in intense study of nails to knuckles, along delicate fingers, over hints of bluegreen that run beneath a tender wrist. Drawn to the texture of callus flushing over straight lines and supple joints—graceful yet masculine. And steady, with not a tremor as a narrow fingertip traces over rough-cut grooves.
Then up his arm, over his shoulder. That closed distance gives the daemon view of Matoba's swanlike neck and the way dark hair falls across it. His brazen gaze drags across the soft juncture between jaw and throat, where a hint of warmth belies ivory in another flush of bluegreen—his gums itch.
Despite not hiding his scorching assessment whatsoever, Rokurou does meet Matoba's eye when it returns to him. ]
Why? [ he feigns both ignorance and concern, eyebrows knitting, ] Oh, I see... so you're illiterate?