[ The languid lean over Matoba stiffens when he asks that question. Rough fingers curl, lightly gripping the front of the exorcist’s kimono. His lips purse—a gesture that the man can’t see but can almost certainly feel for how Rokurou’s mouth has tickled against his nape.
Standing upright again, his hands smooth up the length of clavicle to gently rest on either side or Matoba’s neck. A gentle touch as he strokes his thumb idly. ]
no subject
Standing upright again, his hands smooth up the length of clavicle to gently rest on either side or Matoba’s neck. A gentle touch as he strokes his thumb idly. ]
Why ask? You don’t care.